Ship of Fools: Circus: The Story of the Kavetseki Incident (RPG)

Thread: Circus: The Story of the Kavetseki Incident (RPG) Board: Limbo / Ship of Fools.

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Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

It had seemed overgenerous, what the mercer's agent was willing to pay for this trip, even allowing for the dangers of leaving sight of land and venturing the Kavetseki onto the open sea. He'd need enough for coin not to refuse, but had taken some precations, offering passage to a carefully chosen few. Of course, this made it difficult to refuse passage to a few more without causing ill-feeling. He'd been careful the mercer didn't get to hear of his extra passengers, and had not wanted his name cursed so loudly in the ale-houses that this liberty would come to light.

They were happy to let him take a load of fleece to disguise the purpose of the voyage - so Frithwynne the shepherd lass had come aboard - less trouble than he expected, not sea sick, and able to keep Clawdine's horse King soothed. They'd struck the caravan down into the hold, cushioned with fleece bales - but it seemed wiser to have the animal penned on deck where it could be watched. The water-caller had been sure the horse would be managable with blinders, and it seemed she was right. Calling pure water from the sea meant that there was no problem keeping the animal's thirst slaked. He'd found a man at arms for the protection of the cargo, Jetse barely said a word, but was suitably intimidating.

Offering free passage to the water caller, and to the sea witch Gunriana, had been a reassurance to him and Mary. A sea witch could protect the Kavetseki in a bad storm, and if they lost their course, a water caller would help them all survive whilst they searched for land. Mary had been pleased to have John Goode, a doctor was always welcome, though the cluster of 'friends' he brought with him were given a more reserved welcome. John seemed to be attached to Jack, Er and Daniel, mostly for their willingness to play cards and gamble. Their coin was welcome, but there might be trouble between them if one of their number lost too heavily. He had not felt able to refuse a nun passage, and supposed a holy woman might bring some blessing to the trip. He had worried she might be offended by the gamblers but thus far, to his relief, she had simply ignored them.

The water elf, Dorainen, had been contracted for the dive by the mercer's agent, and seemed to have no trouble finding the submerged chest at the location that had been given. When the agent came aboard to collect it, he made sure all the passengers but Jetse, the sheperd lass and Dorainen were out of sight. With him and Mary, there were just the five of them on deck.

Just under a single watch after the mercer's agent had left on the cutter, the weather turned ...

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The maelstrom had no natural origin, that much was clear. The captain knew they would founder, but if he could get them close enough inshore then perhaps there was a chance to survive. He wrestled the wheel, whilst the men ran to follow his shouted orders, to try to control the sail and its swinging boom. Mary stood beside him gripping the rail, staring into the unatural darkness trying to see the shoreline, trying to find a safe channel. Frithwynne was trying calm the terrified horse, and stop him breaking free.

He glanced behind him saw: Aelthreda on her knees praying to the Mother of Waters; Guriana screaming into the darkness - throwing rune shapes into the sky's ichor; Clawdine calling the breaking waves, crests crashing against her and washing back clear of the stern. Mother, Maiden, Crone struggling to birth the future, as is ever the lot of women.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Guriana fought, the whiplashes of the void were powerful, a magic she had never seen before. At first the rune shapes had power, force, but the fight seemed eternal and carving the runeshapes came to feel like clawing at a cliff face. It was too fast, too stong. She saw Daniel on his knees screaming a fall of blackness delving into his open mouth Jetse's left arm torn from him, the captain turning - enveloped - and as the void withdrew, left ... broken.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The survivors are ashore: there are sea rotten bales of fleece amongst the driftwood, the wreck itself can not be seen.

Mary Drake her knees drawn upto her chest, stares out over the grey calm sea, her face blank. Numb to the loss of her husband, of her Kavetseki, of her everything.

Frithwynne, Clawdine & Mother Aethelreda are huddled together, against King's flank.

Jetse is stumbling over to John Goode, mutely gestering at the stinking ruined stump of his left arm.

Guriana and Dorainen are trying to calm Daniel who is lying on the shore, back arched, struggling and moaning.

Er & Jack are pacing the shore, eyes down, searching for what might be salvagable.

[ 23. April 2015, 07:29: Message edited by: Doublethink. ]

Posted by IngoB (# 8700) on :

"Bloody, bloody, bloody..."

Jack looks at Er.

"That was a bit of a ride, eh?"

Without waiting for an answer, he continues

"Looking for my satchel and dagger, if you find them, I will give you ... well, I sure have nothing now, but you know how I can fleece 'em... Earnings of the first night all yours, if you find my stuff. OK?"

Jack veers away from Er and heads over to where Frithwynne, Clawdine and Mother Aethelreda are sitting. He takes off his tricorne with a small bow before the nun and says:

"Ma'am, I don't know what god you are with, but methinks Mrs Drake really could use some of it."

He nods silently over to where Mary stares into the void. Then he turns to Frithwynne and Clawdine, smoothly swinging his tricorne to the side to extend his bow to them.

"Ladies, Er over there needs the help of someone less useless than me at finding hidden things. If I could interest you in looking for our belongings, perhaps? I'm looking for a leather satchel and a dagger myself, if you find these I would be eternally grateful. Meanwhile I'll head over to see what's up with our magic people."

He turns and starts walking towards Gurianna, Dorainen and Daniel, muttering quietly to himself:

"Tobacco, where am I going to buy tobacco in this dump! Must find my satchel. Perhaps Doc Goody Two-Shoes has some, it might be medicinal, no? Must be. Sure is for me..."

[ 02. June 2014, 01:32: Message edited by: IngoB ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary Drake stared seaward apparently unaware of anything else around her. She reached with one hand to pull it seemed her shawl closer but her shawl was gone. She lowered her head to her knees and used her hand to pull her bonnet down.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had grabbed for King's halter with one hand and her pack with the other as the black wave had crashed down on the makeshift stall on deck. Her right hand had been as if welded to the halter, but the sea had torn at her pack. As she felt the pack slipping from her hand, flapping open in the wrack, she had tried to grab for it, but come up with... she opens her left hand where she stands sodden, trembling against King's flank... nothing but her red ribbon.

Her senses feel blunted as she tries to take in the situation. Here is the gambler, bowing elaborately, and saying something about finding. There is Mary, huddled alone on the sand. Farther on, Jetse stumbling towards the doctor. Stopping the flow of blood from Jetse's torn stump seems like the most immediate need. Frithwynne is too small to help support Jetse as he staggers across the shingle, and she has no special healing arts, but maybe some medical supplies have been cast up on the beach, or lodged behind driftwood in slow grey eddies of mocking seawater. She remembers that the doctor had had copious supplies on board, and she thinks the witch did as well.

She untwists her trembling fingers from King's halter. "Can you help, Clawdine?" she asks, and begins to walk the beach, hoping to ***find hidden*** medical supplies, or any other useful flotsam that might be retrievable from the wreck.

[ 02. June 2014, 04:39: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Frithwynne knows that, despite the numbness shock has left her with, searching for objects on this shoreline will be ***easy*** for her.

[ 02. June 2014, 07:23: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

From thirty yards, John Goode could see what he would have to deal with. A deep calm quickly descended upon him and he felt the familiar sharpening of his senses, that keenest edge of focus that eliminated all distractions. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, then hastened towards Jetse. He was mildly amazed to see him on his feet and conscious, and felt a wash of admiring respect for the great hulk of a man. But the torn wound was running blood freely into the sand, and John knew little time remained.

He turned his face without looking at the three figures nearest him, and spoke softly but commandingly, ‘I need fire. And water. Do it now.’

As he came to Jeste, he could see the shock seeping lethally into the pallor of his face. He looked deeply into his pain-glazed eyes, sensing the colossal inner strength of the man, and said, ‘Jeste, you need to do exactly what I say if you want to live. I have to fix your arm. I can make you sleep, but it would be better for you if you remain awake. But it will hurt, more than any pain you have known.’

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Er Maker wanders the shoreline feeling the lack of comforting weight on his back like a missing limb. He sees Frithwynne purposefully search the beach while his idle fingers pluck up shellfish and seaweed as his *well travelled* mind turns over the question of where in the world we are.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

John knew that, despite the severity of the wound, it would be ***easy*** to perform surgery on Jetse, providing he acted with boldness.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Er Maker knows his chances of working out where they have ended up are ***easy***, given he knew where they had been headed and the general geography of the area.

[ 02. June 2014, 11:56: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

As John Goode opened and peered into his shoulder bag, his heart sank. It was a sodden mess. He pulled out the fine leather wallet of his surgical instruments, heavy and flaccid with sea water, and set it down beside him. The large roll of pouches and sachets of dried herbs was equally waterlogged and he knew that some of his rarest and most potent medicines would be spoilt. With a shrug, he picked out and dropped the mushy brown contents from four parchment sachets into the kettle of boiling water.

He took a thin leather strap from the bag and looped it round the base of Jetse's vast biceps, noting that the huge man barely flinched as he tightened to cut off all flow and buckled a notch more oft suited for a blacksmith's thigh. He was strong in lifeforce, this one, and John perceived in him a clear and uncompromising will to live. He knew one like this would recover fast from his injury if the wound could be protected from rot. Working slickly and surely, he took his red-glowing searing iron from the flame and applied it repeatedly to the ragged remains of the arteries and tissues, the stench of burning flesh filling the air. Jetse's shoulder muscles shook with pain, but when John looked to his face he was astounded to see the lack of emotion in his eyes.

With speed and precision he cut out the ruined flesh and washed the wound with infused boiling water, stemming the weeping meat with his iron and finally stitching closed the skin with catgut. He smeared a thick sticky catalplasm ointment of cardamom, propolis and garlic and guava oils, and bound the stump with the linen strips that had been strung above the fire to dry.

The work was bread and butter for John Goode, practiced as he had become tending every day for years to legions of warring soldiers in the great cities and plains of the West, but he sat back on the sand regarding his latest patient with a sardonic smile of satisfaction as he washed his bloody hands clean. He then tipped three drops of mandrake oil into a cup of warm water and passed it to Jeste's remaining hand, tilting his head and speaking lowly, 'Here. This will take you away from it'.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana glances at the sky in despair. She had failed. The power had been there, as she had cast charm after charm into the teeth of the storm, and she recalled the exhilaration of the contest. Now it seemed to her a foolish waste. She should have seen that this was no natural storm, and even if it had been, it was not the way of the fates, not the way of the wise, to oppose what the elements had written, but to shape it to advantage. What business had she seeking to direct the wind and waves? She should have used her lore to direct Kavetseki, guiding her through the ocean’s fury, strengthening her timbers, lifting her prow, keeping her from harm, not wasting everything in a futile attempt to defeat an unknown and greater power.

The reason for the mistake had been so obvious, and so stupid. Gunriana had taken free passage on the understanding that she would guard against dangers. Had she left to the storm to rage unopposed, she would have appeared to the captain and crew to have been doing nothing, failing in her task, and would have looked helpless and weak. She had allowed herself to think that she might prevail over the sorcerous winds, and, more than that, had wanted the captain to think she could wield such power. She closed her eyes sadly. Reputation mattered, and no rune-shaper could afford to seem ineffectual, but to fail for the fear of losing reputation, that was worse. The captain was almost certainly dead now, and it had been Gunriana’s arrogance and weakness that had conspired to drown him. That the length of the man’s life had been fixed long before her birth did not make the knowledge easier to face.

What could be done? The warrior, Jetse, was sorely wounded, but the surgeon was attending to him. Mistress Drake sat distraught, as well she might, and there was little that could be done for her until the first shock of her loss and survival had passed. Daniel, writhing on the sand, was most in need of help. Her pack, with all her healing salves and tools, was lost, but she would do what she could.

Gunriana turns to Dorainen. “Hold him as still as you can, but be gentle. I must see whether it is in mind or body or both that he is hurt.”

She scans the beach for a jagged stone and places it carefully at her feet before probing Daniel’s flesh with the long fingers of her right hand, searching out any cuts or broken bones. She swiftly picks up the rock, and with two sharp scratches marks his hand with Nauðr, the need-rune, the healer’s friend. Seizing him by the hair, she then turns his face to hers, fixes him with her gaze, and spits violently at his eyes.

“Daniel Van Adescant! Your tale is not over yet. Wherever your mind has wandered to, you can, you will, call it back!”

She screws the knuckle of her thumb into the patient’s head, just beside the eye, ensuring that she has his attention, and then relaxes the pressure.

“Come back to us, Daniel. I command it. And you really do not want any more of my ***healing*** than you need.”

Posted by IngoB (# 8700) on :

As Jack draws near to Gurianna, Dorainen and Daniel, he intends to ***gauge*** their mood, intentions and interactions. He is particularly curious about Dorainen, because to his simple mind the water elf must be to their shipwreck like smoke to a fire...

But the sudden dramatic healing activity of Gurianna distracts his attention entirely. All his plans forgotten, he stops at what seems a safe distance and just stares at them silently.

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Er stops his aimless wandering and looks out to the East. If he was right that way led to the main trade route between Barvick and Cimenster. Undoubtably a more hospitable place to be than this windswept beach. If he was wrong then at least they wouldn't be here anymore.

Judging his good friend John Goode the most amenable to his way of thinking Er sidled over, "I reckon if we go that way we'll find a town with an inn an' the road of Cimenster." He says to John doing his best impression of an honest peasant if he was wrong there'd be a town eventually. "Got to better than sticking around here, especially for them what's hurt." His expansive gesture took in Daniel, Mary Drake and John's own patient Jetse.

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

‘Yes, that sounds like a good plan’, John nodded to Er. ‘And maybe we can find a game of chance. ‘I think Sweet Providence owes us some gold...’

He walked some distance away from the others on the beach and sat down on the flat shingle a few yards from the water’s edge, where he emptied out and picked through the mess of his shoulder bag, quickly realising its contents were entirely destroyed by the immersion in the seawater. His dried herbs and powders, so painstakingly and expensively acquired were so much useless pulp and mush.

With a rueful smile, he stood and tucked his surgical kit into his jacket pocket and slung his bag into the sea. He saw it turn in the curl of a wave and then disappear.

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel is moaning and screaming. He doesn't have a lot to add to the situation.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine had been carefully wiping the salt out of King's eyelashes and nostrils when John Goode requested water and fire.

"Water gatherin' be a zimple thing, doc, if'n we 'ave zumpin to gather it in. Mayhap I can draw the wet outta those healin' thingz in yer satchel, too. No? Well, have it your way. I needz ter find me cookin' pot, I do."

Clawdine walked through the wildly tossing shallows, trawling expectantly with her shawl to ***find hidden***

[ 02. June 2014, 13:03: Message edited by: Banner Lady ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Clawdine knows it will be ***easy*** to find if anything that large has washed up on the shoreline.

[ 02. June 2014, 13:09: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

It is probably for the best the Gunriana is too intent on her own patient to notice John throwing away as useless pulp concoctions that closely resemble the mashed and fermented pastes she habitually employs and the loss of which she is currently regretting.

Daniel groans loudly and tries to look away, but is too disorientated to break Gunriana's grip. She frowns, and drives her knuckle harder into the side of his eye socket, watching until his eyes begin to lose focus, and then releasing once more. As vision returns, so does his awareness.

"You're back, Daniel, you're back. You're alive, and not much hurt, at least in your body, but you have passed through the darkness, and it has attacked you in mind and soul. But you're back. The evil is at bay, and you can rest."

With that, she lifts his head a little and holds him close in a tight embrace, allowing a few tears to fall onto his hair at the thought of those who cannot be called back so easily from the storm. She clings to Daniel as a drowning man to driftwood, save that behind his back the fingers of her left hand are splayed back and open, to avoid touching him with her fate-marked palm.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary Drake took a deep breath. She had felt her husband be killed beside her or worst and wanted to die herself; however, Doctor Goode's voice calling for her in healing, a good man that, and those of others meant she couldn't die yet. The ship's crew and passengers were her responsibility from her husband's goodson, Jan, on his first voyage as crew to mother Aethelreda whose prayers they would certainly need. She took another deep breath, put her hands to the ground, pushed herself up, and turned around.

Gunriana and Dorainen were tending to Daniel.
Near her she saw Doctor Goode, his clothes quite bloody, who had been so badly injured? The other passengers were also here but none of the crew that had sailed with them. No Jan, no Elric who had sailed with them the longest, and certainly no Nicholas, her beloved, not even his body. She couldn't die yet, she had duties, she couldn't cry, where was her shawl. "Doctor", she called and walked over to him, "What has happened?"

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

‘I’m afraid there’s been a bit of an accident, dear thing,’ replied John Goode. ‘Poor Jeste’s lost his arm, but I think he’ll be alright. My word, his other arm is worth three of mine, and he’ll soon learn to manage with only one. Rarely have I seen such tolerance of agonies in a man...’ He paused, looking into Mary’s eyes, and saw her desperate turmoil. She’s beside herself he thought to himself, she needs a distraction.

‘I say, Mary, would you do me a favour?’, he said, softly. ‘I have lost my medicines, but I saw some echinacea growing in the bushes at the top of the beach, there. Do you know it?Would you collect some of its roots for me? It would be so helpful of you.’

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen was still shivering, not from the cold (his robes took care of that) but from the sheer shock that water could be so destructive. It was disorienting, to find the element he had built his life around could turn on him and his companions so violently. He was glad that the witch's healing magic had been successful, and John Goode's curious human healing arts had also done some good it seemed. He tried to speak, but found his mouth suddenly dry, another new and disturbing experience for him.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Jetse stood up after letting the medicine take effect, and walked over to John. He put a hand on the healer's shoulder, startling him.

"You told me it would hurt more than anything else. You think I've never lost an arm before?"

John looked at Jetse. No, no he hadn't.

"Losing your arm, that hurts a little. Putting it back, that hurts more. Regrowing it…"

Jetse looked into the distance.

"Never done that. Seen it done. Know who can. Don't know if I can get there. We'll see. Thank you."

Posted by IngoB (# 8700) on :

By now the vigour of youth had all but returned Jack's naturally good spirits to him, and even though he still felt cold and clammy finally his clothes had started to dry out a little bit on his body.

He wandered over to the water elf and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Dorainen. It was Dorainen, right? Say, that was some strange weather there. Would you know anything more about it, being a water elf and all?"

A look of surprise spread across his face, and he touched Dorainen on the shoulder again, this time letting his hand linger briefly to feel.

"And how come your robes are already dry then? That's some strange elfin cloth, that is. Mighty fine. What would it set me back to have a coat made of that, squire?"

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary Drake turned from John Goode and walked in the direction he pointed but not to dig roots, how in the Seamother's name did he expected her to recognize the plant in the raw (carefully labeled in a herbalist's shop or from their landhugging kin was how sailors got most of their herbs) and was he patronizing her? Nor did she think she was up to digging anyway, her bones and muscles ached. But, ... maybe some of the crew had recovered and gone searching for other survivors maybe even.... Perhaps from the top of the beach she might see some signs.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne puts a hand to the small of her back, to ease the ache that has started there, and meets something hard tied to her belt. She pauses, lifts her shift to tie her ribbon around her right leg above the knee where it will be out of the way, and uses both hands to find an end of the lace tying the object to her belt. She tugs, catches the object, and finds herself looking at her chalice.

Oh. She remembers, as if from a dream, when the ship started to groan in the storm, thinking she wanted her chalice closer and safer than stashed in her pack, and tying it to her belt with a stray thong. And here it is, safe.

She ties it to her belt again, and slides it around to her back.

~~~~~~~~~

She continues along the beach, looking in each tidepool and behind each tossed-up piece of driftwood, when in a tidepool something catches her eye. She kneels, reaches into the pool to feel what might just be several branches, and draws out a longish lump of rust. Reaching and drawing, and then one final feel in the sand at the bottom of the tidepool to check for anything missed, and she sits back on her heels to look at her find. She has pulled out seven of the objects. She picks one up to look at it closer, but it slips through her stiff fingers and drops, hitting a rock. It splits in half and Frithwynne sees the cross section of a hilt. It looks as if the wood handle has rotted away.

Just before everything went wrong at the steading and her parents died, Frithwynne had found something like this in a cave pool. When she brought it home, her father told her the story of his wife-brother losing his good knife in the caves when Frithwynne was tiny. Frithwynne remembers the curious tale her father had told: rust binds to the metal like this, as the wood rots, when it has been under the water for years. There was more left of the knife within the rustburr that she had found in the caves though.

She slips off her heels into a more comfortable position, and starts using the rock to chip rust off her finds.

~~~~~~~~~

Occasionally she pauses to watch the other travellers. They're too far away for her to see their faces clearly, and she identifies them by dress. They seem to be moving oddly, slowly, but she assumes that they're all still overwhelmed from the storm and the wreck. She certainly doesn't feel her usual self, and the ache in her back is still there.

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Er Maker looks at his hands. Pulls at the suddenly loose skin and turns frantically to observe his companions. Only John, Jack and Daniel did he really know well enough to say but they looked older. A decade maybe two he always found these things had to judge. "Sorcery" He growled steering clear of the sea witch. "Wicked and unnatural."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

The sea drew back for a moment and then spat the battered copper cauldron out at Clawdine's feet. She dragged it up on to the beach and clucked her tongue in satisfaction. The cauldron's lid and a battered pewter ladle were still chained to the handle, and inside, somewhat disoriented, was a large crab, flattened to the side in an attempt to hide.

Clawdine jammed the lid down, and stood up with her hands on her hips, to survey the shoreline.

A couple of large tin pans could be glimpsed tumbling through the shallows, and what looked like a wooden box was skittering through the spume. These did not interest her. What she really wanted now was some driftwood and a flint.

She knew they were nearly all in shock. A hearty crab broth would help the healing of all, except perhaps King.

The old carthorse stood with his head down and his limbs still shuddering every so often. If he was to be of any use in the future, his spirit needed calming. She wondered which of her fellow survivors were gifted enough in animal lore to help.

[ 03. June 2014, 01:48: Message edited by: Banner Lady ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Nothing, Mary Drake thought, nothing to be seen. Not even a sign of the maelstrom that destroyed everything except a very few pieces of flotsam, the passengers, and one horse. How had it survived to get ashore? At least the horse would provide food if necessary. She could see that Clawdine had found something in the surf which made that troll like woman happy. Time perhaps to rejoin the group, to survive the night. She felt so old as she started walking down towards Clawdine.

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Mother Aethelreda regains consciousness, chokes, and spits up a disgusting spew of seawater. Oh dear, oh dear. Perhaps a spoonful of honey to soothe her raw throat...

...except that when she gropes for her pack she finds it shredded to pieces from its tumbling in the surf over the rocky shoreline. The honey, along with almost all her other belongings, is gone. Only her Book of Hours and her rosary remain tucked safely into her habit, and the case containing the Communion vessels is tangled in the remains of the pack. No food, nothing to start a fire with.

Aethelreda supposes she ought to whip out the rosary and start begging the heavens for mercy, but she has never been a very good pray-er and anyway it was God who got us into this mess, wasn't it?

She thinks she had better take stock of her fellow survivors. Hm. There seem to be at least two medical crises going on, but they appear to be in good- or at least skillful- hands. Better not to interfere. Mary is up and about, so there is no immediate need to offer her spiritual comfort. Perhaps a good, bracing talk later on if she still seems discouraged. No, the most useful thing Aethelreda can do now is to offer to help Clawdine ***find hidden*** items among the wreckage. Perhaps they can find something to provide some sheltef.

Aethelreda heaves herself up from the sand to go and look through the debris. Oof. Her knees and ankles feel achy. She glances down at her feet and sees them gnarled and twisted in their sandals. Her hands as well. What on earth?

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Gunriana, exhausted from her efforts, passes out - slipping down onto the pebbled beach beside Daniel.

[ 03. June 2014, 06:47: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine carried an armful of driftwood back to the cauldron and dumped it alongside, just in time to see the crab scuttle out from under the pot and disappear into the rocks.

She lifted the lid and peered inside. A rusty crescent shaped hole in the bottom smiled back at her. How could that have happened when the pot was in the sea for such a short time?

A resounding thump and whimper made her jump. Behind her King had keeled over, stone dead. She sat and cradled his grizzled head in her lap. Then she threw back her salty matted hair and wailed to the unfriendly sky: "Why????"

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode watched Mary hobble up to the beach head and pretend to look round for echinacea as she walked straight past a fine specimen in purple flower. He hoped his deliberately patronising prod would help to bring her out of her traumatised state. Pique is a valuable lever, and easily elicited.

As he sat back down on the shingle and looked out to the horizon, he suddenly became aware of how much the foul tempest and fixing Jetse had taken out of him. He felt exhausted. No, it was more than that. He felt old.

His eyes drifted about the seascape, watching the grey waves break as they rolled in, rhythmically sucking back shingle with a soft hiss. A group of three small seagulls was flying towards the East in a purposeful way, and he speculated idly about how nice it would be to be one of them. For all its adventure, travel was dangerous and uncomfortable, and right now he’d swap it for a hot soapy bath and a soft bed of clean sheets and the deep bosom of a plump wench.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen turned to Jack. At least, he thought it was Jack. For some reason, his memory of these humans' looks seemed to be off. "Must be the shock of the... incident," he thought to himself.

The question was also confusing. Why would getting a standard adult cloak set you back? All you had to do was survive forty winters and prove yourself a responsible, caring and fruitful member of the teyv! His first question, at least, he understood. He simply had no answer.

"Jack, what happened on the water... I have never known water do that. I am as ignorant as you. But, now is not the time for talk. I think that must be an uncomfortable position for Gunriana's neck. Would you support her while I minister to her according to the ways of my people?"

The witch appeared to simply be suffering from severe fatigue, but now could be a dangerous time to be inactive. Dorainen could see no immediate threats, but who knew what was about to occur? He began the steady incantation, his breath flowing, gushing and guggling out of his mouth without his brain having to consciously control it. He was in tune, in flow with the world. He waited until his soul felt saturated with potential and directed the pressure to affect ***healing*** of Gunriana.

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda scoops up several armfuls of driftwood from the beach. She dumps them beside the grieving Clawdine.

"Oh, my dear, your poor horse. Well, at least we have something for dinner now, eh?"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine laid King's head gently on the sand, and stood up slowly. Her face was hard to read as she turned to Aethelreda.

'E were a good horz. An' 'e truzted me. More fool 'im. Yer welcome ter carve 'im if yer can - but 'e lookz mighty tough ter me.

She nodded towards the tinker. 'I think I'll go with Er. Tinkerz alwayz knowz where ter find sommat ter eat 'n drink. Better 'n a compaz they are.'

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary Drake saw the horse collapse and hurried up her pace towards Clawdine and Aethelreda. Work, works was needed. "Mother Aethelreda, Firewood! we need to light a fire for protection tonight if nothing else. The shore jackals in most of these parts aren't shy after dark. Can either of you start a fire?" Mother looked old, more like a mother than before though some convents did choose them young; she had heard that a convent in Port Royal had an abbess that was 13.

She knelt to arrange the wood for a fire.

After a pause she called out to the departing figure, "Madame Clawdine, even more than firewood, we'll need fresh water otherwise..." She glanced over to suddenly stricken Gunriana, dehydration?, she was parched herself probably why she couldn't cry, "I fear".

[ 03. June 2014, 13:05: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

The others all gathered around the fallen horse, it looked like they wouldn't be moving on from here tonight. Feeling his stomach growl with long drawn hunger Er turned his attention to the age old skill of ***living of the land***.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne finishes knocking rust off the blades and gathers them into the skirt of her kirtle as a basket. She starts walking back along the beach towards the rest of the party. She is halfway back to them when she sees King stagger and fall.

She breaks into an awkward run, blades clattering against her knees with each step. Breathless, with her back telling her that was a mistake, she comes up to the group. The posture of the women tells her King is gone; in her weakened state she's not going to see if her Animal Command extends as far as resurrection.

She finds Jetse. She feels she should say something about his arm, but she has no idea what. "Knife blades, Guardian," she says instead, releasing the corners of her kirtle and spilling them at Jetse's feet. "Do you think they're good enough to be of any use to us, or are they too far deteriorated?"

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Er knows his attempt at butchering the horse should go ***OK***

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

As the final few incantations dripped out of Dorainen's mouth, he opened his eyes and saw that Gunriana was waking up, blinking, but fine.

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Er slides the sharpest of his knifes from his belt. Looking around he saw Claudine was still walking away from the cloud around the horse.

He walks purposefully across towards the group. "Keep her away good Mother. This will be upsetting." He nods at Claudine before taking to his grizzly work.

To his surprise the job goes remarkably well, no accidentally thrown bit nor any unfortunate spills of fluid, and yields a good quantity of meat. His success encourages him risk trying to make jerky in the sea like the other press ganged men talked about hearing of.

He thinks he succeeds in securing the meat in rock pool under the remains of the pot and there will be jerky to carry with them tomorrow as well as meat to cook over the fire.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary watches Er cut up the poor horse. She hoped she hadn't ill-wished it earlier. Perhaps best not to think ill of the doctor just in case. She has finished setting up the firewood ready for a flame.

"Anyone able to light the fire?"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine turned her back on the vultures gathering hungrily around King, and walked over to Dorainen and Gunriana.

'Water, did I hear yer ax? There be plenty of water to be had from zky, zea and zand.' She slipped a leather thong over her head, and released a forked divining rod from her sagging cleavage as Aethelreda came up behind her.

Clawdine casted over the pebbled beach until she stopped at a small rocky outcrop where she felt certain she could ***find fresh water***if it would let her.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Autenrieth Road:
She finds Jetse. She feels she should say something about his arm, but she has no idea what. "Knife blades, Guardian," she says instead, releasing the corners of her kirtle and spilling them at Jetse's feet. "Do you think they're good enough to be of any use to us, or are they too far deteriorated?"

Jetse bends down and snorts.

"Good for a smith with no iron. Good for a boat with no ballast. Good for carrying when your pack's too light."

"Not even knife blades, all of 'em. You ever seen arms before? Thought not. Here, this'n's a spear point. That other one's like a whaler's harpoon, though of no make I've seen before. This one was a battleaxe blade—the back rusted off, see? That needle's a sailor's spike—must have seen those. An' this…"

Jetse paused when he saw the curved piece of steel, hints of black barely visible beneath the rust.

"This was a halberd. Made in Mørkbork, only carried by Guardians. Polish it. It's mine."

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

So, says Daniel. We've lost twenty years of our lives to something. Also, I don't gamble. Why did the ship's captain think I did?

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine bent towards the rock, whispered a word to it, and then rapped on it lightly with the divining rod. A trickle of water soon turned into a pleasing arc, and Clawdine cupped her hand underneath it to taste its sweetness.

She turned to the abbess. 'A cup would be 'andy right about now, Mother. And Frithwynne's waterskin.'

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary Drake looked up at Daniel "The company you kept" and then took in what he said before "twenty years since Ka." then suddenly started choking and gasping for air. "Ka, Ka".

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana struggles to her feet, and looks carefully at the elf. He clearly has hidden talents.

"Thank you, Dorainen. I am in your debt. We need to think about what has happened here, and why these powerswere unleashed against us."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne, crestfallen, lets the other six blades -- or rather, not-blades -- lie in the sand and picks up the one pointed out by Jetse.

"I don't think it will be any use, Guardian, it looks as rotten as the rest of them, now that you point out how bad they're gone. But I'll give it as good a rubbing as I can by the fire tonight, if it's an important keepsake for you."

She wonders if she can use her ***Intuition*** to understand anything about their situation.

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda opens the Communion case and hands Clawdine the small vessels inside.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Autenrieth Road:
"I don't think it will be any use, Guardian, it looks as rotten as the rest of them, now that you point out how bad they're gone. But I'll give it as good a rubbing as I can by the fire tonight, if it's an important keepsake for you."

"It's…more than that. Whatever was in that…whatever happened…did something to it. It shouldn't rust. Not like that. Not that quickly."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine filled the small chalice and handed it to Gunriana. Their eyes met over the water.

Clawdine saw the tiredness in the rune maiden, and wondered if Gunriana could read the pain in Clawdine's soul.

What had happened? They had begun working together on the boat, but had it continued that way? Had the power of the storm turned one of them? Clawdine was no longer sure of anything. She was as mazed as the still dark sky with its swirling clouds.

[ 04. June 2014, 06:54: Message edited by: Banner Lady ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary Drake stopped trying to say Kavetseki and got her breath back. Damn that mercer and his offer to the shark lord's minions. She couldn't be sure that that was why the wreck had happened just as she couldn't be sure the sun would set. They had hid some of the details from the passengers and crew not directly involved. An item of sentimental value, not worth much. Yet it hadn't saved them either.

She rose to her feet, took a stick from the unlit fire, and tried ***drawing ship in the sand***

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne holds the halberd blade, running her fingers over it, repeating the Guardian's words softly, her lips barely moving: "It shouldn't rust. ... Not that quickly. ... It shouldn't rust. ... Not that quickly. ..."

Suddenly she knows, not knowing where the knowledge comes from, but knowing all the same.

She raises her eyes from the halberd, and looks closely at Jetse's face. Yes, the signs of age are there.

"Lords! Ladies! Goodwives! Goodmen! Mother Aethelreda! Noble elf Dorainen!" She raises her voice as if calling to a sheepdog at the end of a valley, her tones ringing out over the beach.

"We must leave here, now. Not spend another night. This place is surely under a spell. The seeming is that we have slept and woken, slept and woken, these twenty years, all unknowing. The magic has kept us from knowing what was happening, kept us from seeing ourselves as we age. It has returned us each day to our shipwrecked positions, and preserved Jetse's life until our doctor could heal him -- whether for good or ill, I do not know. Such magic is dangerous to be around, we should leave tonight.

"You were mostly below decks, but the mercer's agent came in his sly swift cutter, and took the chest Dorainen brought up from the very floor of the sea, and then the storm began. Do you not recall how fierce the storm was, and all the power of Mother, Maiden, and Crone could not turn it aside?

"If our ship is lost, we have surely been given up for dead by now. And time and distance have perhaps taken the mercer beyond our reach, but I think he and the chest must be found. Some mystery surrounds this, but here lies our pursuit."

She falls silent. She can hear the wind sighing through the grasses at the very top of the tall dune that backs the beach; the breath and cough of the travellers scattered about the beach; the slight rustle of a piece of driftwood settling.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana takes the chalice and her hand brushes against Clawdine's. The unspoken moment of sympathy is enough to allow her to speak of her regret.

"I failed us, Clawdine. I should have worked on bringing us through the … the ..."

She pauses. Something at the back of her mind makes her uneasy about going on. Reasoning that that was quite enough admission of weakness from a De Vanés, she changes tack.

"Something happened, Clawdine. And someone knows why, even if they don't know that they know. Who or what was Kavetseki carrying that led to … led to … ”

Gunriana turns abruptly, as Frithwynne's words suddenly strike her. Twenty years? What did that mean? Certainly nothing good. Either the woman was mad, or ...

Breaking out of that train of thought and back to her own contemplations, she raises her voice to carry across the beach.

“You! All of you! Why were you on Kavetseki? What do you know of what happened aboard, what happened before … before … HERE? Will you speak me truth or must I ask the fates to show me which of you knows what brought this upon us? If you have had your fill of ill luck for today, it would be best to answer me.”

Gunriana spins on her heal and begins combing the beach for the thirteen small pieces of driftwood she will need if she must appeal to her mothers for enlightenment.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne tries to say more about the storm, but the moment of inspiration is past, and she bends over sharply, gagging against some sudden obstruction in her throat.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine's eyes turned dreamy as she struggled to remember.

There was a before? Before the boat? What did before look like?

She closed her eyes against the shipwracked beach and peered down into the deepest yearnings of her soul.

Sunlight. She remembered sunlight, and warmth. And freedom.

What was freedom? She gazed across the dark pebbled beach to the wild sea under its still stormy sky. Certainly not this. But how to find it, she did not know. Not yet.

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Er says clearly, "We need to cook the meat and collect what's curing in a sound vessel."

Looking around he thinks it unlikely that any of them can cook, he tries a ***living of the land*** check to light the fire and cook the meat.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne hears Er's appeal, but first she must answer Gunriana.

"I was aboard to watch the proper handling of the fleece bales. I found it odd when we cast anchor and Dorainen dove in, and even odder when he came up with the chest. I've sailed on wool merchant ships before, and never before had such a thing happened."

And to Er: "I could knot up the corners of my kirtle to form pockets. But it would be a wet and messy job carrying the meat that way. Let us see if anyone else has a better way for carrying. Or we may all need to carry what we can, by whatever means. Or perhaps we could felt packs from the wool bales. Excuse me, Guardian."

Still holding the halberd blade, she leaves Jetse and goes to the nearest bale. Even as she nears it, she can see that it is badly rotted. She reaches it and pulls at the wool, only to find that it has solidified into a useless mass.

She returns to Er. "I am sorry, the wool is beyond saving."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

The stick fell from Mary Drake's hand as her arm cramped. She considered what people were saying.

"No! Er wait. There is some strong spell to ill here that we cannot speak of what happened. Let us heed Frithwynne's words and get away from this beach! Inland away from this sea which caused this grief ere we talk, eat, and rest."

After a moment's thought, "I can carry some of the wood"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

There was more, Clawdine remembered.

When King was young, and water was a friend. She remembered riding naked on his strong back. Galloping through streams with his mane and her blonde hair flying through the sprays of rainbow droplets that his hooves flung up. They were so happy together.

She sighed deeply, and caught a whiff of her only true soulmate, carved and cooked.

'Thiz be a bad place, Mother,' she muttered to the nun as she handed back the communion vessels. 'There be more death here for uz, if'n we ztay.'

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Er lights the fire and quickly arranges the meat to cook. "There's no point on wasting good food." He says twisting the pieces to make sure they catch evenly, "As soon as someone gathers what's curing and this is cooked we'll be away to the east. I don't fancy travelling with no food, shelter or kit, do you goodwife?"

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

As Gunriana gathers are small collection of sticks, Frithwynne's words begin to sink in, and begin to make sense. Twenty years. Everyone that had been on the ship had looked younger then. More than changed in their faces than could be explained by the storm. Twenty years, passing unnoticed in this cursed place.

Her breath catches as she realises all that this means. In every generation, the De Vanés saying goes, the sea takes its tithe. Her father would not be the first or last of their House to mourn a child lost at sea. He would have made the proper offerings, and sung the laments, and, she hoped, found consolation in knowing that what was written could not be avoided. Her betrothed would be a man of twenty-eight now. Another woman would have shaped his path, felt the sorrows and perhaps the satisfaction that might have been hers. Might even now be nursing a child by him. Gunriana shuddered. That path was one she would now never tread. In her mothers' name she might yet be a shapers of lives and of deaths, but she would bring no infant souls into the world herself.

The future she had expected, not one she had chosen but which she had come to accept, had been snatched away.

The sudden thrill of having, for the first time, no constraints, no bounds beyond what was written in the runes, strikes her at the same time as awareness of how much she has lost. She staggers, and nearly falls, sick to the stomach, but with her mind soaring with the realisation that she is free!

But Frithwynne and Clawdine were right. She adds her voice to theirs.

“Frithwynne and Clawdine are right. We must leave this place – and better to do so with our hands empty than be trapped here another night. Finish what you have to do quickly, and gather what you can now. Let us be going without delay. And talk as we march – something trapped us here. If it has not yet finished with us, we need to put an end to it.”

Gunriana pauses and smiles with bright malice,

"And, unless any of you has anything better to do, I say that we find it and put an end to it anyway, whether it has finished with us or not. But to do that, those of you with some clue about why this happened must share it. The truth, please. All of the truth you can speak.”

[ 04. June 2014, 21:05: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary Drake suddenly stopped while collecting some of the wood Clawdine found and looked at Jetse and the remnants of King.

"I wonder, did Jetse lose his arm and King die each day we've been here or has something changed so that today this happens? Were we once more and have been whittled down in time? Have some escaped if escape is possible?"

She shivered then looked at Mother Aethelreda who was surveying the shore. "If 20 years have passed the only thing we might find usable is some of the Mercer's gold, and, I wouldn't touch that now since it is surely cursed. It was a lot, his agent paid extra for us to be quiet." She paused, "I'm sorry that my husband and I entangled you in this; we needed the money to pay off the loan we had taken to refit the ship."

Turning to the sea witch, "I will surely join you in removing this menace for the sake of Nicholas my husband, of Jan his goodson, of Elric and Abram, of Dan and all the rest who have probably died. May Volos witness"

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Twenty years. You are sure? Nobody in Iljerhaven is waiting for me to return. Nobody would know me. I am nobody to them."

Surprisingly, Jetse didn't sound at all sad about this. "Happy" might not be the right word, but not the wrong one either.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Net Spinster:
"I wonder, did Jetse lose his arm and King die each day we've been here or has something changed so that today this happens? Were we once more and have been whittled down in time? Have some escaped if escape is possible?"

"I do not know. Maybe the darkness that held us here is wearing thin. Maybe it kept us alive, preserved us. How old was the horse? He was no colt when we left. His life was hard, full of work. He grew old like us. He only died today."
"My arm. We saw the wound. I have seen many such wounds. I have had many myself. No man would live for twenty years with that. No, not twenty days, some not twenty hours. Yet all of us, save the elf, show twenty years on our faces."
"Look at our clothes. Wood has rotted away. Iron and steel, even the black steel of the Palatinate, has rusted. Yet our clothes cover us. Twenty years in a chest, and moths would have destroyed them. Twenty weeks of constant wear, and they would be nothing but threads. But somehow, they are preserved."
"Some darkness was holding back the decay near us. Perhaps its time is passing, but is not yet passed. It may now have power only to entrap us, but not to protect us. Maybe. I do not know the ways of darkness. Others do. They say we should leave. Let us leave."

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode listened to the murmuring discussion and nodded his agreement. They should head out of this cursed place as soon as practicable and find a road to someplace where a trader sells soap, and an Inn where the keeper sells good ale.

Posted by IngoB (# 8700) on :

"Old."

Jack was staring at his reflection in a puddle. While it wasn't as good as a mirror, it clearly enough showed a a middle aged man Jack did not recognise. Perhaps an uncle of his...

"I am old."

He looked up to see the others getting on with things. Their talking about being captured here had finally made him realise his state, but the others didn't seem to particularly mind that twenty years had been stolen from them. Jack did. One day he was a young man with many a purse to steal and many a lass to bed, the next day he was...

"Old."

What now? What now? He slumped back onto the beach. As he put his hands in his coat pockets, they found his trusty loaded dice. There was the lucky-six, that had never failed him in fleecing some poor fool. He held it up to his face, and then rolled it on the beach.

It came up one.

A hollow laugh escaped Jack. Then his face set. He laid down his tricorne on the beach, pushing it into the pebbles to stabilise it. Then he made a little heap of all his cards and dice inside it - carefully placing the lucky-six die on top, the side showing one facing up just as it had rolled.

Then he looked around to find Doc Goode. Conveniently the old man, ... his thoughts stumbled:

"The old man!"

Jack shook his head sadly, ... conveniently Doc Goode was sitting there staring, oblivious of the world. Jack sneaked up behind him and used his pickpocket skills to slip his magic shell set into Goode's pocket. Then as stealthily as he had approached, he withdrew backwards away from Goode.

At a safe distance, he turned to the side and walked to find a relatively quiet part of the beach. Luckily that wasn't hard, with everybody being so busy with ... stuff.

Jack hesitated just a moment, gazing back over the land. But then he firmly looked forward to the ocean and dove in. Using long, strong swimming strokes, he was putting a good distance between himself and the beach, and if he had looked back would have seen the figures on the beach becoming smaller and smaller.

His clothes were rapidly soaking in the water now, and it became harder and harder to swim. At this swimming pace, he was not going to last much longer in spite of his strength and technique.

"Good."

He redoubled his efforts, straining every muscle, disappearing rapidly into the wide open sea...

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode was stirred from his reverie by the splash of Jack Gallows diving fully clothed into the sea. Nice day for it, he smirked inwardly, and stood up to watch as Jack made surprising speed directly out to sea. Out of thoughtless habit he put his hands into his coat pockets and his fingers immediately felt a hard object that should not have been there. He pulled it out and glanced at it, and finding it to be a seashell was about to cast it aside before something made him pause in mid toss and he looked back again more carefully. It was a nut shell.

How did that get there? he thought, and in the very forming of the question the answer came to him.

He looked out to sea and shouted out, his voice cracking with strain, ‘Jack! He’s trying to drown himself! Quickly, someone- save him!’

[ 05. June 2014, 12:06: Message edited by: Yorick ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana glances up at John's words. The gambler's figure is moving away with strong, measured strokes, and he shows no lack of determination in pressing on.

Could any of them reach him? And then bring him back safely? He had a long start, and it would be a hard swim to catch him, and then return. The Guardian perhaps had the strength for it, but not with one arm. Only Dorainen seemed likely to be able to manage the task, but even for him it could not be easy.

Gunriana hesitates. She has a strong foreboding that the elf is important. Too important to lose. She looks at the skull at her belt for confirmation.

"Only the turn of a few tides separate us, sister..."

Jack's tide is going out. It would be futile to try to call it back.

She fixes her gaze sorrowfully on John.

"The sea takes its tithe, John Goode. In every generation, the sea must take its tithe."

Gunriana gathers a last twig of driftwood, and then snaps it between her fingers. Jack is gone. Twelve pieces will suffice now. She walks back up the beach, away from the sea, ready to leave.

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode looked askance at Gunriana but said nothing. He turned to see the other members of the party and realised that none would attempt rescue.

He turned his back on the sea, not wishing to witness the final disappearance of his companion into its dark embrace, and started to walk up towards the scrubby low hills at the head of the beach.

‘I’m leaving’, he said, without expression and to nobody in particular.

[ 05. June 2014, 13:37: Message edited by: Yorick ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Without carrying anything?" Mary Drake called after the doctor. However the doctor's move seemed to break the shock of watching one of their party choose death. She rose went to the water the diviner had found and took a long drink. Next she considered the remains of King then took her knife to cut a long shank of hair off his tail, tied it roughly and put it in her pouch. She took some of the jerky and returned to the wood. Taking off the line around her middle, she tied the wood and jerky together into a bundle, lifted it to her back and headed off after the doctor. She wanted away from the beach before anymore died here.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen also turned his gaze from the sea. It would be easier to say what he needed to without having it in view. "My natural skill in water and my magic could combine to save him, but my magic is only for healing. Jack would not consider having his life prolonged as an instance of healing, so it would be futile.

"I know most of you cannot read my expression, I often fail to read yours, so I must tell you something plainly: I hate the idea of leaving the sea, but I fear we must. I am ready to walk away."

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Mother Aethelreda binds together as much driftwood as possible with the shreds of her pack and ties the bundle to her back. As an afterthought, she collects a few clumps of seaweed and tucks them inside her habit. Maybe they can be used to dress wounds or ward off scurvy or something.

How could she have failed to notice Jack's despair? She wishes fervently that one of the "real" nuns were here in her place. At the convent she's always felt like an impostor in the midst of truly holy, powerful women; a sturdy donkey among racehorses. Now, out in the World, her practicality still isn't an asset.

"Hurry, everyone. Curse or no curse, we need to get off this beach before another storm strikes." (Although, come to that, they must have survived hundreds of storms over the twenty years they've apparently been trapped here... Better not to think about it now.)

Stumping after John and Mary, she fingers her rosary beads as she goes. If she couldn't offer Jack any comfort in life, she can at least pray for his soul's safe passage in death. Over and over she gabbles the prayers for the dead and gradually finds herself breathing in rhythm with her steps: "Help us, Mother; guide us, Mother; help us, Mother; guide us, Mother..."

Suddenly she stumbles as images burn across her vision. A woman brooding over the rivers as a mother broods over her children, tears dropping into the flow. The party walking through the woods. A long line of rough carts heading north. A dwarf looking at a dice roll- could that be Jack's old lucky die on the ground? Massive stone gates with guardsmen spitting vile oaths over the walls. A table with a boat model covered in some kind of white crystals. Salt?

Days of beekeeping and gardening and nights of dozing through Compline have left Aethelreda completely unprepared for an actual spiritual experience. She shakes her head violently. Could these pictures be real images of the future, a true message from the Mother? Can they be changed? Should they be changed?

She screams to the others: "Listen! I've just seen a vision! I think?" Once everyone gathers she describes the images she's seen. At least there are no pictures of further death or destruction, and it appeared that the whole party was still present when they were walking through the woods. That must be a hopeful sign. Right? Right?

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er rolled his eyes in frustration. He's been concentrating on cooking and curing as much of the horse meat as he can so that the party has something to eat for a few days at least and now they are all walking off without helping carry any of it, or eating anything.

He had noticed some kerfuffle happening at the shore line but a quick glance over his shoulder had spotted Doctor Goode, Dorainen and Mary Drake and thought that they should be more than capable of sorting out any problem. But it seemed not, as Mary Drake and Dr Goode had already left.

Now what? He wonders if he can use his ***living off the land*** skill to build a travois from driftwood and the horse hide to carry more of the meat with him.

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel thinks the trail he was following has probably gone cold by now. There's always revenge. Or justice. Or making sure that other people don't fall foul of the same curse.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Don't run in the face of danger. Keep order. Be ready to face it. Flight and disorder weaken.
"There is still time in the day. We have food here. We should eat it, and take what we can with us. We must plan. Be ready. Leave before sunset, but not while weak."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary Drake munched on the skewer of meat she had taken just before leaving from Er, tough but nourishing she hoped. She paused at the top of the hillock at the head of the beach and turned back to see if others were following. While waiting she murmured childhood prayers to the Seamother for those gone from her husband Nicholas to King to Jack.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Er realises that a little tinkering should give him an ***OK*** chance of building a travois.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looks around and spots a couple of regular lengths of wood on the beach, bigger than the driftwood collected for the fires. He reckons that he can tinker together something to carry a decent amount of meat if he puts together a travois he can drag. So what he needs is a harness and a platform to hold the meat.

Keeping an eye on the meat cooking and drying, he begins to use sinews to strap the main section of the hide part way down the beams of wood - oddly even these lengths, they give him strange dream-like flashes of masts and sails. He lashes the platform together in such a way to conserve as much as the hide for later use as possible, thinking "waste not, want not, who knows what we'll need in the future".

When he's built the platform he cuts strips of leather from the tatty edges of the hide to create a harness around his chest and shoulders to help him drag the load behind him.

There's a fair amount of meat cooked and dried, some even cooled enough to load on the travois.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The survivors head inland, Er hauling his travois behind him. Passing over the low scrubby hill, they reach the edge of a wood.

As soon as they leave sight of the shore, it feels as if a burden is lifted.

[ 05. June 2014, 20:22: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Right says Daniel. Our best clue is to go through the forest and head north. Does anyone know which way is north? I believe it's the side with the moss. Or is it the side without the moss. Either way these trees seem to have moss on both sides to me.
Daniel will follow Mary Drake, Er Maker, Dorainen, or especially Frithwynne.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looks up confused. He knows that the main trade routes are east - to Cimester. "Why do you think we should head north, Daniel?"

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

A prophecy. Something Gunriana must reflect on.

She remembers, and rubs her cheek unconsciously as she does, a day long ago, when she had asked her great-aunt...

“And can the runes tell the future, auntie?”

The slap across her face had come so suddenly that she was too shocked to cry. The witch spoke in a clam voice, as if nothing had happened.

“You know better than that, Gunri. No, there is no 'telling the future'. By the runes I can read what is written. That is all. It matters not when something will happen. It is written already. We read, and sometimes we shape, but we never, never, think of 'the future' as something far off. There is only what is written in the runes.”

Her cheek was stinging hard, and there were tears in her eyes now. “I … I see that.”

“Do you want to know what will happen, then, Gunri?”

“Yes!” She had been excited at that.

“Really? Everything that happens? And if you had known I would strike you, what would you have done today?”

“I'd have stayed out of ...” She had stopped. She understood. To know what would happen wouldn't change what was written, but would tempt her to fight against her mothers. To do that was unthinkable. It was knowledge that should not be sought. She had spoken softly.

“It was written. And it would be best not to know.”

Gunriana's thoughts return to the present. Better not to know – but when the fates send a prophecy, they do it for a reason. The symbols are there to be read.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

“One speaks, another interprets, Sister. Clawdine's rune is Logr and it was the death that grieved her that broke our spell. She is the river-woman, and her pain frees us. Everything else we did, thought or said today we had done before – until King died. That was the thing that was not repeated, the first new thing in twenty years. Likely we were enchanted to remain here 'until death', but the sorcery miscarried. King's death was enough to fufill our enemy's word, and gave us our freedom. That is the first image.”

She pauses, thinking.

“Our group in the woods. That is harder. Yew is not oak. Birch is not thorn. Did you she what trees we passed in the vision? I fear it matters. And were we all there? King, and Jack Gallows with us? All twelve of us in the midst of a forest of ash would be a vision to make the bravest fear, for that would show the dark wood all flesh must one day enter. But the sight of those of us remaining walking amongst alders would lift the lowest spirits, as it would portend a journey to a good end. Do you recall more of that picture?”

The other visions?

“A journey north, with wagons. Two meanings – we are heading north, and what we seek may have been carried there too. But northwards and netherwards is ever the way to the silent lands, and the years that have been taken from us have rolled down to that deathly place, carried away with all our hopes for the lost days.”

Inspiration is failing.

“The gates I cannot read. A gate is both barrier and defence. A guarded gate suggests difficulty and danger, but no seercraft is needed to foresee that.”

The next is easier.

“The dwarf may be our adversary, or the slave of our adversary, and the dice, if they are not Jack's dice, are his symbol. His death was written for this day, and with it the end of our bondage. If I read the sign right, he knows, or will know, that the spell is broken, but for the moment feels only a vague interest in what we will do, and no fear. This may be to our advantage.”

The last image provokes thoughts that cannot be spoken.

“The ship … the ship … if any doubt were left that our enemy's malice was directed at us then … I will speak no more of that.”

One last thought.

“These may also be true visions of what is written, a seeing of what will occur, sent to us by my mothers as signs. If we meet those our Sister has described, they may show a deeper meaning. Clawdine – will you complete the rite? The sign is given, the sign is interpreted, will you proclaim what is to be done?”

[ 05. June 2014, 21:46: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine had sat like a stone among the tussocks at the top of the beach as Jack had swum out to sea.

'This be a bad place, Clawdine,' she'd said to herself. 'It be 'olding us 'ostage.'

But Jack and King were free now. What of the rest of them? She looked at those left on the beach, as they prepared to leave. How many would survive? But leave they must.

She watched as Frithwynne filled her waterskin, Mother and Mary made bundles, and Er tinkered with what was left of KIng. One by one they trailed off the beach. When all had gone, she turned back and with great precision drew an arch in the air with her index finger.

Beginning at King's head, a rainbow appeared and climbed through the sky until the other end rested far out at sea, where they had last glimpsed Jack.

She stood then, and strode after Gunriana, who was waiting for her with a question.

'What muz be done? There be unfinished bizznez to do with that boat, I reckon.' Her eyes grew dark as she thought about what might need to happen next.*** 'We needz ter finish it one way or t'other. But mozt of all we needz a friendly place ter kip ternight.
Duz anyone know where we are?'

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"I vote we get as much distance from the beach as we can before we sleep. Once the stars arise, we can get firm bearings and head North. For now, 'away from the beach' is enough for me, the deeper into the forest the better," said Dorainen.

He sidled up to Er: "Er, I'm afraid I have never understood human norms around thanking people. I have no appetite now, and probably will not until after dawn at the earliest. When I do, I shall be glad for your work on the horse."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"I'm feeling stronger so I might be able to ***find north*** soon even without the stars", Mary Drake stated. She then bent down as the load of wood and meat which would have been light for her 20 years ago was no longer.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had not understood what was happening until Jack was already shoulder-deep in water. Just as realization came to her, Doctor Goode cried out, and Jack started to swim, a powerful stroke directly away from shore. She stared, helpless, shocked.

The shock seemed to galvanize the party. Stirrings all through the remaining travelers, preparations for travel. Er was making a travois, Frithwynne saw gratefully. She wouldn't have to carry wet salty half-cured jerky in her kilted-up skirt after all. She went and filled her water-bottle with water.

When almost everyone had left the beach, she walked over to Jack's tricorne, lying upside-down on the beach. She picked up the cards and dice lying inside it. Oh well, kilting-up it would be after all. She knotted one side of her kirtle to her belt, and dropped the cards and dice into the pocket thus formed. Then she picked up the hat and dusted the sand from its crown as best she could before settling it on her head. The hat was a little too big, and sat at an odd angle. She wondered if it would give her even the smallest morsel of charm she had seen Jack using on the ship, and then almost discarded the hat, thinking that such charm could be dangerous.

Practicality won out, though. No knowing what kind of weather was ahead, and a good hat would always be useful. Still holding Jetse's ruined halberd blade, she climbed the dune backing the beach, following the other travellers.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary stopped, turned in a circle and then pointed to the left of the direction the party was traveling. "That way is north, but, methinks we should continue away from the sea. If the beach is near where we were before the storm, we should be on the Maturin peninsula but given the magic that ensnarled us we may be anywhere in the world between the everwarm Cyclades and evericy Thule."

She paused and looked ahead, "Where has the doctor gotten too?"

[ 06. June 2014, 05:37: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er clears his throat and shuffles his feet, "I know where we are, bin 'ere afore. We ain't so far off our course, just bit to the west. I reckon we landed on the western coast of the Maturin peninsula. If we go inland to the east we should hit the main trade route between Barvick and Cimester. We'm s'posed to dock at Cimester? See those hills there, and this pebbled beach - if I'm right there should be scrubland and bits of forest beyond this beach."

He scratches his head before continuing, "mind, if we'm bin here for 20 years, might be a bit of a shock if we just walk into Cimester ... but a trading route means inns, taverns, trading ... and we need to replace what we'm lost"

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode had been sitting on a hillock under a tree, watching the party gather its things and leave the beach. There was a thin chill in the damp onshore breeze and he gave an involuntary shudder. It would be well to depart this place.

As the straggling party of travellers approached, he stood and made his way over to join them. He smiled sadly as they gathered into a party and as they discussed the direction and set off, he strolled alongside Er.

‘That sounds very encouraging. I hope we may find an apothecary, for I need herbs.' He looked at the excellent platform Er had made, and nodded his approval. I’ll take that travois when you weary of it,’ he said.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine followed the others until the coarse coastal scrub turned into more densely wooded terrain.

It was getting darker with every step, and the travellers were beginning to call out to each other to make sure no-one got lost as they traveled in ones and twos away from the cursed beach.

At about the same time someone asked where the doctor was, a light flicked on ahead of them.

'Well, that be a right 'andy thing,' said Clawdine, to no-one in particular. 'At least if there'z anything in thiz wood that wantz ter find uz, it'll know where we be.'

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana talks to the others as they make their way into the wood.

"I agree with those who think we should go east to the road, then north. Even men with swords can starve in the wilderness. That does not happen so often in settled lands.

We have yet to share all we know of why we were trapped. Everyone who can speak to that, must do so, or tell us that they know nothing. I do not want to use my arts to find out which of us is holding back truth, so speak now.

We know that the ship left the usual course in sight of land, and that Dorainen dived for a chest at the sea bed. Quite a feat - who knew how to steer there with such accuracy?

Then the cutter met us. Again, how? What signals were arranged?

Mistress Drake mentions a mercer and his agent. Who are they? Where did you met them, and under what pretext? What clues did they give on the nature of their business? What did they look like? Above all, where do we find them?

She says that they took his commission for gold to pay a loan on the ship. What was the loan for - and what circumstances forced you to it? And who was the banker, and what security did they demand?"

'Not House De Vanés...' she wishes, silently. The banker, whoever it is may well be in the counsel of the enemy.

"And who else knew of this? On what persuasion did you take part in it?"

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Good watched Gunriana closely during her speech, wondering about the ‘arts’ by which she could reveal things that were unspoken. He thought about the boy betrothed to her, who would have come of age by now, and felt a merry little twinge of pity for the chap.

‘For myself, I know nothing of these things’ he said easily. It would have been a simple enough matter for him to lie about this, even to a woman with those arts, but as it happened it was the truth.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

The sandy soil and low scrub was hard to walk through but when they stopped at the wood's edge Mary tried answering some of the questions.

"Aye, Cimester was where we were going. Haven't been there often but had good relations with the de Morgans, even carried one of their agents there three years ago". She paused, "No twenty-three years ago from Dunwich. He was 70 then, a hale 70 but." She walked over to Er and Gunriana but speaking so others could hear. "The ship needed new sails, a new mast, and a new ship's boat. Time takes its toll on all and it was time; however, trade hasn't been so good recently. The herring have failed to show in good numbers off of Dunwich for several years and it had no kippers to sell and little money to buy our wares. At our last port a man approached my husband and offered a deal. Could we find a point on the north-west edge of the Duggar bank which was exactly 15 fathoms deep but surrounded by shallower waters where the bottom was a particular mixture of red and green sand (odd green that, it sparkled) and retrieve a chest from the wreck of one of his master's ships? He had already hired the elf to do the actual diving," she nodded in the direction of Dorainen. "Not sure what was in the chest but not gold or white gold or gems, too light; my husband and I suspected papers. The agent would wait for us for a week after the full moon just north of Manacle, you must have noticed all the seabirds around those lone low rocks. The trap for the unwary sailor that lies just out-of-sight of the westmost point of the mainland so most stay well clear." After a couple of minutes of silence, "You must have noticed us constantly sounding, Jan was really learning the fine points. He is..was a good boy." She sighed and went on. "The agent gave us the name of Arnulf de Nemo for his master. Not one we've heard and we both thought it false but we were desperate for the money."

[ 06. June 2014, 14:48: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana wishes, possibly for the first time, that she had paid as much attention to her father and brothers when they spoke of interest rates and trade pacts as she did when her father and his brothers talked of night raids and shield-walls. As it was, she would have to rely on her ***wits*** to see if she could recall anything of any Arnulf de Nemo.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"I must have met the same man," added Dorainen. "Since leaving the teyv, I had found an innkeeper in Monhaut who gave me free room and board in exchange for entertaining his guests with diving tricks in the nearby bay, also working the occasional healing spell for guests who either showed up the worse for wear from the journey or somehow got themselves in that state during their stay.

"One day, a strange man approached me. He said he was working for this De Nemo, a name that meant nothing to me, but I pretended I knew it because I thought, the way he said it, that it was a name I should have been impressed at. He was a mountain-looking man, if that elven phrase translates adequately. Tall, certainly, but also rough in appearance, craggy, imposing, with no hair above the 'tree line.' He told me that I would be rewarded with many beautiful jewels if I completed just one dive for him. He showed me some, they were brilliant red and green gems. I thought how well they would adorn our festival hut in the teyv, so agreed.

"The ship was by far the most impressive I had been on. I had never understood why humans don't just swim wherever they want to go, but this boat gave me a hint: they want to make being at sea feel like being at home. Anyway, a fifteen fathom dive was a pleasant exercise. When I reached the chest, I noticed that it was surrounded by sand that resembled the jewels I had been shown. The chest didn't seem to want to be lifted. I couldn't exactly hear it, but it was like it was singing to me, a mournful melody, despondent at its transfer. It was light though, and returning to the surface was easy. Once the chest was hoisted to the ship, the music instantly ceased.

"Shortly afterwards, the mountain man came aboard. It sounds strange, but he looked younger than I had remembered him. I put that down to my unfamiliarity with human aging at the time, but given recent events I can't be so sure now. As he took the chest to his cutter, it got sprayed by the waves and the sense returned to me that it was singing, though I couldn't exactly say that I literally heard anything. The song was no longer despondent, but panicked, like a scared cat screeching. It disturbed me so that I went below deck to lie down.

"I don't know if I truly remember the storm. I know I have dreamt of it often, but the dreams contradict each other. Which is real I cannot say."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

No, the name meant nothing. Gunriana might never have paid much heed to commerce, but if a De Nemo had been a trading presence, she should had least have heard the name. But even a false name could be a clue.

“I think, Dorainen, that if neither Mistress Drake or I have heard of this De Nemo, this Master Nobody, he is not the well known trader you took him to be. At least not under that name.

Still, he chose Arnulf as a given name, and even a scoundrel...” she glances at John “...may give away something in assuming a name of convenience. Arn-ulf. The eagle-wolf. A kenning for the bird of the slain, raven or crow? Or merely a far-sighted dog?

We are looking for a rich man, possibly with interests in Dunwich and Monhaut, a man of the sea, to know such a meeting point as he gave to Mistress Drake, who would play with the name Arnulf. Do any of us know such a man, under the name of wolf or crow, or with a sign or banner with such a beast? A Vulf, Varg, Valdyr or Loup, a Crow, Corbie, Hrafn or Rook, or with that as part of their name?

There will be a reason for his choice. It may be a reason personal to him, that we will not guess, but there is the chance that an arrogant enemy has given us an insight. If my guesses have stirred any memory in any of you, speak.”

Gunriana looks around at the trees.

“Sister – is this the wood that you saw in your vision?”

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Despite the fact that they were walking into the unknown as the twilight faded, Clawdine felt her spirit quicken. One by one they were becoming conscious of new possibilities. With the dreadful limbo of the last twenty years now behind them, the conversation drifting up and down the gaggle of walkers centred on trying to piece together what had gone on before the storm.

All she remembered was being told to stay below deck until the watch bell sounded, and listening to Frithwynne trying to keep King quiet in his pen on the deck. Even though she had been clattering pans about in the ship's galley, she could still hear King stamping his feet and snorting his displeasure.

That recollection would not help any of them now. But her spirit told her that at least now there was Hope. They were moving forward, and this would bring them somewhere soon. She was sure of it.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Eliab:
We have yet to share all we know of why we were trapped. Everyone who can speak to that, must do so, or tell us that they know nothing. I do not want to use my arts to find out which of us is holding back truth, so speak now.

"What I know, you'll hear. What's being held back won't be by me. Your arts may be needed. But first, what I saw.

"Our contact was a smuggler. I've seen men like him before many a time. Might even have had to work with a few. Almost never in Ijzerhaven. Most stay clear of the main ports. Customs guards love to catch 'em, even when they work for the Duchy. No trader in that business has a clean record, and guards get noticed for catching rats. Runners stick to smaller harbors, slackwaters, hidden anchorages, then meet you in open water.

"This one…never seen him before. Wasn't the best. We got a name. That's enough to trace, if you know people. The best let you know nothing. Even under your charms, I couldn't tell you anything about the ones I met before. Ours had experience, but was sloppy. Law around here must tolerate them. He'd be more careful otherwise.

"Standard transaction otherwise. Cutter pulled alongside. Agent comes aboard. Nobody else with him. I stand next to him. Usual greetings. No funny business. Gives our elf a bag—might have been pay, might have been something to keep us quiet. He bows, wishes us well. Then into his ship, and off. After that…

"That's what I remember. Wonder what was in that bag. Wouldn't be the first smuggler to silence his customers."

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

“De Nemo, eh?” Aethelreda nodded to Mary and Gunriana. “The reason you haven't heard of him is he doesn't exist. Those vile Gasloughs travel under the name when it suits them and drop it when it gets too hot.”

She noticed the looks of incomprehension among the non-commercial party members. “The Gasloughs are a pack of filthy smugglers. They operate out of all the little towns along the coastline here. Every now and then the sheriff's men haul in some of the boat runners, but no one's ever been able to catch their top man. They're all related somehow, not all on the right side of the blanket, but they're disgustingly loyal to each other, and it's not often the sheriff can get a man inside to learn their secrets. I suppose it would be admirable if it weren't so maddening.

“They've cut into my father's wool trade for years. Bringing in stolen goods and dodging the excise men- they charge a low enough wholesale price that some of the poorer merchants buy from them almost exclusively. No decent house would touch them, but since the drought came on a few years ago there are plenty who are desperate enough to deal.

“...Or at least that's how it stood when we left. Who knows what's happened in the last twenty years?”

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Odd," Mary mused, "it was the same man who met us in Starkhaven, our posted port before Barvick, and on the cutter. Perhaps the one who met Dorainen was younger kin to the one we met? He told us to stop at Monhaut to pick up Dorainen before Barvick (not a usual stop for us but we got some fine mother-of-pearl there) and the excursion for the dive after Barvick but otherwise we could continue our planned route. Easy work though we had some doubts but salvage is not smuggling, not smuggling. In case of trouble we hired Jetse, all know the Canton men for loyalty and hard fighting, and the crew were also told to have weapons ready when we met the cutter. The Guild Bank in Starkhaven verified that the first payment was true gold in imperial ducats and the final payment to us looked good. I was counting it when the ..." She suddenly stopped unable to continue that part of the story.

"Why outsiders? I can understand hiring Dorainen as humans can't dive that deep without magical abilities. But why not a local fishing boat? The Duggar hasn't been fished since some blight banished the fish 20 no 40 years ago, but, the older locals know it, might even had known exactly where to find that hole. First mate Elric was the only one on our crew who knew these waters. Left as a lad some 55 years ago now, family quarrel and a bit of wanderlust, I believe, though Nicholas knows more. Nicholas..." with that she fell silent, lowered her eyes, and struggled to not cry.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The party are walking through a sparse wood, there is little undergrowth between the widely spaced trees, pigs must be grazed here. As it gets towards dusk, dappled light still makes its way between the trees.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine knew they were not alone in the wood, long before the others. But even in the diminishing light the lead party could now see the telltale signs that they were traversing wild pig territory. She stopped and bent down to retrieve something withered from a pile of ordure.

She wasn't hungry yet, but she was certainly not going to be dining off horsemeat when they did stop. Where there were pigs, there were usually wild sugar apples, cobnuts and cloudberries to be had.
Her eyes gleamed in the dusk at the thought of such bounty.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er trudges through the wood, grateful for the lack of undergrowth to catch the travois. Looking around him he wonders if he can use his ***living off the land*** skills to find food to forage in the wood. Can he use his ***living off the land*** skills to tell whether this is cultivated land or wild woodland?

He has much to think about - he remembers being below deck playing cards before the ... the .. his brain hangs up in turmoil. How does this conversation add up? Were these smugglers the same people who sold those dodgy goods at fairs? Who can remember from those days? The names being bandied about don't sound familiar.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Er reckons it would be ***easy*** to live off the land around here, though it would mean spending some time here - it is getting dark ...

[ 07. June 2014, 14:08: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen yawned. It had been a long day. "Maybe we had best settle down for the night. It's probably safer to camp here than on the open road, anyway." (Caveat lector: dramatic irony has been known to attach itself to certain statements). "In the morning, I'd be happy to track and hunt some of that wild boar. But, for now, I might ask if someone else could keep watch. I must admit, I'm not used to travailing such distances solely by foot and I'm rather fatigued."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana considers carefully this new information.

“It seems to me that we have at least two forces at work. There is Arnulf, who brought us into this, and there is the one who … who … trapped us with sorcery. They are not the same. The sheer power needed to do what was done to us would be immense. Can we doubt that anyone able to wield strength like that was unable to call us a chest from the sea-bed? No, that power was unleashed by whoever was guarding it.

That was why we were involved. This Arnulf did not need your ship, Mistress Drake, nor even your talents, Dorainen, to recover the chest. We know that. He knew where it lay, and he, or someone working for him, had already recovered jewels which seem likely to have come from the same place. The only reason we were involved must be that he knew that to take it would provoke a curse on the taker, one that he could not avoid by superior power. Our true enemy is therefore a lesser force than the power behind our curse – which accords with the vision of our chief foe as a dwarf.

Then who is our foe? One of the Gadlough band, who perhaps looked into the wrong book that he had stolen or been paid to deliver? Our were the Gasloughs used as we were used? We can be assured of one thing – whatever was in that chest was worth taking extraordinary risks to find, and if a band of smugglers were given wealth and power of that degree, after twenty years they will be petty smugglers no more. Either they will have overreached themselves and been destroyed, or they will have risen greatly in status. If they were mere pawns, twenty years gives them an ignominious existence or an ignominious end. We should indeed make north to Cimenster. We should be able to learn in any major port what has happened to these smugglers.”

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Er blinks, "I fear you are confused good fellows. The road to either Barvick or Cimenster is to the East, assuming the passage of time has not changed this." He says. "As the Captin's wife states that North is to the left of us surely we should proceed forward with some haste.

"Although traveling in the dark is not well thought out none of us has any means of shelter nor are we sure of that our enemy is unaware of our escape. Maybe fires in the woods near our prison or sleep are similarly unwise?"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

'Er be right', Clawdine nodded. 'we shouldn't stop fer long in these parts.'

She didn't know whether the wood was a natural habitat for the pigs, or whether they belonged to some Lord who liked to hunt game here, but she did know that they had already passed several trees where the leaves had been piled invitingly around the base.

'Looks like pig-nests ter me,' Clawdine muttered to herself, 'and they'll be up with the moon ter forage.'

She shuffled forward and positioned herself closer to those in the party carrying knives.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary stumbled a bit in the dark, "But how far before we are safe? It little helps us to continue until we collapse and then get devoured by perfectly ordinary boar without the enemy or enemies ever being aware of us leaving. Perhaps the road would be a good point but is it half a day's journey or several days journey away?"

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er dug deep in his memory. "It seems to me that we're about 5 miles from the road. We've been travelling for an hour now. If we keep up that pace, we should make the road in a couple of hours. What do you'm think? Should we try for the road now and camp there overnight?"

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana is tired, and amongst the least strong of the group, but not inclined to admit weakness.

"I will sleep better for every step I take from that beach. I say we press on until we are at least in sight of the road, unless any one of us can go no further."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary grunted and kept on. At least the woods was easier than the scrubland and sand before. She kept half an eye on Jetse, whether he was still in the ship's employ or not he was still partly her responsibility. When and how had he been wounded?

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Five miles to the road in the dark? They could try - although there was no guarantee the road would be any safer than the wood. Who owned the cartways in these parts? Clawdine pulled her tattered shawls tighter around her.

And were boar the only creature to be found in the shadows around them? What of the things that like to prey on pig?

Once upon a time she would have happily climbed a tree for a doze in the dark, but she suspected her tree-climbing days were over.

'I hopes yer right, Er. After two hourz most of uz'll be done in. Road or no road, we'll need a sup of summat and ter rest our bonez. We ain't az young az we uzed ter be!'

Clawdine cackled for a moment at her own joke. But as no-one else joined in, she soon lapsed back into a thoughtful silence, with only the steady turning of her head any indication that she was using her old eyes as keenly as possible in the gloom.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Not next to the road. Thieves and brigands wait there. Here? Maybe just pigs. Maybe not, though. Too exposed. We can see, yes; also be seen. Could work if some of us kept watch. Hide. Let them underestimate us. Undercount.

"Those trees would provide cover. Two of us have bows. They should watch from above. Those who can climb can join them. I'll be first."

Jetse noticed the looks he got at that last statement.

"You think I cannot? A man with one hand, climbing? You think I haven't before? Never lost limbs, never fought on ships, underground? These trees will be easy. They're still. They don't want me dead."

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel says, five miles in two hours doesn't sound too difficult, but may I remind people that some of us are not as young as we used to be.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

The party seemed intent on heading east, away from that beach in the fastest way possible not even wanting to stop as Jetse suggested. Not a person spoke. Mary stumbled, the dark, her new old body, she didn't like this wood, were they in a different trap?

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne follows the group. She is feeling more alert since they have left the beach, but the mystery of Jack's despair weighs on her. She listens to the discussion about which way to go, and where to stop for the night and wonders if she can ***intuit*** which would be the better choice, or indeed whether or not it matters at all.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Ariston:

" These trees will be easy. They're still. They don't want me dead."

Clawdine smiled wryly in the dark, and muttered in Jetse's direction 'O, don't they, indeed? I wouldne be so sure 'bout that...'

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne has been puzzled by much of the talk in the woods, but once she starts to review it in her mind and set it in order, she finds it ***easy*** to come to a strong intuition of the right choice.

"Hai!" calls Frithwynne, softly, to the travelers closest to her. She is afraid to call too loudly in the hush of the woods, but she must communicate her sense and hope that they will believe her.

"My sense is that we should push on to the road, as fast as we may. Consider the reverend mother's vision from holy inspiration, which the Lady Gunriana also told for us as a true vision. So we should trust it.

"Mother of rivers weeping was our gooddame Clawdine, Lady Gunriana said, in her telling of Mother Aethelreda's vision.

"And the next part of the vision, walking in a woods -- well here we are. And I think we are passing through a grove of alders now.

"Next is the caravan of wagons on a road heading north. The sooner to the road, the more chance of meeting whatever caravan Mother Aethelreda has seen in her vision. And a caravan, whether the caravan of the vision or not, will likely have guards and offer additional protection from brigands. I think we are a large party to ask our Guardian Jetse to defend all of us alone, and brigands will be less likely to attack a caravan at all.

"In the woods our only choices are neutral -- no attack -- or bad -- brigands. At the road we add also a good possible outcome -- meeting a caravan. Better to keep going forwards to the road to meet possibility of good in our future, than tarrying here in the woods overlong.

"When we sight the caravan, we will need to have thought of a way to approach them so as not to cause alarm, and once having approached them, we will need to persuade them to let us join. I think between us we surely can share our knowledge and gifts to accomplish this.

"I do not know if you would credit the word of a small shepherd las- woman in this," (Frithwynne suddenly faces the fact that after the magic of the beach, she is a lass no more, although she fears she has not the wisdom of the women of her current age that she knew as a child) "but I pray that you will."

Frithwynne picks up her own pace, and starts to pass towards the front of the line of travellers, repeating her message to each small group as she passes.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

By the time the party reach the edge of the woods, the moon is fully risen, they can see the curve of the road in the distance, and some moving lights - perhaps lanterns on the wagons, or perhaps lanterns being carried ?

[ 08. June 2014, 23:57: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne is relieved to see the signs that they are nearly at the road. She had passed to the front of the line of travelers, and tried to press the pace, hoping that she could speed the group through physical example, in case they didn't heed her words. And here they are, at last.

As she walked, she had considered the travelers.

Mary Drake, captain's wife, captain now, if they were still on board ship.

The Lady Gunriana, noble in bearing and in words.

Mother Aethelreda, somewhat of a mystery to Frithwynne. She seems not quite like the few nuns she met in her youth in the village, come to trade for wool for the convent, but Frithwynne can't place the difference.

Er Maker, pulling the travois, handy and confident even in this wilderness.

Daniel Van Adescant, who has been very quiet, both in Frithwynne's memory on board ship, and now on the beach and in the woods, although Frithwynne recalls traces of a quicksilver wit on board ship. She wonders if she had ever met him before; he gives her a sense of déja vu.

The doctor, John Goode, a good healing man, although fond of gambling if Frithwynne judges the nights John and Jack spent together on deck aright. Although Frithwynne has picked up Jack's cards and dice, she's suspicious of gambling. She has seen men enjoying themselves pleasantly in the tavern, and she has also seen men ruined at the tavern, by any or all of the vices to be found there.

Guardian Jetse Vos, a strong fighting man, and seemingly still strong, despite the twenty years age and the loss of an arm.

The elf Dorainen, a source of great wonder for Frithwynne, who had never met an elf before coming on board the Ka... the ship.

Jack Gallows who was gone. Frithwynne had touched the tricorn briefly, in valedictory. Jack wouldn't thank her for drawing his soul into the woods from the sea where it sought release, Frithwynne had thought, so she had traced the sign for release on the brim of the hat, and turned her hand face up towards the alders they were passing by. "Go in Peace, Seigneur Gallows," she had murmured.

Herself, for whom she hopes only that the party will find her useful to keep around. Now that there is no wool or horse to be tended, she wonders what skill she can show the group that will lead them to think her worth sharing their protection and their food.

Clawdine, perhaps similarly lost. And yet Clawdine, mother of rivers, Lady Gunriana had declared, in her telling of Mother Aethelreda's vision. That spoke of powers the group would surely find worth keeping, to say nothing of Clawdine's practical skills.

[ 09. June 2014, 00:07: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne finds two particular members of the group, and addresses them:

"Er Maker, Doctor Goode. Here is the road, and I hope the caravan. The next part of the vision is dwarf looking at dice on the ground in bemusement. I do not know when we will meet this dwarf, but apparently it will be before we reach the gates of a town, and thus it may be soon, depending on how far we are from Cimenster. I have no skill at dice, nor charm to persuade anyone to play with me, much less one of the inscrutable dwarves, but I think one of you may have talents in this wise. May I give Seigneur Gallows' dice to one of you, to use when we meet this dwarf? I do not know how much time we will have in this visioned meeting, and whether we will need to proceed quickly, nor indeed whether it will be the dwarf's dice or our own which are thrown. But I think it well for us to be prepared."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary listened to Frithwynne's words and felt hope rising, but, they had only a short time to make decisions before the caravan in the distance arrived.

"Prepared indeed"

"We must stay together and protect each other. Let us pool our talents especially considering we look like a band of beggars, and make the best offer we can to the caravan approaching." She paused, "If it is wise to join; it is odd they choose to move at night even under a full moon. We also need to judge whether it is safe. I also suspect it is not wise to mention the curse that touched us for that would cause them to avoid us in case the curse touch them or gossip which means our enemy or enemies might hear. Shall we have been on a different ship from some distant port? Perhaps Falstine since I know ...knew it well though it is not home. Perhaps one of those favored by the gods or with talent" She looked at Clawdine, Aethelreda, and Gunriana, "can give a name to our fictional ship that will give us favor."

"My own talents offer little I fear. I can feel north but that is little needed on a road like this though it is valued in the slave markets of some ports." She paused in memory of a cousin with the same talent who had vanished. "I can do a fair bit of rope work and accounting, I even still have my writing box though no paper."

"We should also decide who should speak for us, Er has a silver tongue, I've noticed. What say you all?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne speaks quickly, before her boldness that led her to speak at such length on the road leaves her.

"Mistress Drake, for my own skills, I think I have little special to contribute to the approaching and joining of caravans. At times I have flashes of intuition that I have learned to trust; perhaps one such will come to me later. Since leaving the beach, my hearing seems more acute, and perhaps we will need to hear things on the caravan, or once we come to Cimenster, and I can be of service then.

"For other skills, I can navigate, little twisty mazes of passages all alike even, but our path and the road seem straight for now. I can fight with improvised weapons if needed, but I hope such will not be needed; my parents named me to have no great love for fighting. I can command animals, in case perchance we find a flock of sheep that needs droving, or other beasts." Frithwynne smiles wryly at the forlorn thought that the band would meet something as simple and homey as a flock of sheep. "And I have some small ability at climbing, though I am too weak to be very useful at it.

"All these I put at the service of our band."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Sooner or later, all our skills may be needed, Frithwynne," Mary replied. "Sooner I suspect for you. Your skill in animals will be a useful bargaining chip as it lends itself to mules or horses or oxen for surely the caravan is using many such animals unless they have some great wizardry. I know you can handle horses."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"I would not volunteer myself to talk to these strangers. I still don't understand human ways well enough to pull off a negotiation like this," sighed Dorainen.

"But," he added, "please do offer my services as a healer if someone in the caravan is in need of that. My skill with a bow may also be of help in the defense of the caravan. Or, I could try to repair any of their broken equipment once it gets light enough for me to be able to see what I'm doing."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"And offer my skills as well, if they would be of use for bargaining, or purely for kindness."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne is in the middle of a reverie on the possible meaning of a stone table, on it a crudely carved model of a boat is half buried in rock salt, when she remembers something.

"Mistress, I forgot: I also have skill at finding hidden things."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

quote:
"Mistress, I forgot: I also have skill at finding hidden things."

"Frithwynne, A valuable skill indeed but not one to advertise yet; its rarity will attract the greedy. We know not whether slavery is still abolished in Cimenster except for criminals; the de Morgans had fought for that as their ancestors had been slaves but many of the great families oppose them or so our de Morgan passenger told us. We must learn what we can without revealing we know nothing of what has happened in the last 20 years."

Mary paused and looked at Dorainen and Dr. Goode, "Healing is valuable also but not so rare unless exceptional in some way. Dorainen, I know nothing of the attitudes of locals towards Elves then or now, but, humans can be fearful of the unusual and lone elves have sometimes suffered. Nicholas and I had promised ourselves though we had not told you yet directly to return you to Monhaut on our return from Cimenster or to allow you to journey with us as long as you wished but that was when we, I had a ship and status to make our protection worth something." Turning to the others she asked, "Does anyone know how the people here view the other races? Whether elf or dwarf."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine stood with her hands on her hips watching the approaching lanterns.

'Bargain with 'em, will yer? Yer gotta 'ave summat they wantz.
I reckon I could 'elp. O'course, it'll cozt yer a compliment, and themz awful rare theze days.'

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Er says, "Like as not I'll know someone in the caravan." He'd always had the ***morals of a cat***, and made friends wherever he went, but perhaps not in a way that would be approved of by all his party. "With my tinkering, the meat and others' healing talents and maybe I think with my ***silver tongue*** I can talk us into the caravan. Though we will need to come up with a consistent story of where we've been for 20 years. Where would we have been travelling? We could have been shipwrecked recently to explain the loss of the boat and our things."

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode spoke softly to Frithwynne as they picked their way down the wooded slope towards the road. ‘I will take Jack’s dice. He took good coin from me before I realised how, and I eventually persuaded him to show me the way to throw the loaded die. It is an artful trick, and I will need a little time to practice’.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

“As it seems neither prudent nor possible to tell the full story of what happened to us, I suggest we agree on a tale.”

Gunriana lets her imagination work for a moment. It must be plausible, interesting enough to appeal, but not so noteworthy that it will be repeated, unfortunate enough to provoke sympathy, but not so tragic as to raise passions, and account for the unusual predicament of the party.

“We were all passengers on Seahorse, out of, well, there’s no reason why we should all have taken note of that. Some of us might think Barvick, others Monhaut, and the rest be unsure. There must be a dozen or more ‘Seahorses’ out of any port you can name, so none to say we lie.

She ran aground on the Manacle. Most sailors will credit that easily enough, though they may well mock the seamanship of those responsible. The captain, Makrith Nemo (why not?), thought to lighten the ship and float off on the tide, and transferred his passengers and cargo to boats and rafts while his men worked. Alas for us, his rope-craft was as poor as his navigation, and sorry to say the cable broke, and our raft went adrift. We were down-wind of Seahorse and when noticed our plight, too far away for voice to carry. We drifted for a day and a night, and washed up five or six miles to the south-west, with nothing left of our baggage but what we could carry. All of it was on another boat, so there’s no salvage to tempt anyone to make the trip west. We were bound for Cimenster, and are heading there now by the road. Some of us have friends there who will supply us, but we’ll gladly work for what food and supplies these travellers can give us.

It will raise a smile at our misfortune, but I hope no questions we cannot answer. And any we meet who know of the Gasloughs may notice the name Nemo, and perhaps suggest we were cut loose by design. Remember, though, that our ‘yesterday’ was twenty years ago. We do not know what the weather was along this coast a few days ago. Best not to give that detail unless they give a clue to the truth. If asked, it’d be safe enough to talk of rough waves and stinging spray, though – landsmen will complain of those in a dead calm.”

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne drops the dice into the doctor's palm.

"Take them, and good rolling to you."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Banner Lady:
Clawdine stood with her hands on her hips watching the approaching lanterns.

'Bargain with 'em, will yer? Yer gotta 'ave summat they wantz.
I reckon I could 'elp. O'course, it'll cozt yer a compliment, and themz awful rare theze days.'

"Clawdine, what a wonderful idea! As are all of your ideas, quite wonderful!" Exclaimed Dorainen, entirely innocent of what effect his compliment would have.

quote:

Dorainen, I know nothing of the attitudes of locals towards Elves then or now, but, humans can be fearful of the unusual and lone elves have sometimes suffered.

"Unfortunately, I know that both from book study and experience. These days (well, twenty years ago at least), few humans will confess to prejudice against elves but it lingers still. Of course, like humans, I have encountered humans who have no particular ill will to our kind, but are simply looking for a way to profit honest or otherwise and consider us easy targets for schemes. My knife skills have always been good enough to protect myself from simple thieves so far, but those who seek to rob me by subtle fraud have had more success.

"The biggest problems can come from the well-intentioned. There are then those who let curiosity drive manners from their memory. Others are so keen to 'make allowances' for weaknesses common to my kind that I feel perpetually patronized. There are humans who are fascinated by my kind, which has led to a thriving blackmarket in kidnap and slavery. Cimenster was never a center for that, but who knows how times have changed in the last twenty years?

"It is now three generations between the shameful public dissections of elves for human entertainment. This has long been illegal in every human town I know, but the memory lives on."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary considers Gunriana's advice then gives a brief laugh. "Seahorse is good especially since it is what Kavetseki means in the Agyar tongue; correct enough to perhaps fool a truth teller if they have one. I think I should not be described as the captain's wife and should probably use my pre-marriage name of Hawser if full names must be given. The name of Drake is known to the gang and would be associated with the disappearance of the ship if any story is out about that, so truth but not the full truth." She continued after a moment, "The name of Dorainen is also known to the gang and if any would be expected to survive it would be a water elf though after 20 years they may cease to worry and they may never have cared since as you remind us some consider your kin 'simple'."

[ 09. June 2014, 13:37: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"Miss Hawser," said Dorainen (practicing), "'Dorainen' is a very common name amongst my kind. Dorainen the Great was not the first elf who was able to breath underwater, but the first who was able to pass this skill on to all his descendants and had enough descendants to start a dynasty. In a gathering of water elves, I rarely find myself the only Dorainen in the stream. Besides, I look entirely the wrong age to have been ship-wrecked twenty winters ago."

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

"I had better not try and talk with them much," Aethelreda pointed out, "since I have a sharp tongue and little tact. I might offend someone and make them exclude us. However if any of my skills are of use, I would be happy to help.

"I could offer to sing, or play an instrument if they have one, or I could offer prayers for their sick. It seems unlikely that they should have any bees, but perhaps I could help with any trading or purchasing we do. And if it comes to a fight I can attack unexpectedly. My weapons are small and easily overlooked."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er thought the party must have nearly reached the road. Judging distances was harder with his sore feet and shoulders from the travois. His aching muscles were certainly reminding him that he had not been walking for some time (was it really twenty years?) particularly not hauling goods.
"When we'm reaches the road, if there b'ain't be no lights in sight, how'm 'bout we lights a fire and cooks some of this meat? Will be easier for a caravan to see us'm with a fire."

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Quartzbearer was unimpressed at getting the nightshift, always the fate of the subordinates he supposed, but really - you'd think they'd want the most experienced dwarves at the most vulnerable times. On the other hand, he thought, suddenly struck with a pleasant new idea - perhaps it was a sign of trust ?

After all, who would put an unreliable guard at the front of a trade caravan at night - at which point, he was distracted from his musings by movement up ahead to the left.

He whistled the signal to stop, and peered ahead into the gloom, his hand moving to his sword hilt.

[ 09. June 2014, 20:02: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er is roused from his hypnotic head down trudging as he is abruptly halted by whoever is in front of him stopping suddenly. At the same time he is poked in the shoulder (sore muscle, ow) by another of his companions. Looking up to work out who he should apologise to he sees the lights ahead and thinks, well that saves us from building a fire. I wonder if anywhere in my previous existence, living with ***the morals of an alleycat*** I have known anyone here.

"Greetings good fellows all," he calls out as disarmingly as he can, "we have meat and firewood we can barter for safe passage north with thee, if that would please thee? Happen you're heading for Cimester? I'm Er Maker should anyone remember me from last time I was around these parts."

[ 09. June 2014, 20:22: Message edited by: Curiosity killed ... ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

The years fell from Clawdine like a brideshift at Dorainen's words.
Young, blonde and naked, she pushed past Er to stand before the dwarf.

She bent forward slightly and looked full into his bulging eyes.
'You need to rescue us,' she murmured hypnotically, 'and treat us well, for we will be valuable to your master.'

Then she threw back her head and clapped her hands at the same time. An echoing thunderclap overhead heralded a small downpour over Er and his travois, so that he and the horsemeat became sodden. The others, behind Er, saw little in the dark, except the Clawdine they knew striding towards them,grey hair dripping wet, and chuckling to herself.

The dwarf shook his head dazedly, before beckoning to Er, Mary and Gunriana to come closer.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Having shone his light upon some of the survivors, Quartzbearer goes to consult. He returns with a grizzled dwarf veteran, and a human wagoneer.

Hewer nods to Er, she turns to the wagoneer, "Er I know from my foolish youth - the rest, I can not speak for Master Trepik - but Er maybe useful, canny with his hands as I remember."

(There seemed to be a fleeting expression of pleasure on Hewer's face as she recalled Er.)

Trepik crosses his arms, "So wanderers, what do you want from me and how shall I be assured I shall not regret our meeting ?"

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er Maker is feeling disgruntled and wet and wonders whether his moral compass allows him to jump aboard and leave the other members of the party behind, leaving them to sort out the sodden meat and firewood.

The faces of the party flicker through his mind. He owes Mary Drake for the passage, and the lamented Jack, Dr Goode and Daniel were his fellow journeyers, the nun and shepherd lass are good people, Jetse is injured but still looks good for a fight, the sea witch, Gunriana, might curse him if he doesn't help her out and he has no desire to tangle with the sorcery of the water again, which means he should favour the water elf too.

"I'm so pleased to see you again Hewer, you bring such good times to mind.

"Greetings, go sir. As you can see, I travel with a few companions. We were cast ashore and have lost much, and are making our way to Cimester. We can offer our skills, several of or party have healing skills."

[ 09. June 2014, 21:29: Message edited by: Curiosity killed ... ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne blinked, several times. Were hallucinations a mark of middle-age? She was sure she had just seen a beautiful naked girl, but almost as soon as she had registered the apparition, it resolved itself and she realized it was simply Clawdine. Unnerved, she stood for a few minutes hugging herself and shivering even in the warm night air. Then she crept forwards cautiously, to stand still and silent just outside the circle of lantern-light, watching and listening.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary thought now the net was cast and sped a brief silent prayer to Volos to aid Er. The sudden shower made her realize how threadbare here clothes had got and she wondered if her eyesight was also going or perhaps the dwarves were using some magic of their own.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

As soon as he realized it was dwarves they were dealing with, Dorainen put his hood up to cover his ears and cast shadows over his facial features. If they hadn't noticed anything, in this darkness they may not until they had already agreed to take the party into their caravan.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana willingly defers to Er in charming the human and dwarves. It seems that with the benefit of a prior acquaintance, her strange companion is well placed to make their case. When the opportunity arises, she assures the wagoneers that:

"We would be most grateful to travel in company to Cimenster, where we hope that some of us have friends, and we would of course offer our services as best we can on the journey."

She decides not to mention her gifts in rune lore at the outset. It would be useful to get the measure of the dwarves first, and therefore useful to know whether they are the sort to help strangers from compassions, or for advantage.

She is ready to spin her lies about how they came to be in this predicament, should the wagoneers think to enquire.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary also is willing to defer to Er to lead the negotiations but knows she must show courtesy and answer a question asked. She bowed with hands clasped together in front then straightened.

"Master Trebik, I am Mary Hawser and as Goodman Maker has stated we have been cast ashore with naught but what you see. We can offer little but the skills of our hands during the journey, extra eyes for the road, and the good will of us and our kith and kin now and in the future. Let Goodman Maker speak for us."

[ 10. June 2014, 00:50: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Jetse stepped forward, close enough to be seen, not enough to dominate. Persuasion from Er. Magic from the crone. Truth be told, Jetse liked her better as a troll. Made more sense. But magic means power. Impresses. Show strength. Imply you have more reserved. Jetse was a good implication. Maimed, yes, but still armed. Dangerous. Strong enough for those who respect strength.

Dwarves. They know strength. Not from the Palatinate. Not this far north. Not on the surface. Might know about Mørkborg, though. Have contacts. News. Know the trade routes. Which guilds operate here. Who holds Ijzerhaven.

Ask later. Let it come up. Escorted convoys in the Palatinate. Worked with patrols in the darkness. Met dwarves. It's true. True enough. News of the City might follow.

Don't ask. They'd remember. One arm. Device on armor. Sword. Sun symbol. Sun symbol. That's enough. Need cloak. Blast. Lost it. Hide symbol? This time. Reason enough. Don't draw sword. Hand on the hilt. Watch them. Everything. Use the weapon without drawing it.

Light's bad. Distractions. If they notice you, you'll notice them. Good. They look away. Not… Good. A guard. Nothing more. Keep it that way. Talk to old dwarf when moving. We'll move soon. Talks going well. Personal connection. Watch caravan. Target for brigands. Treachery when we're distracted. Keep up guard. Don't trust yet. Watch.

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel is standing behind Trepik the caravan master, pointing at the caravan master, frowning ostentatiously, and making the 'I'm keeping my eyes on you' gesture at the back of his head. If anyone looks like asking what he's doing, Daniel puts his fingers to his lips.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er continues, "We have meat to add to your victuals, freshly killed and cooked horse meat, just yesterday. It's a right shame it was soaked in that sudden and unnecessary shower," with an inscrutable glance at Clawdine, "but it would work in a stew if you have one on the go now, and it means we're not calling on your resources."

Er spots Daniel behind Trepik, but continues keeping his inscrutable mask in place. So that's where he thinks the danger is; a leader who is unsafe, the worst of companions when they've gone to the bad, and there are dwarves in this caravan and we an elf in the party. Mind, Er ponders, goodness knows what that Clawdine thinks she's doing. Didn't we agree we'd only reveal the healing skills when we planned this approach?

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode kept still and quiet whilst Er made opening negotiations with the caravan master. He didn’t like dwarves. Ruthless and shrewd, he’d never been able to disarm them with his friendliness and charm.

But their weakness was their insatiable love of gold, and John knew that their greed could be exploited. He felt his special coin in his deep jacket pocket and rolled it over his fingers, watching the others closely.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine stood screening Dorainen from the lantern light of the caravan escort.

'We be in real trouble if that tinker thinkz they might be interested in old meat and brittle wood,' she hissed over her shoulder at the elf. 'No dwarf I know would eat such stuff. Is Er deliberately trying to insult them?'

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary kept quiet but her eyes darted everywhere. A mixed caravan of humans and dwarfs with a human leader, odd that and dangerous to Dorainen though better than a dwarf leader. Ox drawn carts for the most part, slow and steady. But why travel at night? If the leader were a dwarf she would have put it down to a possible dwarvish trait. And Daniel was suspicious of the leader. Master Trebik was dressed for travel, nor richly, but his clothes were well made and in good condition as far as she could see in the light. Urgency or secrecy or a late start yesterday and now taking advantage of the moon. She stepped back to stand beside Jetse; she had heard the the Palatinate dealt extensively with dwarves but now was not the time to ask when the master was looking at them almost as closely as they were looking at him.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Nothing to see here. Nothing odd. Only Daniel. Again. Another look? Still nothing. Missed anything? No. Only Daniel's wits. Should look for those. Might have been lost in accident. Might have never been. Hope dwarves don't notice.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked at Daniel. What was that idiot doing? Idiot.... She turned to Aethelreda,

"Mother Aethelreda, can you take care of Daniel. I fear his wits are still wandering from the wreck. Your holy compassion should help."

Mary knew that Aethelreda wasn't the holiest of nuns but it wouldn't hurt to hint that hurting their party would also hurt a servant of a god and gods tended to be very jealous.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Hewer & Quartzbearer pivot around behind Trepik, each taking one of Daniel's elbows and raising it to dwarven ear height, they jog around to Mother Aethelreda and deposit Daniel unceremoniously on the ground in front of her.

"Please control your holy fool, Mother !" Says Hewer.

[ 10. June 2014, 19:58: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda is a little apprehensive about this strategy. She has never met a dwarf before and doesn't have any idea what their opinions on human religions might be. Maybe they don't like nuns. Well, they are bound to notice her habit and beads eventually anyway...

She puts an arm around Daniel soothingly. "There, dear, now you come back here and help Er with his nice travois while he talks to our new friend. Er needs you to keep the driftwood steady."

Across the circle of lantern light, to the wagon captain, in a piercing whisper: "The poor idiot got a knock on the head from a spar when our ship went over and now he chatters and gestures with his fingers all day long. He does seem to be able to speak normally sometimes, but it comes and goes. Poor unfortunate fellow. But they say idiots are the most beloved of the Mother and all the gods!"

As she drags Daniel to the back of the party, she makes what she hopes are impressive gestures over him and murmurs calming prayers into his ear. Hopefully no one will notice that she's alternating "OK, we understand you, now cool it!" with the Collect in Time of Intestinal Distress.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

"You feeding yourselves makes me no loss, but it makes me no profit."

Gesturing to Jeste, Tepik continues,

"A sturdy man at arms I can use, but you are more of a man at arm - can you still fight ? We have three days march yet to Cimester, am I expected to haul water for passengers ? What else have you to trade ?"

[ 10. June 2014, 20:08: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine wondered just how ambitious the younger dwarf was. She raised her voice and chanted hypnotically:

"We've plenty of water, but only one skin
And the foolish man's hat to carry it in.
Plenty of wondrous strange tales to spin
Plenty of dice, but nowhere to sin."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er was beginning to feel quite despondent. Just how many of his companions were going to behave in a suspicious manner? Did they really want to get on board this caravan? Jetse looks OK to get on board, Er can offer his tinkering skills - and hmm - that back wheel could do with some attention, Frithwynne could be useful with the horses. Now if they have water to carry, Crazy Clawdine, if only she hadn't just appeared quite so crazy, and Dorainen have skills that will help, and we have already told them about the healers, John Goode and Gunriana. That leaves Daniel, Mary and the good Mother to find reasons for Tepik to accept. Now surely Tepik will be unwilling to harm a woman of any god, and as Daniel is now cast as her patient, that looks like a way forward. Mary must have skills from being a captain's wife that must be of use.

Er clears his throat and speaks up, "I can offer you my tinkering skills - and I can see that back wheel there could do with a bit of attention. I know that we have healers, this gentleman here," gesturing at John Goode, "healed Jetse's arm. He has great skill. I'll let my other companions speak for themselves."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Curiosity killed ...:
I'll let my other companions speak for themselves."

So, this is how we're doing it, is it? thought Dorainen. Well, I suppose the caravan would find out there was an elf in the party sooner or later. Better to have that in the open now while the ship's crew was united and could defend themselves than when we were scattered. And, there was always the possibility that a human who hired dwarves might have enough of an interest in the exotic to make the revelation convenient, if uncomfortable.

He threw back his hood. "I am... Ronaiden" (best play it safe), "and as you can see, I am a water elf. I'm sure you are familiar with the healing abilities of my kind and my skills in that regard are quite excellent. I am also good at tool repair, and have some skill at defending us from attack with my long bow."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Doublethink:
We have three days march yet to Cimester, am I expected to haul water for passengers ? What else have you to trade ?"

Gunriana calls to mind Demoslant's wise words on the techniques of pleading for aid and mercy, hoping that this will aid her ***Elan***

"Master Trepik, we were washed up ashore this morning with none of our belongings, and we are in need of a safe journey to Cimenster. If you are willing to have us travel with you, then we will all do what we can for the safety and prosperity of your journey. It will, after all, be entirely in our interests to do so.

In Cimenster we hope to meet friends, and continue our way, but we will not forget favours owed. If you are the shrewd merchant that I take you for, I am sure that you will not neglect the use of ten pairs of eyes and ears in the city, before you deliver your wares and choose your next investment. At the very least, we can promise you that if you give us your aid now, the report of you as an honest, fair and astute man will be whispered in whatever ear in Cimenster that you judge most to your advantage. Particularly, I think, if the whisperer is one whom the simply will never think to associate with venture concerning the noble race of dwarves."

She nods towards Dorainen. If Trepik cannot see a use in having an elf mouthing the lies of his choice, he is not the man she has taken him for.

"Besides, it is said that kindness to strangers pleases the gods, and when kindness costs you little, and earns you gratitude in this world, as well as their favour, it is only prudent to be kind."

Gunriana's fingers have been twisting the leather thong at her belt, and as she finishes speaking, she lets the skull spin freely at her side. When it is still she looks down into the empty eyes like a stage player waiting for his cue.

"For we have such little time in this world, wise traveller, and so little to distinguish us thereafter, that no one should neglect his own advantage while the light lasts."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary stayed quiet to see how Gunriana's words worked though master Tepik remained silent also. She suspect her skill at bookkeeping would, if the caravan master was as dubious as Daniel's actions suggested, be a detriment not an advantage. Her skill with knots and splicing and such like might be useful but most of the harness seemed to be leather as far as she could see in the dim light. However she had to offer something.

"I have skill with rope and line, to fasten a cargo down so it does not come loose or hoist, to knot, to splice."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Trepik's eyes narrow thoughtfully. He is too shrewd a man to give away at this stage what is business in Cimenster might be, but the woman's words have struck a chord. People are indeed unlikely to suspect collusion between a respectable Dwarven caravan and a vagabond water elf. There might be some use he could make of these travellers.

The caravan master relaxes slightly and Gunriana meets his gaze and then lowers her eyes meekly, satisfied with her words. If he is thinking what to do with them if he allows them to travel with the caravan, his trader's mind will soon be pleading their case for her. This is not a man to pass up the opportunity to use others.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

"Very well" says Trepik, "Find yourself a place - and don't cause any trouble !"

****

The ox-drawn wagons form a snaking line, about 30 wagons long. On closer inspection, there seems to be a ox feed wagon, followed by a closed goods wagon, followed by a sleeping wagon, repeating all the way down the line. There are guards at the head and tail of the column (Quartzbearer can be seen heading back to his post at the front), and there are dwarf guards either side of each goods wagon. (Presumably some in the sleep wagons too).

Whilst each wagon has a human ox-driver.

One of the goods wagons in the middle of the caravan seems much sturdier than the rest, with a wooden rather than canvass top - it has bolts on the outside - and it the wagon Hewer returns to position beside.

This is large goods train, and its seems slightly surprising it is travelling at night.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary bowed in thanks then then went over to the nun and Daniel. Three days march the master had said, 30 or 40 miles, maybe 50 if he wasn't including the current march and was overworking the oxen; not that she knew much about oxen but twice six miles per day was the standard that most merchants she knew used when calculating the relative advantages of ship to oxen to mule to horses. Frithwynne might know how hard the oxen were being worked. She knelt beside the pair and asked softly, "Daniel, are you well?" He had also been one of the worst off on the beach though she didn't know why. "You seem to perceive something about Master Trebik and the perhaps the train as a whole. Are we wise to go with them?" She waited while the middle of the train passed including the well fortified goods cart drawn by four pair of oxen; most of the others had two pair.

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel says in a low voice, I'd trust Mr Trepik with his own grandmother just so long as he saw no profit in selling her. But apart from that I think so long as we're being useful there's nothing much wrong with him.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er gives Hewer a lascivious wink, grins at the returned thumbs up and checks where the nearest stores cart is so that he can safely leave the horse meat. Having passed over the victuals that mean the party are not beholden to the caravan for food, he rejoins his erstwhile acquaintance wondering if they could take up where they had left off on their previous encounters.

Trepik has agreed to take the party with the caravan for as long as they are useful to him. Er knows from past adventures that his skills can be put to the service of one such as Trepik. In addition, the cart that Hewer is accompanying warrants a better look, particularly with the additional charms of Hewer.

He spares a passing thought for his companions, hoping that the others will use their native wits to find ways to slot within the party safely and unobtrusively and not attract the adverse attentions of Trepik. If they can gain a safe passage to Cimester and learn a bit about this caravan, then they will have done well. He wonders if he can use his ***silver tongue*** to find out more about the contents of the bonded four ox cart that Hewer is guarding.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

We're moving. Good. Young dwarf Quartzbearer, old one Hewer. Dwarves here translate names? Not Kvartsbærer and Skærer? Strange.

Jetse dropped behind into the rest of the party. Er seemed to be chatting up Hewer; best to leave him be.

"Frithwynne. The blade. Hide it."

"What? Why?"

"The halberd blade. Hide it. Someone could recognize it. A dwarf, probably. The trader, maybe."

"Again, why?"

Jetse walked back toward the front, towards Quartzbearer.

"Hej fører. Kvartsbærer, rigtigt?"

The dwarf looked surprised.

"Kvartsbärare, ja. Hur vet du dvärgska?"

Jetse got up onto the wagon and pulled out Jack's old pipe. Kind of him to not take it with him.

"Worked in the Palatinate. Trade convoys. Supply trains."

"To Mörkborg?"

"Sometimes further. Actually met the Jarl once. Berømt back then. Økseherren. Was years ago."

"It was. Yxaherren and Svärdsplittraren are gone. Don't know the new Jarl. It's far away, you know?"

"I know." Jetse held up the pipe. "You have extra? Lost all mine. Thanks."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary spoke softly back to Daniel, "I understand".

She looked up. The moon shone bright and full though the white river was still quite visible. The wandering star, red Perun, was near the moon but she could see no other wanderer. Enough to confirm that time had passed for that was not the sky she last remembered clearly. It was warmer here inland and the firebugs flickered amongst the trees near the road. Enough, time to move.

Mary joined Er in dropping off the meat she was carrying and watched as Jetse moved to the front while Er went to chat to Hewer in the middle. She returned to the group "Frithwynne, Doctor, Gunriana, Clawdine, Do..Ronaiden where in the train do you want to walk to start? I shall walk with the holy mother and poor Daniel perhaps towards the back." From there she could keep an eye on the whole train and perhaps someone would tell a story. Was Nicholas 20 years dead or 1 day and the rest of the crew; her feelings said 1 day. Was Jack Gallows an acquaintance of a few handful of days or someone she had known well for 20 years; her feelings said both.

She dreaded the time when the train would stop to allow the oxen, men, dwarves, and them to feed, and drink and sleep while the rest guard sleeping now in the wagons would guard. To sleep perchance to dream; she dreaded being alone with her memories. Ideally one of their party should stay discreetly awake while the others slept or a couple taking watches, but, it was unlikely Master Trebick would allow any of them the use of a sleep wagon for the next march.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne nodded to the Guardian to silently show she understood, and fell back away from the caravan. Squatting behind a bush as if answering an urgent call, she loosened her ribbon, and then tied it again, this time holding the halberd blade, letting the hook catch against the ribbon so it wouldn't slip out. There was something reassuring about the rusted blade, although perhaps it was just because it had been important to Jetse, and so, sympathetically, it was important to Frithwynne.

She stood up and made her way back to the group. The blade felt unfamiliar against her thigh, but did not impede her. Mistress Drake - Hawser, she corrected herself - was asking where they would station themselves. An odd question, thought Frithwynne, who was used to either having one place only to be, or else having no-one care where she was at all.

"Near the oxen, just behind that big wagon," she says softly, and starts to drift back up the caravan slowly. She walks awhile with each yoke of oxen as she comes to it, feeling the warmth from each near ox and listening to the soft blowing of each team as it stolidly follows the wagon ahead. She tries to look as if she's moving aimlessly, sometimes a little faster, sometimes a little slower, and as if it's only chance that on the whole she is moving up the train.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen eyed the wagoneers. Some seemed entirely uninterested in the new members of caravan, most seemed averagely curious or entertained. He slowly worked his way towards the back of the caravan by walking slightly slower than it was moving, and tried to see if any of them were watching him in particular. He was sure there'd be at least one who was peculiarly intrigued by all things elvish. Sure enough, two behind the central wagon, was a wagoneer who was paying almost more attention to him than to the road.

He decided to try greeting him in Elvish: "Molesh kal! 'Ina Ronedin."

No understanding, but wide-eyed excitement and an attempt at response: "maw'ezz kahll."

This was all Dorainen needed: "Is there space for me to join you up there?"

"Please, hop on up! You know, I've been intrigued by Elvish folklore since my grandmother would tell me stories when I was little. She grew up in the Mountains of Cholaj, very close to the mountain elf settlements."

"How wonderful," replied Dorainen. "You know, human activity has always fascinated me too. We don't have anything like banks in my teyv. Would you indulge a simple water elf, and explain something about your cargo to me?"

The human, Johnson by name it turned out, blushed. He had a few questions about teyv-life they had to get through first. Dorainen gave answers that favored the romantic over the historical and tried to keep everything general enough that his ignorance of twenty years of history wouldn't be detectable. Gradually, he managed to steer the conversation back to banking, and cargo. Johnson, it seemed, did not know much and was both reluctant to reveal certain facts, but equally unwilling to let the conversation die. So, Dorainen ended up with a few nuggets of information that he stored away for later sharing with the group. Quite how accurate, of course, they were, there was no telling.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had been walking by the second cart back from the big cart when Dorainen arrived and swung up next to the driver. She listened absently to their conversation. How did he do it, be so comfortable talking to people?

She chose a moment when the driver seemed to be holding forth with especial animation and thus less likely to notice what she was doing, and drifted forward to the next cart.

Now she is walking next to the oxen just behind the big cart. She wonders what will happen when they get to Cimenster. So far the shipwrecked group has been holding together. Strength in numbers seemed the best plan on the beach and in the woods. She herself is curious to find out about the ship in rock salt that Mother Aethelreda envisioned, but she wonders whether the other travellers will find other things to interest them in the caravan, and even more so in Cimenster.

Well, whatever may happen, she has found it always useful to closely observe the people around her, in whatever circumstance she finds herself. You never know what scrap of information or observation will turn out useful for a dispossessed lass scrabbling her way in the world.

She decides to test her apparently acuter hearing by ***listening*** for what she might be able to hear through its wooden wall. Is there anyone inside the cart? Are they saying anything?

[ 12. June 2014, 18:03: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Warm and full, his needs attended to, Er's mind turns to less immediate concerns. As he subtly questions Hewer about the contents of that interestingly secured wagon Er wonders about the magic that had trapped them on the beach. It occurs to him that there may still be some ties; would it be possible to journey by sea in the future, or would the magic to catch them again? It would be frustrating if the elapsing of twenty years had wiped the slate clean of any little difficulties he might have left behind him and some spell removed his freedom to travel. Maybe he should suggest that the good doctor asked the sea witch what she thought.

Hewer's rambling conversation fell to complaints about the weight of the chests Trepik had made her and the other guards pack on to the four ox wagon. She curses the idiocy of a human thinking a caravan is the best way to transport gold of such mass and invites him to share a laugh at their incomprehensible nature. Er's gentle probing elicits that Hewer had not seen inside the chest, but to a dwarven mind they had the heft of gold.

As her words take a dark turn so do his thoughts. His mind returns to the beach and watching Jack swim away to death. So strange the way humans fret about their short lives. Shuddering at the memory of the miasma of the beach he thinks if the magic has no hold on him he there is no reason to seek out its source, but Jack's end and the passing of the years have made naught of his plans for this journey. So whence now? And what profit is in this knowledge?

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine stood watching the carts rumble past until she heard the sound of clattering tin. A cook's cart usually had a variety of mugs and pans hanging along its sides, and in the moonlight she could see this one was being driven by a beardless youth.

She raised her hand imploringly to him. "Would ye blezz an old lady with a cup o' water, laddie? We've walked an awful long wayz since our ship went down."

This teaser of information had the desired effect on the bored and pimply young man, who had wondered at what had been happening at the head of the convoy. He slowed the oxen, hopped off his seat and helped Clawdine up beside him. Then he produced a leather bottle from under the plank they were sitting on.

"Got a barrel of water there, granny, if you want it. But this'll give you more comfort." He winked at her.

Clawdine sipped the offering gratefully, then smacked her lips. 'That be right zweet ale, laddie. 'aven't tasted anything that good fer....twenty years. There were a place at Ashton Green used ter 'ave a brew like that, I recall.'

The young man looked surprised. 'You have a good memory for beer, gran'ma - that surely is Ashton Ale. Where are you from?'

Clawdine smiled in the dark, and settled back to regale the young man with tales of adventure as they passed the leather bottle back and forth.

This journey was proving to be a bit more comfortable than the last one.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana walks for as long as she can, then finds some space in one of the wagons to rest.

Trepik is clearly engaged in some surreptitious business, but as she reflects on this, she realises that she cares little what that might be. What matters is that she has placed herself under obligation to him. Was that a mistake?

Gunriana places the skull on her lap and strokes it tenderly. Enough of that. The survivors of Kavetseki had gone as it had been written for them. The wagons had been foreseen in the prophetess's vision, and this was important. If the price was an obligation to a shrewd man like the caravan master, then that was the price.

She slips her blade from it's sheath and scratches Ur, the Aurochs, on the yoke pole of the wagon, reinforcing the strength of the vehicle and refreshing the beasts that draw it. Forcing herself to get up and do something useful, she alights from the wagon and looks for any way in which she can be of help.

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode walked along in the space between two wagons in the middle of the of the caravan. He had always preferred walking to riding on bumpy cart roads, and it was such a fine night for it. Every now and then a cloud would pass in front of the bright full moon, its edges backlit with enchanted silver brilliance. There was a soft perfume of damp leaves and sweet earth in the windless night air, and John took deep slow lungfulls as he strode along, easily keeping pace despite the older age he now felt in his limbs. All was peaceful, with only the occasional wet snort of an ox and the rustle of a small startled creature scurrying in the undergrowth or pidgeon taking flight from its roost in the branches as they passed beneath. John listened vaguely to the indistinct low murmuring of those chatting together up and down the convoy, and slid comfortably into the familiar companionable calm of his own mind.

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda murmurs to Daniel "How are you holding up? Would you like me to try to get us a seat in one of the carts?"

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary walked just behind Aethelreda and Daniel as the former tried to persuade the latter to perhaps rest. She stumbled then stumbled again and the feed wagoneer behind called out"Old woman, come sit beside me for a while". She gratefully took up his offer. He was a man, perhaps 30, with a Barvik accent and look to him, dark hair and blue-green eyes. "I'm Milt Docker", "Mary Hawser", she replied. "Wrecked?" he asked. She nodded. He continued, "Much safer to go by land even if the King's sea lords have sworn to rid the world of pirates since no man can stop the storms." Mary nodded again even though she knew nothing of any 'sea lords'; this was something new. She asked, "Anything new in Cimenster; it has been a long, long time since I've been there?" He replied, "Well they should have started the new central temple. Taken them long enough considering the old one was destroyed when I was a kid; not good putting the gods off like that". He kissed his knuckles to ward off bad luck. "You should see the new city market and the theaters. They even have women actors in the last few years though my father, he's up near the front of train, disapproves". He then gave the details of several plays he had seen the last time, lots of details.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Slowly, Dorainen and Johnson ran out of things to talk about and the conversation ran down. Dorainen told himself he'd just close his eyes for a short while. Before he knew it, he was sound asleep. He dreamt of crashing waves on this, the first night in twenty years he'd had to dream them to hear them.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

The moon was still climbing through the night sky when the rhythmic swaying of the cart and the heady ale took its toll on Clawdine. Soon she was slumped against the food sacks piled high in the cart, her limbs akimbo, head thrown back and snoring like a bandsaw, much to the amusement of the young driver.

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel thanks Aethelreda. I think if we could get a seat on the cart that would be an excellent idea. How are your knees holding up?

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

The moon set behind the trees and low ridge to the west of the road and the sun rose in the east. Birds sang and still the ox train went on. Mary finally woke when the train stopped at mid-morning just before a ford that crossed a wide brook flowing from east to west through a break in the ridge. "Stopping here before the heat of the day" explained Milt "Or at least that is Master Trebik's explanation". Milt took the wagon into the field adjacent to the road, hopped down and unyoked the oxen though put a line around their necks instead. Mary helped him lead them to the brook to drink along with the oxen from the other carts. Milt then insisted, "Goodwoman Hawser, why don't you help my father," he pointed to an older fellow setting up a cooking fire. Goodman Docker senior eyed her approach and pointed to some leather buckers. "Go get some water upstream from the oxen, clean water, mind you. We're making porridge now and then I'll put some of the meat your group brought on to stew and see if I make anything halfway decent for the evening meal. The day guard can watched it simmer while the rest of us sleep if we can." Mary went off with two buckets to get some water and looked around for the others from the beach.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine awoke with a start. The cart was not moving and the sun hurt her eyes. Moreover she really, really needed to empty her bladder. As she levered herself down from the wagon, she could see the lad leading the oxen away to pasture.

Clawdine strode away in the opposite direction to find what privacy she could. Behind the fall of a willow tree she found relief, and then she knew she was hungry.

From the folds of her skirt, she took the shrivelled husk she had found in the pig droppings in the wood. Her shrewd eyes scanned the landscape behind the willow for the best place to put it. She knew her instincts were good, as she planted the core and spoke to it quietly. Her fingers tapped the soil, and after calling the water to rise to the roots, Clawdine stood back and watched.

Quickly, the corn grew, flowered and produced several enormous cobs. Clawdine collected them in her shawl, and headed back to the carts. Now she had something with which to barter, and if it was not appreciated, she knew she could make it sustain her until she needed to forage again.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary noticed Clawdine returning from the wood and waved her over to the cookfire where she was waiting for the water to boil before putting in the oats.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen awoke to find that Johnson had left him in the wagon. He remarked again to himself that not being able to smell salt in the air was incredibly strange. He walked past the mysterious central wagon and nodded to what must be the day watch guards who were surrounding it. The dwarves glared at him, as if their very gaze could drive him away. He looked down, hoping they'd think he was respectfully lowering his gaze, but actually checking out the footprints. All the prints he could see looked at first glance dwarven, but it would be hard to do a proper investigation. Master Trepik seemed to have not yet paid his daily visit, but Dorainen couldn't see him about anywhere either. Maybe he was in another wagon?

He went upstream of the oxen to wash his face (the water was fine!) and then saw Mary by the fire. He strode over to her, to tell her his night's news and see if she'd learned anything different.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary was glad to see Dorainen and passed her news on to him (minus the play plots) as she added the oats to the now boiling water. "I was thinking. Would your people have looked for you when you didn't return? Given you skill in water you were the least likely one of us to have drowned. Or, given how long your kind live, would it have taken a few decades for them to have become concerned."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er hopped off the cart when it stopped, offering to collect food and water for Hewer. As he made his way to the feeding stations, he saw Mary and Dorainen chatting by the stream and joined them. He arrived just as Mary was asking Dorainen if his family would miss him, after a surreptitious glance around to ensure they were not overheard, he joined the conversation:
"I was wondering about those years now gone and whether the trick or whatever held us on that beach was broken, or if we have just moved away from those ties. Would that mean we have to stay awy from the sea? How could we find out? Do you think the sea witch would know?"

The chat drifted to their current circumstances and Er was asked what he had ascertained.
"Hewer says that the cart we travel on contains heavy crates bound for a bank. With her dwarvish mind she's sure it's gold, but she didn't see inside the boxes so cannot be certain."

He sees the queue near the feeding station has dwindled and hurries to join it to collect the promised victuals for his current companion.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen had explained to Mary: "We all leave the teyv for a year, so as we have a real taste of the choice we're making in committing to being full adult members of it. The year is strictly timed. If you stay away more than a year, you are deemed to have gotten too worldly and can never re-enter. I'm sorry for those elves that would have mourned me, but 19 and a half years ago, they would have declared me forever gone. They would never even have heard of the K... ship we were on.

"Most water elves do come back, and of those that stay away, almost all join another elven dynasty, often one more open to engagement with the outside world. At some point, I will have to make a choice whether to seek out a dynasty that would take me, or to live forever in the diaspora. I think I could be very happy living amongst humans, but I must confess [sotto voce]: I cannot abide dwarves."

[ 15. June 2014, 00:42: Message edited by: Hart ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"That seems cruel to me, to cast you out through no fault of your own." She paused, "Though I wonder what our human families will do when/if we return. The creditors would have taken what little property my husband and I had that wasn't on the ship and our families and friends mourned for us. If I can get back, the creditors will still be after me for what remains of our debt though I think my family, if any still live, will welcome me. Gentlewoman Gunriana may have lost the most financially by being presumed dead; individual De Vanés are not known for disgorging what they've gotten even to other family members unless there is potential profit." Mary thought a bit, "The richest merchant families often emulate the nobility and contract their children in marriage or betrothal young. If after her disappearance the marriage or betrothal was presumed ended by death but not formally dissolved and then the other person remarried, that marriage would be invalid which could lead to many problems." She stirred a few more times noting that the porridge was almost done. "However the greatest loss for them is loss of experience. I've spent a third of my life on that beach but she and some of the others were just starting on adulthood and now they've lost their entire youth, half their lives. I at least had my youth and husband before ending up there. You were also young but being elvish presumably still have many years of youth ahead of you."

"Porridge done, Goodman Docker" she called and a line formed to be fed. She sighed. After serving she would have to scour the pot clean and probably the other pots and dishes. She was now a beggar and that is what beggars did.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine saw Mary wave at her, and headed over to the fire, where a pot on an iron tripod was bubbling. As she emptied the contents of her shawl on the ground she noticed a piece of bramble caught in its fringe.

'Well,' she said to Mary, 'D'yer fancy 'aving fresh blackberries in that porridge?'

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"Capital idea, Clawdine! You are always so ready with those!" Exclaimed Dorainen, hopeful, yet disappointed. Clawdine remained a troll of a woman.

He thanked Mary both for the conversation and for the porridge, and then started making his way along the line of hungry wagoneers. They seemed friendly enough, probably glad to have a fresh face to talk too after so many days on the road. "How many days on the road did you say it had been..?"

He was looking for someone who showed some sign of injury, preferably one that was uncomfortable without being too grave. After such a journey, someone must have had some kind of accident? Partly, Dorainen simply wanted to share his ***healing*** gift, to feel that watery life force well up inside him once more. But, more astutely, he wanted to build up more favors, and hope he would in turn be sent to aid someone important enough that he might gain some more information.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked at Clawdine's offering and considered her words. What hidden skills did this woman have? "That corn looks delicious, I'm sure Goodman Docker who seems to be head cook for this outfit would love to use them for the dinner tonight" She pointed him out to Clawdine. "And blackberries would be delicious if you can find them. I think most of the wagoneers and dwarves who've been working all night will soon take what sleep they can." She could see several who had gotten their food first were already laying down to nap underneath some of the wagons. "Perhaps those of our group who got some sleep should gather near the brook to eat and wash before further sleep. It has after all been a while since we've had a fresh water bath and our clothes are well a bit salty."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine squinted an eye assessingly at the sun. 'Yer, well, I'll wait til the water be a bit warmer afore I go azwimmin'. Thiz creek lookz like a good place fer bream, or mebe roach, if'n I can borrow a bucket and get upstream a bit.' She pocketed one of the cobs. 'Corn kernels be the best bait when theyz new n' zweet.'

Clawdine went off to cadge a tin cup and a bucket from the stores cart, only stopping on the way to plant the bit of bramble by the road. By the time she'd obtained the receptacles, the bramble was snaking along one side of the laneway as far as the eye could see, its ripe fruit sparkling in the sunlight.

She returned to the fire with a bucket full of blackberries, and sat down contentedly to a breakfast of fruit and oats.

She nodded to Dorainen. 'Bet you be a dab 'and at fishin' too, I reckon.'

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Foret, who seemed to be a general errand boy for the caravan, limped over to where Mary had been cooking. He was a scrawy lad, mucky, and if you looked closely you could see some dirt was really bruise.

He had been seen walking by the wagons and running with messages, but none of Trepik's men, nor the dwarven guards, ever chatted to him or really looked at him.

His limp seemed to be due to a twisted foot, not a turned ankle, but that twisting unsteadness some are born with. On that same left side he also held his arm wound round , fist tilted upward and held into his side.

[ 15. June 2014, 07:28: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked at the boy; someone worse off than any in the beach party. "Here boy, have some porridge and some blackberries that Goodwoman Clawdine has gathered. Sit down beside her and eat."

Mary looked around for Goode. Most of the train was now curled up asleep except for the day guards and a couple of men tending to the oxen now grazing and resting in the field. She thought Frithwynne might be over there. She hauled the now empty pot to the river and scrubbed it clean with sand and reeds; she suspected that was normally part of the boy's chores.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"Foret, is it?" asked Dorainen. The boy nodded nervously. "You have heard of my healing power, have you? And you want to be restored to health?"

"Yes, sir, if that's what I'm meant to call you, I'm sorry, I..." his lip was quivering, the boy was clearly terrified. Dorainen started his incantations, finding an easy connection to the healing flow. The boy flinched as Dorainen laid his hands on his afflicted parts, so Dorainen first directed a gush of the flow at his mind for calming. The boy let out a deep sigh and his whole body seemed to relax. Almost without Dorainen having to intend it the gush of healing leaked and started to lap gently at the boy's whole body. An onlooker could see his ankle reform itself. Slowly the healing puttered out into a drip. With a mental flick of the wrist, Dorainen directed the last drop at the boy's mouth, in an attempt to heal his nervous speech.

The boy sat up and spoke, his voice sounding deeper: "Thank you, good elf. I am truly in your debt."

"Mister Foret, you are most welcome," replied the elf. "I know you carry messages. I would only ask that you mention me to those who use your services. It's good work you do for this caravan, I know; important work. Tell me, I'm a simple elf, curious about human ways, no more: what are some of the most interesting messages you've carried on this trip?"

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The elf's actions have not gone unnoticed, people - both human and dwarf are regarding the party with more interest.

For his part, Dorainen is puzzled that the lad should have collected so many bruises just running errands, perhaps the twisted foot he had corrected had something to do with it, many falls perhaps ?

He doesn't see why the boy should have chosen to have a tattoo of Tepik's name torque-style around his left bicep either - but then he had been warned humans had weird customs.

For his part, Foret can barely believe his good luck. But he has nothing he can give in repayment, except his promise:

"Sir, nothing but speed up, slow down, have we enough feed - but if ever I carry more you'll be the first to know I promise !"

[ 15. June 2014, 15:49: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Noon has past, you enter the second day.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Whilst the camp structure is lose, the wagons have now been formed into a rough circle - some dwarfs are standing casually in strategic positions - and a group of four stroll in a fixed looping pattern through and around the camp.

All little way off you see Foret have a brief encounter with Trepik - one of his people must have let him know about the healing. It is difficult to tell whether or not he considers it good news.

The fortified wagon has been moved a little inside the circle, so there is a wagon between its eastern side and the open ground beyond.

[ 15. June 2014, 16:08: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er delivered Hewer's used plate and utensils to the serving team and continues drifting around the wagon circle. He's hoping to bump into Dr Goode or spot some ***tinkering*** work to further ingratiate himself with this caravan team. He saw Dorainen cure the lad, Foret, from a distance and thinks he better ensure his place if all the other members of his party are gaining theirs.

Magic, as he understands it, is beyond him, both scary and unnatural, and he is uncomfortable around its practitioners. Having seen Gunriana on the boat and beach, he'd really rather not ask her whether the party is still spellbound, but Dr Goode is another matter.

[ 15. June 2014, 16:13: Message edited by: Curiosity killed ... ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Whilst Er's original offer of help to fix the yoke was received with thanks, his failure to deliver leaves Goodman Brewer less than impressed - still at least he did no damage ...

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Doublethink:

He doesn't see why the boy should have chosen to have a tattoo of Tepik's name torque-style around his left bicep either - but then he had been warned humans had weird customs.

Dorainen went looking for a member of his party to ask about this, Studia humana proving uninformative on this point.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary finishes with the pot and takes the opportunity to rinse her arms, legs, face, and bonnet though she still lacks soap for a proper wash. A blue applique rabbit on the bonnet comes loose and floats away down the brook and she thinks about her niece, Kelli, who had made the bonnet for her so many years ago now. She wonders if Cimenster has a bathhouse that she could manage to afford assuming she finds anything to barter with. She returns and sits beside Clawdine, near the now dowsed cooking fire and in the shade of one of the wagons.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er shakes himself down and wonders what went wrong with his repair of the yoke and how to redeem himself in the eyes of Goodman Brewer. He continues his meander, looking out for Dr Goode, maybe they could have a game of cards or dice?

He sees the elf, Dorainen, coming his way, looking purposeful and thinks that it would be rude to ignore him ...

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine was perfectly contented. Today was a dream, compared to yesterday's nightmare. She stretched out, with her toes through the grass, and the warm sun on her skin. Her belly was full and the rest felt wonderfully natural.

She wasn't at all interested in what was in the big cart, nor was she particularly interested in going to Cimester. Everything that signified wealth to her was all around in the landscape. She watched the other shipwreck survivors trying to be helpful in various ways, and watched how Trepik treated everyone. She wondered just how expendable they were in his scheme of things, and toyed with the idea of slipping away on her own.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"Ah, Er! Do you have a minute?" asked Dorainen.

"I was wondering if you could help me understand something about humans. I was just with the boy Foret. So many injuries I couldn't believe! I also noticed that he'd tatooed Trepik's torque-style around his left bicep. I looked that up in my book, Studia Humana and it told me that it's common for men to get tattoos of the name of their sweetheart. Are Trepik and Foret sweethearts? They don't look like it, but maybe I've horribly misunderstood something. I'd hate to put my foot in something (is that the right phrase?)"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had sheltered with the unyoked oxen, passing among them, patting their shoulders and gazing into their placid faces, until the line at the porridge pot was almost gone. Then she walked over, found an unattended spoon and bowl, got her portion, and ate it quickly. She rinsed the spoon and bowl in the stream, and returned them where she found them.

She went down again to the stream, dangling her feet in the water, pondering the events of the night. She had heard nothing of consequence from the large wagon, only the clinking of what she guessed was coin, and the snoring of what was confirmed to be the day guard when he emerged, stretching and yawning, as the caravan came to a halt. Someone had brought porridge to him, and he now stood at the front of the wagon, glowering at anyone who came near.

She yearned to rinse herself fully in the stream, but before that, she thought it prudent to try to show herself to be useful. She got up, and walked among the shipwrecked travelers, offering whether she might be of service by rinsing salt-soaked outer garments, or cleaning whatever kit had been saved from the sea.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary considered Clawdine who was resting contentedly in the sun nearby. She said she was a water diviner but she seemed more of a full fledged wood witch, working with the land and using what it provided. Probably content to stay near this stream, perhaps have a little hut or maybe a cave with wild roses growing around it, bartering berries, maize, and herbs for what she could not find. Perhaps inviting someone she fancied to stay for a while but otherwise hiding her dwelling place. Not caring what any prince or priest commanded. Not good to cross. Mary still felt guilty about King and wished she had some soap and some thread.

She glanced over at the boy who was moving better now that Dorainen had healed him. Soap would be useful there also but she frowned considering the healing. Daniel had said Trebik would sell his own grandmother if there was profit and an elf with healing power, seemingly innocent of much, and with no strong protector might be tempting. Probably no real danger until they were closer to the city and it depended on the city as it was now.

Goodman Docker was stirring over by the adjacent wagon. "Wake are you?" he growled, "Let's get dinner started, it will take some hours to stew the meat properly". She rose, got some water from the brook, while he stirred up the fire and started chopping the meat into small pieces. She joined him in that task and asked, "Your son was talking about Cimenster and the theaters. A frill but I'm certain you are more concerned with the essentials. Who is ruling the city now? Who is in charge of the merchant guild? I had an old relative who spoke of the de Morgans but that was decades ago"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine glowered at those preparing the dinner of stewed meat.

'Idiots,' she muttered to herself, as she stomped off around a bend the stream, 'to eat what has been tampered with twice over by dark magic. I remember when horse was a King.'

She surveyed the banks for a good spot to fish from. 'Well Clawdine, you was always the best at finding where the bream hide under the banks, during the day, and today looks like a good fishing day.'

In the twinkle of an eye, her lithe blonde form was streaking through the water, as naked as the fish she was chasing.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Unfortunately Goodman Docker was being remarkably closed mouth about the situation in Cimenster.

Mary heard a large splash and turned to look at the stream where Clawdine was splashing around. Several of the day guard were looking at her and chuckling. She heard one mutter something about crazy humans.

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

When the caravan had stopped, John Goode had slid under a wagon and slept on the long smooth grass in its shade for perhaps two hours. He woke, feeling refreshed, to the pleasant smell of woodsmoke and a well-herbed bubbling stew, and looked around the pretty green glade beside the stream. It was very peaceful, and he could see in the relaxed state of those wandering about and chatting that everything was well and good.

He made his way over to the camp fire, and sat beside Er and Dorainen, who seemed to be chatting about the latest fashion in tattoos. He saluted them and slid into their conversation as it turned to easy chat about weather and road. When Frythwynne joined them, offering to clean their clothes, he beamed a smile and removed his jacket to pass it to her. He piled a great number of articles from its numerous pockets. ‘Here’, he said, ‘If you can smarten this thing up for me I should be very greatly obliged to you, good lady.’

As she made off with his coat, John sat cross-legged on the floor and picked up Jack’s set of dice, feeling their rattle as he tumbled them in his hand. He threw them, and called out loudly enough to be noticed by the two dwarfs who were walking past on their guard duties, “Ho! I rolled a perfect triple six! Oh, if I could but do that every time I’d be a rich man. It must be my lucky day- who would like a game?’’

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Of course, Dr. Goode," says Frithwynne, taking the jacket and piling the pocket-objects on top. She carries the bundle down to the stream, positioning herself a little way downstream from the naked Clawdine. She wishes she were as un-shy as that, to take off all her clothes and have a good unfettered wash.

Instead, she looses the halberd from the ribbon on her thigh and lays it on the bank, covering it with the cards from her kilted-up kirtle and Dr. Goode's pocket-horde. Then she takes off her kirtle and wades hip deep into the water in her shift, bearing the jacket and kirtle. After splashing and rinsing them, she holds her breath and ducks down quickly under the water, shaking her head under the water to cleanse her salt-crusted hair.

She wades back to the stream bank and lays the jacket, kirtle, and her red ribbon out to dry in a sunny spot. Then she turns to cleaning Dr. Goode's items. Three shells and a pea, a surgical kit and fine leather wallet, a pipe, various twigs that she recognizes as being from the various types of bushes they passed in the woods, a coin which gives her an odd quiver when she handles it, and a curious metal tube. She rinses these in the stream, except for the tube, which she is nervous about wetting, and instead rubs with a dampened handful of grass. She rubs the surgical instruments in the dirt by the stream to polish them, and rinses then again. She then lays all the objects out to dry next to the clothes, and, after finger-combing her hair, lies down to dry herself in the westering rays of the sun.

Soon she falls asleep.

[ 16. June 2014, 15:51: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Yorick (# 12169) on :

John Goode looked down at the pile of things he had taken out of his jacket pockets, but they were grass. That is, they were gone, and it was only grass there. He froze. He looked at the others, his face drained of all colour except a sort of greyish-white.

‘She didn’t take my stuff to wash with the jacket, did she?’

Without waiting for an answer, Goode spun on his heels and strode off towards the riverbank with as fast as he could without actually running, screaming and flailing his arms.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne has been having a confused dream. First she was running from a cave with someone she didn't know, but then she found herself lying down in the grass and the stranger turned out to be Daniel, looking even younger than she remembered him from the ship before the storm. Then there's confusion, many people arriving, and for some reason Gunriana and Jetse and Clawdine are there, and people who remind her vaguely of Dorainen and Jack and one of the cabin boys, and even a potential passenger whom she had seen discussing passage with Mary on the dock, but had eventually turned away shaking his head. Even King and the brightly colored blue caravan are there. Then more confusion, and she's receiving her own chalice from a sulky boy, but twisted into near-uselessness.

She comes awake with a start. She tries to make sense of her dream. Is it trying to tell her something? But it all seems senseless, although she fears the twisted chalice means some type of bad fate ahead. She makes the sign for luck, and suddenly realizes that she had quite forgotten about the tricorne when she went in the water. She jumps up and combs the bank, sighing in relief when she finds it caught in a bend of the river a meadow's worth of paces downstream. She fishes it out and tries to shake the water out of it.

As she walks back upstream, she thinks about the doctor's surgical kit. Something had been missing that she would have expected anyone with knives to carry. She starts scanning the ground, hoping she can ***find a hidden*** whetstone for him.

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel decides that he is going to have a lie down and a nap for a bit. He may have been sleeping with the fairies for the past twenty years, but he's been walking through a forest in the dark more recently than that. 'Wake me up if anything happens. Or if you want to consult me on anything. Crime Scene Investigation my speciality. Also anything you'd get out a mob with pitchforks for,' he says to his nearest shipwreck survivors. After that, he puts his hat over his eyes and lies down.

[ 16. June 2014, 19:27: Message edited by: Dafyd ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Frithwynne knows it will be ***easy*** for her to find a whetstone, here, on the banks of a river.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er blinks at John Goode's response to Frithwynne's help, "Can I h....?" he starts saying to the doctor's retreating back, shrugs as the doctor rapidly moves out of earshot and looks his astonishment at Dorainen.

Ah, well, this could be the moment to broach the topic of bewitchment. He'd explained tattoos with names could be a way of marking property and he thought that Trepik probably had branded Foret as his slave. It seems as if elves did not own others, so did not comprehend that others might. Er's childhood had been overshadowed by probable enslavement; tinkering was an escape from one form of penury and unrelenting labour. As they talked he had been puzzling how to direct their talk to the contents of the bonded wagon or whether they were still enchanted, all the while feeling inferior to the elf and most of his companions as a tinker on the road. Just as he'd thought of a possible introduction the good doctor had arrived and the talk had wandered off.

"Before the doctor arrived just now, I was to enquire of sea enchantments," glancing around to see dwarves in earshot, he decides on circumlocution, "you who knows of the sea and these mysteries. I have heard tell of spells that having held for years, seemingly broken, reassert their power when the creatures approach once more. Doth thou know aught of these?"

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"Slavery?" Dorainen shook his head and sighed. Water elves only grudgingly accepted any kind of concept of ownership; the idea of a human owning a human was beyond absurd to them. He remembered a fable he'd once heard, or that's what he thought it was, or some human named Pow'uhl (or something like that) who healed a slave girl who had been afflicted by a python spirit. It hadn't gone very well for Pow'uhl. He nervously looked to see if Trepik was coming to get him, but Trepik was nowhere to be seen. Curious... why wouldn't he be supervising his men? Maybe he was sleeping....

"Anyway, back to sea enchantment. The enchantment that held us did not draw its power from the sea. I'd have been able to feel it if it had. It kept us on a beach, that's a liminal space, a place where sea and land collide. The sea was resisting the charm, which was pushing us from the land, keeping us on the beach. I think that's why the storm was so violent: the sea was rebelling against whatever force had been unleashed. You must understand how different that is from my magic. The charm has abated enough to let us walk this far. You are right, it could return at any time. If it doesn't mutate it would again drive us from land. This is pure guess work on my part, but I can only see one way we could be pushed from land on this road, and that's up.

"Maybe we should hope it's mutated?"

Dorainen thought for a minute. "And maybe it has. What if instead of being pushed from something, it's now pulling, we're now being drawn to something. It had previously been blocking our memories and inducing sleep. Now, we're getting visions and are able to walk long distances on little sleep. Maybe that's not an abatement of the charm at all, but a reversal. Intended or unintended, I have no idea."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary walks over to Dorainen and Er and hears some of the conversation and quietly says "I think we should have a small memorial service for those who have died over by the stream before dinner." and in softer voice, "and also decide what to do. If Foret is a slave it bodes ill for us here and in the city. And there is the other thing." Returning to her first voice, "I'll talk to the Doctor, Clawdine, and Frithwynne if you can find the others."

She then walks over to where Clawdine is in the water and waves to get her attention.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine dove and swam, dove and swam, oblivious to the travellers downstream. She followed the banks, scrabbling for fish, but they were unusually sneaky today. Her hand closed on yet another fistful of pebbles and silt, then, as she stood, she could see something glinting through the sunlight in the water. In the folds of a tree root she found unexpected bounty - two smooth gold sovereigns.

'Wonder if there be more, where yer came from?,' she said to the coins in her hand. She walked back to her clothes, which were haphazardly strewn across some bushes to dry, and noticed Mary waving to her again.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Clawdine," Mary called, "that looks refreshing. I'm trying to gather our people together for a small memorial service, but, more particularly so we can plan. You seem happy here and certainly your skills would allow you to live well here and even though it is late summer you would find enough I'm sure to prepare for the winter. I fear the city may not be safe. If you choose to stay here or leave the party for another direction, I would support you." Mary paused, "Dorainen and Er have some concern about the the extent of the curse and that is one thing we need to discuss as perhaps the sea witch or the nun would have some insight."

"I also have a more personal request. I've heard that dwarves are extremely fond of edible mushrooms which may or may not be true. Certainly Goodman Docker is using some dried ones in the cookpot set aside for the dwarves." Mary showed Clawdine a few pieces of dried fungi that she had borrowed. "Many humans like them definitely. You seem to have some skill in finding edible items, and, I have some skill in barter so between us we might each get some useful items from the train that we just can't find. Are you interested?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Unaccountably, there are no whetstones near the river. Disappointed, for she had hoped to give the doctor a gift, Frithwynne returns to the clothes and kit. She puts her kirtle back on and laces it up. Sitting down cross-legged, she starts to place the doctor's instruments back in their case. The case is fitted with cunning small loops to hold the instruments, and a padded lining which bears their imprint. She soon finds herself lost in the soothing puzzle of matching up what goes where.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine stood, dripping wet and buck naked in front of bossy Mary.

'A...MEMORIAL service? Iz that wot yer call it when yer cook and eat yer dearly departed? Just az well Jack and the Captin didn't die on the beach then, innit? Or we'd be dinin' off them, too. And yer want me ter find mushrooms ter go with it, do yer?'

Clawdine spat on the ground at Mary's feet to show her disgust at the idea and went back to her clothes. The others could see she was agitated, and kept their distance while Clawdine, with much muttering and waving of her arms, re-robed.

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda woke from her doze next to Daniel at the sound of Clawdine's shouting. Oh dear.

She edges away from Mary's hurt expression, over to Dorainen and Er. "What's the troll-woman so angry about? Is she still upset about King? For heaven's sake, I know she loved him, but if our choices are to starve or to eat a companion, I know which I'll choose."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

‘So she changed her mind,‘ Er said, flinching at the angry sounds emanating from the stream, ‘after she told us to carve him. I still have the skin if that would help her. ‘

‘The chance to tell what we have learned and choose our path is a good venture, as would be winning some shekels at dice if the good doctor should return. ‘

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary is hurt by Clawdine's reaction and backs slowly away. It is Clawdine's choice. She walks over to Frithwynne and looks at the Doctor's instruments. It is amazing that the wreck hadn't damaged them. She settles in silence beside Frithwynne since this is a sunny dry spot just before the stream enters the wood. A kingfisher is perched on a nearby bush and dragonflies dart back and forth over the water.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Wondrous kit, isn't it, Mistress Dra- Hawser?" says Frithwynne, running a finger over the handles, keeping well away from the blades. "Doctor John must be a fine canny man to know what to do with all of them." She folds the kit carefully and ties its leather thong.

"What do you think of this caravan, Mistress?" she continues. "Odd to travel by night, though not unheard of if their concern is to keep the oxen from work in the midday heat. And what do you think of Master Trepik? He seems a hard man. Do you think we are safe traveling with him for the next two days to Cimenster? It may make no difference; a small group such as we are washed from the sea might face more dangers on the highway alone. But best to think on what dangers we may find among them even as we choose to travel with them. And yet the drivers seem friendly enough, from the bits of conversation I heard our group have with them. I wonder if Master Trepik has hired them for some goal that they do not even know, as the false Arnulf apparently hired the Ka- the ship."

[ 17. June 2014, 20:23: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne starts combing through the long grass with her fingers. Sometimes all the whetstones by a stream will have been gathered, but ones a little farther away will have been missed. She's still hoping to ***find a hidden*** whetstone for the doctor.

[ 17. June 2014, 20:45: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne finds six pebbles of indeterminate shape, a belt buckle, and a mouse skull. But no whetstone. She gives up the search. Perhaps this land is different from those she has known, and whetstones don't come by riverbanks. Or perhaps the stream and its banks have been thoroughly searched already. She wonders whether Cimenster might be a town of knife grinders, to have swept up all the whetstones even to a two days journey distant.

She sets her finds in a careful row, to mystify and delight the next searcher, and waits to hear what Mary might say.

[ 17. June 2014, 22:22: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

'Well, be it on their own 'eadz,' muttered Clawdine to herself. Sometimes she knew when things were just plain wrong, but couldn't explain it any more than she could explain how she knew where to find plants under snow. Every hour that passed the miasma that had enveloped them on the beach was receding, and her goal was becoming clearer.

'Clawdine, yer needz a drink.' She fingered the coins under her shawl. She felt uneasy about keeping them. Why two? Like the coins that some liked to place on the eyes of the dead, they belonged at a funeral.

She sought out Quartzbearer and held out her hand to him. In it were the two sovereigns and a strand of long blonde hair. Gold, she knew, was hard for a dwarf to resist.

Quickly they did the deal, and Quartzbearer beckoned her over to a covered cart, where he left her in the shade with a tankard in her hand and a pleased smile on her face. Then he strode away to have a few words with the wagonmaster.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine watched the shadows lengthen across the field. Dark fingers crept from the ridge, across the stream and towards the ring of carts.

Something was stirring beneath the grass. She wondered if Gunriana and Daniel were feeling it too. What or who had been buried in this place? Had it been a battlefield, or a place of execution? Or was it just the porter she'd been drinking?

She couldn't shake the feeling that Death seemed to be stalking them...

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Doctors are indeed skilled as they go up to fight death and win many times," Mary answered Frithwynne. "And Doctor Goode is skilled even among them otherwise I think Jetse would be dead. Unfortunately he does seem to have some bad habits which may be why he is itinerant rather than established, renown, and rich."

She watched as a small herd of dappled forest ponies edged out of the woods on the other side of the stream. The peninsula ponies were notoriously ill-tempered and wild.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Time to work. Back to the wagons. Move out at nightfall.

Jetse had spent the day resting with the other guards. There was a reason he preferred work in the Palatinate, despite the dangers; the dwarves always understood his methods, preferred a certain kind of directness, simplicity. Illithids and dolgar, brigands and abberations; those could be dealt with. Swords work. Arrows too. Not so well with traders in distant ports or the Duke's captain calling up another levy. For them, the simple method only makes complications.

Look. What's wrong? Out of place. Companions. Unsupplied. Two gold coins for a mug of beer? Opportunistic, maybe. Supplies might be short. Trade won't work. Not without something more valuable than gold.

Jetse followed a dwarf (Silverjoy? That what she was called?) over to Trepik and a few of his traders.

"Trepik."

"Oh, hello halfman. I'd shake your hand, but I see you misplaced it. Maybe you should join your companions in looking for it in the woods."

Nobody much laughed. Even Trepik's toadies didn't want to provoke the **intimidating** soldier.

"Anyway, if you've come to beg, or ask questions, or tell me you need something, I'm afraid that you should have come sooner. I can only please one person a day, and it wasn't you. Maybe you should try waking up sooner, greybeard—early to bed, early to rise?"

Jetse snatched the axe from Silverjoy's hand, and spun it in an arc aimed right at Trepik's head. It looked as if he was going to split the man's skull in two…but he stopped it suddenly, precisely between his eyes, drawing only a small drop of blood. Trepik's guards stood shocked, unmoving, and with no thought of trying to stop Guardian Vos.

"I've come to trade, Trepik. You live because I let you. Give me what we need."

[ 18. June 2014, 04:44: Message edited by: Ariston ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The expression on Trepik's face flickers trepidation and calculation Those around him stare fixedly at the upraised axe.

"I fear I misjudged your worth, let us say a wage of five silver pieces for you and each of your band - for you defend the caravan, your elf heals and your doctor also, of course your tinker repairs and then there is the quiet woman who has been so good with animals, and it is a blessing to help the holy woman and her fool, and Goodwoman Hawser has been diligent in her assistance, your water caller - despite her, um, unusual freedoms - is of great value, and your woman of family's connection are most useful - I can not now recall how I can have omitted to set a wage. Silverjoy, find the paymaster, jump to it !

And obviously you need to see yourselves decently clothed and armed, when Silverjoy returns, she will take you and your band to the supply wagon to get what you need. Keep the axe of course, clearly your are master with it, and Silverjoy can find herself another at the supply wagon.

And, perhaps I have jested a little too freely about your loss - but permit me this - that you shall have Foret to be your good left arm.

Foret !"

As Foret comes running Tepik steps cautiously back from the axe. Jetse replaces it in his belt, it is only after he has done this that he realises he had been holding it in his *left* hand. When he looks again he sees his stump and feels a peculiar sensation. Like a twanging nerve - he looks away.

When Foret arrives Trepik grabs him by one arm - and with a leather glove takes a coal from the fire - and swiftly, before Foret can react, he presses it to the band of Foret's tattoo rolling the coal rapidly around his entire bicep. Then he pushes Foret toward Jetse saying "you are his now".

The saddest thing, is the boy is so used to punishment that he does not scream.

Posted by Curious Kitten (# 11953) on :

Taking advantage of the distraction Jetse is providing Er slips into the bonded wagon.

In the corner a snake snoozes, Er thinks it's rather poisonous., and six locked chests. There is a empty bench presumably for the night guard and an open basket that maybe buckled shut. He wonders if this where the snake is kept at night.

The best chance if finding out what is in those chests Er believes is with for Jetse to get the position of night guard or the Shepard lass Frithwynne to get the job of tending to the snake. Shuddering Er removes himself before the snake wakes.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne watches the ponies come down to the stream to drink. Most of them have their ears pricked slightly back, nervously watching the two women, but one of them has its ears pricked slightly forwards. She traces its shadow to where it touches the near bank and kneels in it, placing her hands on the neck of the shadow. She starts to croon and hum, seeing whether her ***animal command*** can tame the wild creature and draw it towards her.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Well, it seems I missed all the fun, thought Dorainen, once both Jetse and Er had filled him in on their recent adventures. A decidedly creepy looking dwarf, Fire-egg by name, led him to the goods wagon, where some other members of his party were examining the available items.

He found a very useful looking hunting knife straight away, replacing the one lost at sea.

He then went to look over the clothing. His robes had been unaffected by salt or the ravages of time or charm, the elven seamstress charm had preserved them perfectly. He look over the available under-robe-wear, but none of it seemed sized or shaped for the elven form. Finally, his eyes lit upon a very curious looking hat. It was delightfully colorful, had three towers coming out of it, each of which had a small metallic object on it. When he picked it up to examine it, it made a charming ringing sound. He tried it on his head and it fit almost perfectly... what japes!

[Dorainen is now wearing a jester's hat. At some point, people will get sufficiently annoyed at the ringing to do something about this. As socially naive as he is, he's not stupid, and will remove it if he needs to hide.]

Finally, Dorainen surveyed the other items available. He considered himself fortunate (or blessed?) to have not lost much other than his knife in the storm. Finally, he caught sight of a tightly bound scroll whose binding was labeled Cimenster and environs. Unraveling it revealed a map. This, he thought, could come in very handy!

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Frithwynne is aware it should be ***easy*** to tame the pony, providing she is undisturbed during her attempt to do so.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine drained the last drop from the quartpot and belched with satisfaction as the trading party began to stir themselves to action.

Some of them were gathering the animals, while it seemed Guardian Vos had made some headway with Trepik. The caravaneer had obviously been observing them during the day, and there was a difference now, she noted, to his attitude. She hoped this was a good thing.

Clawdine sighed at the emptiness of the tankard, then rose to go to rinse it in the stream. She didn't like the shadows, and avoided them by hopping and lurching from one patch of dwindling sunlight to another all the way across the field. This did not go without comment from a number of her fellow travellers, and Frithwynne in particular, who didn't want her to spook the ponies.

Near where she had found the gold bits, she bent to rinse the sticky vessel and had just filled it with water to drink when the shadow fell over her. A skeletal hand emerged suddenly from the riverbank and grabbed her leg.

Clawdine screeched as only a large-lunged crone can screech, and tried to get away. She knew that all her gifts with water were of absolutely no use here. She banged the pot down hard on the long bony fingers to no avail. It seemed intent on dragging her into the earth, and she screamed and screamed to the others for help.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had warded off Clawdine with an urgent shake of her head and returned to concentrating on gentling the pony through its shadow when a grating shriek filled the air. She could see the shadow ponies all raise their heads. The shadows scattered, including that of the pony she'd been trying to tame, tumbling her to the ground as if she'd been thrown. She looked upstream, towards the shrieks, and saw Clawdine struggling as if in some unearthly grip. She must have fallen into a hole, perhaps broken a leg from her screams.

"Mary!" Frithwynne shouted. "Get Jetse! Get Dorainen! Get Mother Aethelreda! Get everyone!" She named those she had observed who looked strongest after the Guardian, and called for everyone because Clawdine looked so panicked, Frithwynne didn't know what kind of help might be needed.

She ran towards Clawdine. When she got close she could see the dirt-caked hand locked around Clawdine's leg. She nearly vomited, but controlled herself and locked her hands around Clawdine's wrists, trying to dig her bare heels into the soft bank.

"Grab my wrists! Grab my wrists!" Frithwynne yelled. "No, drop the pot! Grab my wrists!"

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel wakes up to hear Clawdine yelling. He runs over to find her leg clutched by a skeletal hand. He tries to Turn Undead, only to find that he cannot remember how, or else that the power will not come. Not having had time to equip himself with a new spear, or light a torch, he takes one of his silver crossbow bolts. He tries to ***stab the arm*** with it. He ***senses evil only if there is time*** and only gets in the water himself if he can't reach the arm otherwise.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary turned in shock at Clawdine's screams as she had been watching Frithwynne try to approach the ponies. She rose and ran towards the wagons calling for help. The oxen around the wagons were already spooking.

When she saw Daniel and others start running towards Clawdine, she turned and loosened the line around her waist and knotted a large loop in it. She'll try ***roping Clawdine*** so people can get a better grip on her.

[ 18. June 2014, 19:13: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana wanders between the wagons in deep thought. The prophetess's vision had been a true one - the walk through the woods, the caravan, and the dwarf were both foreseeings and symbols. What worries the witch is the meaning the the symbol had inspired in her, the image of the dwarf might have represented "our adversary or the slave of our adversary". If Trepik's venture was merely wicked or criminal, then that was what the fates had written, and Gunriana's obligation to aid him held firm. But if the caravan, and the guarded wagon, were part of their enemy's schemes, was she bound?

She had been helping one of the wagoneers feed and water the oxen, when she heard the scream, and raced across the camp to find several of her companions gathered around Clawdine, trying to haul her away from something that had seized her leg.

The sea-witch had learned her lesson from the storm. It is not always necessary to meet strength with strength. Getting as close as she can to the knot of struggling figures, she summons her ***Rune Magic*** and cuts Logr, the river-rune, onto the grassy bank, calling forth the ungraspable force of the stream, and willing the fingers that had taken hold to loosen and to slip and slide from her limbs.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

'Cut it orf me! Cut it orf me!' Clawdine implored the doctor, assuming that everyone could see what was terrifying her.

All around her the shadows heaved, the earth rose and corpses writhed. 'They were tricked, and they 'aven't finished their fightin'!' she yelled at Gunriana, before passing out completely.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Hearing Clawdine's cries her companions rush to help, her efforts to break free having been in vain Clawdine falls against the riverbank unconcious - her outflung hand a foot away from the loop of rope Mary threw to her.

Daniel dives forward, stabbing through the skeletal hand with a silver arrow, it disintegrates, and Dorianen & John Goode succeed in pulling Clawdine fully out of the river.

Meanwhile, Guriana carves a rune, and the river surges, washing away the rest of the skeleton as it emerges from the riverbank.

Jeste, Foret and Hewer are charging forward as a second skeleton starts to claw its way out of the bank ...

Daniel shouts to the running fighters, "go for the back of the knees, the back of knees !"

***

Frithwynne tried to pull Clawdine out, or at least keep her from being pulled further in, but a sudden spasm in her back causes her to lose her grip on Clawdine's wrists and fall backwards. A second pain in her back reminds her that she forgot to transfer her chalice to her new knapsack.

She sees Jetse running to the rescue, but her relief is short-lived as a skeleton emerges from right next to Clawdine. Frithwynne scrambles backwards but the skeleton keeps advancing. Frithwynne's right hand strikes a fallen branch. Desperate, she grabs it and swings it in an awkward one-handed blow at the skeleton. The blow hits the skeleton no higher than its knees, but Daniel was right that the knees were the weak point. The skeleton implodes as it falls straight down, first the thighs, then the pelvis, then the rib cage, and finally the skull which teeters on top of the pile of bones and then rolls into the river.

***

Gunriana edges away from the emerging skeleton as Jetse moves in to engage it. The dead thing's movements are clumsy in comparison to the practised steps of the warrior, and, provided ordinary weapons can harm the thing, she is in iittle doubt as to the fight's outcome. But, in case the skeleton requires more than cold steel, she stands by ready to add her rune-lore to aid Jetse's blows.

A sudden feeling of dread fillsher and she spins on her heel - another skeleton has already pulled itself up through the bank, and has Gunriana fumbles with her blade it's hooked fingers lash out, bruising her arms, trying to catch her in its bony grasp. She stumbles, dropping the weapon as she tries to get away.

Fortunately, the skeleton's pursuit is hindered as it drags it's feet clear of the last few inches of clammy earth, but as Gunriana tries to flee, something catches her ankle. Another skeletal hand, slender, and missing two fingers, is poking through the ground, and as she pulls away, it's grip tightens and she falls heavily on the bank. The first skeleton advances, and Gunriana looks up helplessly into its hollow eyes.

"Faith, Gunri..." she recalls her great-aunt's words "...what is written is written, but we are daughters of the fates, and we do not fear."

Hastily, she scratches Fe, the wealth-bringer, on the bank, to bring her lost possession to her. The skeleton's foot brushes against against the scramasax, which slides down the bank towards the witch's hand. As the monster stoops reaching for her neck, gripping her flesh and preparing to strangle the hated life out of her, she lifts her arm, and, remembering Daniel's words, slams the heavy blade into the back of the skeleton's knee. The shock of the blow causes its leg to buckle, and the untidy tumble of bones collapses, falling into the river.

Gunriana tries to stand, but the hand at her ankle holds firm, and she falls heavily, losing her grip on the blade once more. Twisting back to fact it, she rolls over the skull at her belt.

"Help me, sister" she whispers, lifting the skull and driving it down at the hand. The finger bones prove the more brittle, snapping sharply on the first blow, and the maimed hand sinks back into the dirt. Gunriana scrambles to her feet and snatching up her weapon, flees from the cursed bank, and turns to take her stand on firmer ground.

***
Meanwhile ...

"Come. Let me see your arm."

Jetse looked over the burn on Foret's skin. The skin was charred and blistered, but the burn was not deep; Trepik hadn't let the coal set long enough for that.

"Keep it clean. You'll heal soon. You are strong. Brave. Do not fear pain. Use it."

"Now, be my Hand. Come with me."

The boy followed after Jetse as he walked to one of the guard wagons. The old soldier was impressed with his fortitude; to take blows and burns like that without flinching, without crying out, was no small feat. Perhaps his strength could be used…

"Take this." Jetse handed Foret the axe. "It set you free. It will keep you free. Swing it hard. With conviction. Keep it sharp. The rest can be taught later."

The Guardian nodded at the dwarf guarding the wagon, and climbed into it. After his little feat of dramatics, the dwarves seemed to respect him—or, at the very least, to have lost respect for Trepik. The trader had been bested by a one-armed old man, his cowardice proven to all. If Jetse or his companions wanted something, the dwarves weren't going to stop them.

Looking through the wagon, Jetse found a stout dwarven recurve longbow, much like the one he used to carry. He turned it over in his hand, watching the light play on its polished surface, before taking the quiver next to it. Even if he had only a vague hope of being able to figure out how to use a bow one-handed, somehow holding the weapon in his hand felt right, as if it was meant for him—and if he could hold an axe without noticing it, perhaps an arrow could work just as well. Further in was a tall wooden shield; Hand Foret could use that, protecting the both of them. It was how Jetse had first learned the ways of war, after all…

What else? A set of clothes for the boy—he was about the same size as a thin dwarf, after all—and some new ones for himself. Oh, and that hat in the corner—why something that striking was going unworn was beyond Jetse. Must belong to Trepik, who wouldn't appreciate it anyway. Jetse stepped out of the wagon, gave Foret his shield, thew on his cloak (finally, that breastplate emblem covered…surprised nobody mentioned it), and had just time enough to put on his hat when he heard screams from the riverbank.

Oh no. Dolgarkin. Not here too.

"Foret! Come. Be ready."

Jetse ran to the riverbank with Foret, as Clawdine was pulled free. Suddenly, the river rose—the sea-witch seemed to have control of the waters.

"Stay back from the flood. Hit them hard. Break them."

"Go for the back of the knees!" yelled Daniel.

"Fool. No weak parts. Hit anywhere. Watch me, Hand. Destroy it if it moves."

Jetse drew his black blade as he and Foret charged at the nearest creature. He dodged the creature's attempt to grab him, then swung hard with the blade, snapping the ribs and spine of the skeleton. The creature stumbled; Foret swung his axe at the creature's head with a spray of bone fragments.

"Use your shield too. Hit it," yelled Jetse to his apprentice as he took another slash at the snapping skeleton.

It didn't take them long. Soon, the creature was dismembered, unable to move.

Jetse found Dorainen. "The crone will recover? Good. We should burn the bones. Release the enchantment. Do it before we move out for the night."

[ 21. June 2014, 23:06: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Hewer swings around wildly looking for the enemy, but sees only shattered bones. She looks at the survivors, awe-struck, "What happened ?"

Dr Goode is bending over Clawdine, trying to revive her, with some success - she comes to groggy and a bit disorientated.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary left Clawdine under Dorainen's care and went to the cook fire to get some wood, kindling, and a burning brand so as to start a new fire by the river bank. She warily started collecting and feeding the bones into the fire which burnt purple and green in strange patterns; some of the others helped. The dwarves and humans of the train seemed very cautious of them and most were hurriedly eating as the party would soon move out with dusk falling. Master Trepik had gone into the fortified wagon.

"What were those, warrior Jetse" she asked.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

The pounding in Clawdine's ears got louder and louder. Her old heart had been shocked by the fright and she could hear King's hoofbeats drumming closer and closer. She knew he was coming to rescue her and looked up expectantly, only to find the concerned faces of Dr.Goode, Frithwynne, Dorainen and Mother Aethelreda looking down at her instead.

'Bloody 'eck,' muttered Clawdine at them. 'Wot 'appened then?'

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne's hip hurt where she had fallen from the shadow horse, and her back hurt where she'd fallen on her chalice. She slowly found her feet. Dr. Goode, Dorainen, and Mother Aethelreda were standing around Clawdine. Frithwynne put on a simulation of a concerned look and joined them. When she saw that Clawdine was conscious and talking, Frithwynne turned away. Let other people look after Clawdine.

She broke the tree branch into four pieces and fed them into the fire Mary had built. Then she climbed the bank to where Gunriana stood.

"Lady Gunriana, what do you think we should do? I had thought we would travel with the caravan to Cimester, and see where the prophecy leads us. But now... that is still what I would like to do. But I don't know if these -- these --"... Frithwynne breaks off, she has no words for what they have just fought. "... these things are set against us and the prophecy, or if this is just a cursed riverbank that we've stumbled on, and would have attacked anyone."

Waiting for Gunriana's reply, Frithwynne draws the chalice from her belt to look at it. The cup is bent over almost to meet the stem, just as she had seen it in her dream.

"And look here, Lady, I dreamed my chalice was bent, and here it is, just as I dreamed."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Mary:
"What were those, warrior Jetse?"

"Dolgarkin. Nasty pests, see lots in the Palatinate. Undead, or constructs. Not much of a difference. Bones absorb wild magic. Something sets them off, the power awakens, the bodies forget they're dead. Run around, try to grab and kill anything they find. Not evil. Just what they do. I'm guessing our skinchanging troll was the spark they needed. Could just as well have been Gunriana. Or some magic item. Burning the bones releases the magic. Keeps them dead."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Jetse, could it have been the magic we were entangled in? Surely if Clawdine triggered this she would have triggered it elsewhere in her travels. Or Gunriana? Or are these dolgarkin extremely uncommon outside the Palatinate?" Mary paused, "I know the rivers that flow out into the sea and this may be the Ousel or flows into it though I think we are still fairly close to the sea so probably the Ousel. It has an ill-name, once a great city lay at its mouth many, many years ago, Nimrais, or so the stories say, before a great wave swept in seven times and left not a soul alive or even any sign a city had been there, or here, not even a usable harbor. What gods they angered no one knows. Those who survived moved to or built Cimenster on its five hills. Perhaps it is there bodies buried here, the unquiet dead never properly laid to rest since none remained alive who knew their names and could do the proper rites."

Mary looked over at the wagons where the wagoneers were now collecting the oxen and yoking them up.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Ariston:
"...Not evil. Just what they do. I'm guessing our skinchanging troll was the spark they needed. Could just as well have been Gunriana. Or some magic item. Burning the bones releases the magic. Keeps them dead."

"There are many foul things like these in the world. All of them are the creation of necromancy, either directly, or through the after-effects of past malice.

Though to call it 'necromancy' is misleading. It is not the magic of death at all. To call back the spirits of the dead to their bodies or bones shows as much contempt for death as it does for life. It is a wickedness beyond all other evil. There is nothing beneath the moon that so calls for fire and sword.

Be assured, my friends, that if the day of your death is written for a day that we journey together, and I have the chance to lay out your corpse, the last service I can give you is to guard it against such desecration. Would that some daughter of the fates had done that for these unfortunates.

Jetse is right. Let us burn their bones, remembering that like us, those bones once wore flesh and dreamed dreams, and then leave this accursed place behind us."

Gunriana begins gathering up those pieces of bone that the river has not already carried away.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne, her heart pounding at being so forward, tried again.

"Lady Gunriana, what do you plan to do when we get to Cimenster? Could I be of service in some way?"

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda gingerly smoothes Clawdine's tumbled hair out of her face. "We thought you were having a nightmare, my dear, but then these disgusting skeletons started bursting out of the creek bank. Do you not remember? Jetse and his young friend knocked them to pieces and Mary is burning the bits. Don't worry, love, we're safe now." ("I hope," she adds to herself.)

Aethelreda finds both Clawdine and Gunriana a bit spooky, if she's honest, and doesn't really have the stomach for investigating the time-curse or the skeletons further at the moment. She decides to leave the magic to them that enjoy it.

Continuing to stroke Clawdine's hair, hoping she's soothing rather than enraging her, Aethelreda turns to Gunriana and Frithwynne and interjects "Let's just get on with the caravan as quick as we can. I think, Gunriana, if you're able to look into the matter of the curse while we're traveling, you had better do that. When we reach Cimester, perhaps we can work with Mary and Dorainen to learn more of what happened to the ship and whether any of us can recoup any of our lost years and loved ones. That must be our priority, now."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er, along with many of the dwarves, had been trying to see what was going on within a confused huddle, then a fire, but had not been able to see much as he was mostly engaged in re-hitching the oxen to the wagons. When Trepik shouted for Hewer he volunteered to go over the river to find her. The dwarves were more dubious about walking into what did not look a safe situation.

As he got closer to the river he looked around. The disturbed ground, smell of burning bone and weariness of his fellow travellers told the story of their struggle and the danger they had been in. He called over to his companion, "Hewer, Trepik is getting impatient to leave. He needs you to drive the wagon. The caravan is about to depart."

He glanced around the group, "if anyone else is coming, Trepik is leaving as soon as he can and is not waiting for stragglers. This is not a good place to stay the night, and we're all signed to work on the caravan. It seems to me that we should get back to our assigned tasks."

With that, Er turned back towards the caravan, wondering how he could engage with any of the others from the beach. He hoped that he was being followed and tried to fall into step with anyone who was prepared to walk alongside him.

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda says to Daniel and Clawdine "He's right. Can you walk?"

[ 23. June 2014, 20:23: Message edited by: Antisocial Alto ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Autenrieth Road:
"Lady Gunriana, what do you plan to do when we get to Cimenster? Could I be of service in some way?"

"What do we know of our enemy, sister? Twenty years ago he used us to recover some hidden thing that was guarded by magic of incredible power. Something that someone had gone to much trouble to keep from mortal hands. It would have taken much care, and much risk for our enemy to obtain it.

So it seems likely to me that the thing was itself a source of power, and worth taking risks for, and that this will have left its mark. When we get to Cimenster, and hear tell of a new warlord, or dark wizard, or a merchant house that has utterly dominated trade, or all-knowing sage, or vastly expanding cult, whose story started a little under twenty years ago, then we will have found our enemy, and can shape our plans. It seems unlikely to me that they did what they did without intending to leave some mark on the world.

As to what you can do, sister, believe me that is written already. My mothers could have struck your sails twenty years ago, but did not. Whether they have written your story with great deeds or as a grim joke is yet to be seen. Live as if it might be either. In the end, sister, we are only bones, then ash."

Gunriana lifts the skull from her belt.

"Can you tell is our sister here was desired for her beauty, admired for her wit, loved for her kindness or mocked for her folly? All she was is lost in the dust, and as she is, you shall be. But the sun is no less warm on your skin for knowing that. Let's see how the sun shines in Cimenster. I have no more plan than that."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

The fight with the skeletons means one thing, at least. The dwarves and humans with the caravan know that there are vile things in the dark, and powers that might protect them.

As the caravan prepares to leave (and as the journey proceeds), Gunriana openly practises her ***Rune Magic***, Fe for prosperity, Ur for endurance, As for protection from evil, bestowing protections on any of the wagons and their travellers as desire it.

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Ah yes, says Daniel, dolgarkin, coming over after checking that Clawdine is as ok physically and spiritually as Daniel is able to discern. Fascinating creatures - their knees bend both ways at will, so chopping them in the back of their knees won't help. Everyone, disregard what I said about chopping at the back of their knees.

He straightens up with an effort, rubs his back, and looks around the camp. I think I should acquire a weapon. Daniel returns to the caravan and picks up a spear, and a mallet. He'll have to replenish his supply of stakes later.
'Hello, fool,' somebody mutters under his breath by Daniel's ear. Daniel turns round to see Trepik. 'You use that end to stick the enemy,' says Trepik, pointing at the blunt end, 'and hold it by that end,' he says, pointing at the shaft.
'Thank you,' says Daniel. He knows this man is utterly selfish. He looks him over. Probably a salt smuggler. He should ask Mary Drake. In the mean time, his own expertise is further intrigued. That's an interesting amulet you have on. May I see? How many snakes are there?'

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine felt rather queasy. What on earth had been in that tankard? Or was it the green smoke? All she knew was that she needed to lie down for a very long time.

She was grateful for the kind hands that helped her get to the wagons, and even more grateful that the one she had paid the dwarf for had a child step at the back to aid entry.

She lay among the sacks and drifted off to sleep as the wagons got on to the road to follow the row of blackberry bushes to Cimenster.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

John Goode, has been looking uneasy since the attack on Clawdine, he goes to speak to Jetse.

"I am going to strike out alone I think, magic is an uncomfortable thing to be around, I do not think the bones would have risen to a plain man such as myself. I am going to make for Sattith in the west, it is far enough in time and place that a new name and a new sign will have me a new practice in a few weeks.

So, if would you choose me out a weapon, I'll give you these cantrips for Er and we'd call that a parting ?"

Jetse nods, and they go off to the supply wagon together. Once he has a short sword in his belt, John Goode slips quietly away - he has always hated goodbyes.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary finished burning the bones that could be found then raked out and doused the fire when Er announced the caravan's departure. Much to think on. She decided to walk for at least the first part of tonight's journey perhaps with Er or Daniel as most of the train not of the party are wary of them. She goes looking for one or both of the two after grabbing some journey bread to gnaw on as the party for the most part had missed the hot stew; the Docker father pointedly ignored her.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Jetse watched Dr. Goode disappear into the forest. The Unconquered be with him. Foret could have learned from him. Always good to know healing. Jetse had needed it enough. The cantrips left behind would be better with others. The light? Maybe keep it. Let others play tricks.

"Foret. Be ready. Keep watch with me."

The boy nodded and followed meekly. Strength, obedience, that he had. Spirit he'd have to learn. Might be hard.

It was going to be a long watch for the boy. Keep his mind active. Teach him to use his weapons. Best if he could practice. Teach today, show tomorrow.

They had been riding on the back of one of the last wagons for a few hours when one of the dwarves walked up. Jetse instinctively reached to his sword, then let it go. Just a dwarf.

Hej Jetse. Går et eller andet sted?

Surprising. A Palatinate dwarf? Here? Quartzbearer didn't even know the Jarl. But this. News. At last.

Ja, samme sted, du er, lige her.

Jetse patted the wagon bed, and the dwarf got up and sat on it.

"Dvalinn."

Du er fra Mørkbørg? Fra Pfalz?

"No. Just cousins there. Distant ones. Worked in convoys with the Jarl's folk. Learned their language then."

"Yet your name's Pfalz?"

"Ah. 'Sleeper.' That was their name for me. It stuck."

"Names do that sometimes."

"Indeed."

The caravan moved on for some time.

"It's a rare man who would wear those arms around dwarves these days. One rarer still who would openly use a Temple-forged sword."

Jetse started.

"Why? What happened? It's been years."

"Of course it has been. You had nothing to do with the Purge. Or were doing what you were told. Or would rather not talk about it."

"Purge?"

The dwarf laughed bitterly.

"Oh. You act like it never happened. Or you weren't there. How convenient. No doubt, you were miles away. With the king in Meije, with his retinue."

"I was Jetse Zwarthoedster when I last left Iljerhaven. The Black Guardian. Jet-haired Jetse. No doubt I've lost that name."

"Pah. Twenty years or more must have passed. You still wear that armor. The Duchy's own always return."

"Twenty, yes, and four more. And I'm of Iljerhaven. Never Joux."

"How old-fashioned. Iljerhaven is the Duchy. Even before the Purge."

"Dwarves had long memories. Things have changed. You have forgotten."

"Us forget? Who founded Jernbjerg? And who came later, along with the gnomes and the new name, seeking to tame the wild magics of the mountain and the caverns?"

"We stood with the dwarves when the illithids attacked. We worked with them to secure the mines, drive the flayers beyond the darkness. Many died. Dwarf, gnome, and man. I fought with them all. Lucky. Lost only an arm. Flayer poison rotted the other. Now the one's replaced, other one gone."

"So say many. Where were you during the Purge, friend? Why did you not order your men to stop it?"

"Told you. Wasn't there."

"The Purge took months. The siege of Mørkbørg alone lasted almost a year. You could have returned."

"No. Not unless the city is restored. The Canton of Iljerhaven, not a duke's thrall"

"Oh? You can only save dwarves when the right flag flies? How convenient."

Jetse pulled out his sword. Dvalinn reached for his axe, as did Foret.

"Hold, Foret. Dvalinn, you know what this is. You know that it can never leave Iljerhaven or the Palatinate. The arms made in the Temple stay with their soldiers. This blade is mine. Bring it back, they will know it was mine. Bring back even a piece of it, they will know it was mine. No weapon leaves the Temple without being recorded. No soldier, except of Iljerhaven or Mørkbørg, carries these."

"That I know. What is it to me?"

"When I last left the Canton, it was with a cargo of weapons from the Temple. Off the books. Strengthen the city, weaken the duke, protect the Palatinate. Overthrowing a trade post. Fellowship of Merchant Adventurers, ruling guild of the Canton, verses some local trading families. Train local rebels, arm them well. The ports change hands."

"And?"

"We were found out. Someone didn't like our arms trafficking. Rival guild, maybe. Or an informant for the Citadel. The duke benefited. Seized control of the city. Had the Fellowship liquidated as traitors. If you weren't there, you're exiled. I can't return. Can only carry it with me. Sword, armor, and this."

Jetse pulled out the sun symbol he had tucked into his armor.

"The Unyielding Light. Invictus. The Precinct of the Sun, the lowest part of the City. First thing a soldier sees coming through the Palatinate gates. Safety. Healing. Home."

Jetse looked to his side. "Foret. Keep sharp. Your first watch will soon be over."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er was walking with Hewer alongside the bonded wagon when Mary joined them. Hewer was confused and distressed after the events at the river and as Er had not been there, Mary's arrival was a relief. Maybe she could tell her story and help Hewer understand what had happened. He was aware that there would be several listening ears among the dwarves also trying to make sense of the experience and if Mary was canny in her retelling she might be able to reassure those in the caravan.

How to explain Clawdine and her experiences? How much had she drunk of that brew? And what were the expected results? How friendly had those dwarves been towards her? And how to convey these difficulties to Mary?

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary nodded to Hewer and Er and walked beside the wagon. She caught that both were distressed though for different reasons. Er at least might expect the uncanny given what they had been through though whether this uncanny was related she had no idea; treat this as an attack on the train and not on the shipwrecked. "Er, I had no idea that the land route was so dangerous; it is fortunate that Jetse was here or some of this train may have been injured or worse. Clawdine is shaken but not seriously injured, poor simple soul. Good Hewer are there other dangers we should be aware of?"

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel sees that Trepik's amulet marks him out as a poison-master trained by goblins. Hmm... maybe we should be careful only to eat food we've cooked ourselves until we leave the caravan.
He heads off to find Mary.
To your knowledge is there much of a business in salt smuggling? Certainly it appears he has been trading near the salt mines; I think that may be where the young lad comes from. Also, he's a poison master. Don't eat his food. Tell Clawdine and anybody else you talk to.
Daniel goes in search of Jetse and Frithwynne and tells them the same things.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er was in the middle of carefully framing a reply to Mary: "I suspect that Mistress Clawdine conjured those bones with her reaction to that brew from the dwarves. Mayhap we should persuade her and the brewers that her partaking of such liquor is dangerous ..." but was interrupted as Daniel came by to talk to Mary.

Er shook his head - such rush and hurry. It made the party look suspicious as he was trying to convince the dwarves and others that the danger came from allowing Clawdine to drink, not from their party. Under the cover of reaching to adjust the traces on an ox, he muttered:
"Mary if you walk with me some more, we can appear calm and relaxed, and hopefully the caravan will see there is nothing to fear from us."

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda follows along with Daniel since she's pretending to be his keeper. She's alarmed to hear his revelations about Trepik.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne is walking somewhat behind the wagon that carries Jetse and Foret and Pfalz. With her new acute hearing she can hear their conversation, but none of it makes any sense to her. War and exile, is the most she can figure, and that doesn't seem so very different from the news from far places that used to filter into the village of Cragfall.

She's trying to sense if there's anyone in the caravan she could approach to maybe find out some information. Maybe some news about someone risen to riches or power in Cimenster, information she could offer to the Lady Gunriana. But no one seems approachable.

She is puzzled by the Lady Gunriana's statement that all is already written. Why bother trying to do anything, then? It makes no sense to her.

She's turning this over in her mind when Daniel comes with the warning about Trepik. She wonders how they can manage to retrieve their food and eat apart without rousing the suspicions of the caravan. It seems hopeless.

She plods on, listlessly.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary was a bit shaken by Daniel's revelation but tried to hide it. "Apologies Hewer, I think Daniel still hasn't recovered from the trauma. I hope we can find someone in Cimenster to cure him. Perhaps someone to help Clawdine also."

She pondered what Daniel said. Salt smuggler was possible though the coastal cities had little need to import salt and Barvik was the bigger exporter than Cimenster, more places for salt ponds. Though poisoner? Was it poisonous salts that Daniel meant from the Apar desert. Apar mines also supplied good salt but only for trade further inland such as to the cities of Denbel and Sallakcit.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

As the caravan moves away from the last resting place of the skeletons, the mood of the wagoneers seems to brighten. The road is firm, the oxen seem remarkably patient and untiring, and the sun which shines down through the faintest haze of rain is comforting without being oppressive.

Gunriana moves from wagon to wagon, pausing occasionally to carve a rune on a yokepole or frame, and to exchange a word or two with the dwarves and humans. The pace of the caravan gradually increases. Cimenster is drawing closer.

Sensing a deepening of trust between the travellers, Gunriana tries to steer the conversation towards local news, hoping that she has sufficient ***Elan*** that, without raising suspicion, she might be able to find out if any new military or political powers have arisen in the lost decades since Kavetseki sunk.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne watches curiously as Gunriana comes down the caravan, carving runes. She decides to try to shake off the sadness that has descended on her by some brisk walking. It feels good to be wearing boots again instead of walking barefoot. She drifts up the line of wagons (strange, it feels like she's having to walk much more quickly than she did the night before, yet it feels effortless), listening to the talk of the guards and drivers as she goes. She spends some extra time walking near the large wooden wagon.

When she reaches the head of the caravan, she slows and starts drifting back again. She wonders if her ***intuition*** can make any sense of the bits and pieces she has heard.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen had had a pleasant nap after the nasty business with the skeletons, but had awoken in plenty of time to join the departing caravan and fall in step. He knew he'd find a wagon sooner or later, but he was happy walking for a while. His legs felt stiff and missed water. Fresh from his nap, he was able to make his way up and down the caravan and catch up on everyone's news. Eventually, he found Er, they found a wagon to sit in, and he got out the map of Cimenster to look over with him. While Er was certainly the expert, Dorainen enjoyed running his fingers over the waterways. It felt soothing.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine drifted in and out of sleep as the sun began to sink in the west. She was hungry and the sacks were rather lumpy and uncomfortable.

'Ere,' she said to the dwarf holding the reigns of the oxcart. 'Wotcha got in theze zacks? Theyz not much of a feather bed.'

The dwarf chuckled. 'Wondrous treasure, there, old woman. Take a look at our precious cargo. Jewels from deep within the earth, they are!'

Clawdine sat up and opened the sacks next to her. 'Taters! Well, thatz all right, 'cept they needz cookin'. And parznips and onions and turnips. Anythin' else? I could chew yer leg orf I'm that 'ungry.'

The dwarf reached down and tossed her a calico bag. 'Only what's in there, if you like a bit o' sausage.' He gave her a grin. 'And whatever's left in the bottom of my pocket.' He nodded at an empty looking pouch hanging from a nail in one of the wagon hoops.

Clawdine took her knife and carved a few slices of cured sausage meat. Then she investigated the leather pouch. At the bottom were a couple of dates, a nutmeg, some dried mushrooms, a shrivelled orange and an old brown apple core.

'It'll do.' Clawdine sucked the dried flesh off the dates and carefully put the pits back into the pocket. Then she turned her attention to the orange, rolling it around in her hands and whispering to it before spitting on it and clasping it to her heart. She tapped it gently against the divining rod nestled in her cleavage and watched with pleasure as it doubled, then trebled in size until the skin split.

'Want some?' she tore off a section and offered it to the dwarf, who shook his head in alarm.

"You a witch?' he demanded.

Clawdine laughed. 'Nope. I just got a way with food. I like it and it likes me.' She winked. 'Stick with me and yer'll eat like a rich man!'

Then she settled back among the sacks, sucking the seeds out of the orange and putting each one back in the pouch as gently as if they were rubies.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er and Dorainen pored over the map, Er using his ***well travelled*** skills to spot the changes over the intervening 20 years in the countryside around Cimenster and the town itself.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er found the hairs on the back of his neck rising. The changes on the map were huge. Some he would have expected, successful towns grow, small villages disappear and expanding towns need materials and sites. Cimenster had obviously thrived and the Commoner's Forest must have been used to resource that growth, in fact, the town had doubled in size and the forest entirely disappeared. But what had caused the fortification of the town? And why is there
a place of execution marked just about half a mile before you reach the gates of Cimenster? These are both new and worrying developments, as were the number of small villages that have disappeared off the map.

Er turned to Dorainen and Mary, "Cimenster has grown and is now fortified. How safe will we be arriving in a fortified town?"

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"I think that depends entirely on what the caravan is carrying," replied Dorainen.

"The boy Foret must know something that might help us figure out what kind of reception we should be expecting in Cimenster. I'll go ask him."

Dorainen went to look for Foret. He knew that Foret and Trepik were the only two with a tan. Foret seemed to have genuinely tried to be forthcoming with him last time they spoke, but maybe was too afraid of the man who at that point (he shuddered) owned him to tell the whole truth, or maybe he simply couldn't fathom quite how full of an answer Dorainen would have wanted. His question had, perhaps, been overly narrow.

As soon as he found him, he knew what to ask. "Foret," he'd say, "it's very important to us to figure out quite what this caravan is transporting. What can you tell us of your travels with Trepik before the caravan formed?"

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary listened in dismay to Er's details as she walked beside him and Dorainen. "Hmm, new fortification means a threat either real or imagined from outside, whether far off or local and the many guards on this train also show that. Something has changed and does it have to do with us? It could be simply increased sea raiding requiring people to live behind strong walls." She dropped her voice, "As the Vanes clan was known to do a few generations ago. I would like to consult with any ship captains in Cimenster or with any merchants I know there but who knows how fortune has treated them in the last 20 years."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er replied, "Yes, I think the contents of this caravan and Trepik's plans for us will ensure our safety or endanger us further. I was still pondering the import, but there's a place of execution marked on Dorainen's map. This road will lead us past the site. What has happened to this peaceful place that the town of Cimenster now requires a site for executions?

I wonder how my fellow tinkers fared and how safe my trade will be in these changed times?"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine, sufficiently revictualled, went to sit at the front of the cart with the dwarf. She realized he was a little intimidated by both her size and what she did with the orange. Now, she thought, was a good time to get a better idea of where they were going and why.

'Tell yer wot,' she chuckled. 'Let's play a guessin' game. We getz ter ax each other one thing at a time, but we can only answer yez or no to it. Wotcha reckon?'

Clawdine knew she had a couple of things in her favour here. First, dwarves liked a gaming challenge and it would relieve the boredom. Second she was usually pretty canny at ***spotting deception***. She knew how to pick out a lie.

The dwarf looking at her interestedly.

'Me first, then,' said Clawdine. 'Is all yer cargo food?'
'No,' said the dwarf. 'My turn. Are you from round these parts?'
'No,' said Clawdine truthfully. 'Are yer from Cimenster?'
'No', said the dwarf. Then he asked 'Are you planning to kill us all?'
'No,' said Clawdine. 'Are YOU planning to kill us all?'
'No. Are you going to the ceremony?'
'Yes,' said Clawdine. 'Are yer going to the ceremony?'
'Yes,' came the answer, then; 'Are you part of the ceremony?'
'No,' said Clawdine. 'Is anyone on thiz wagon train goin' to be part of the ceremony?'
'Yes.' said the dwarf. 'Are you afraid?'
'No. Should I be?'
'Yes.' said the dwarf, as the wagonmaster called a halt at what looked like a tollgate.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne reflects...

Scraps of overheard conversations:

"Barvik to Cimenster, it's a good run, hope I can pick up a caravan to work the return."

"Us drivers will have an easier time than the dwarves. Never seen a caravan with so many guards; there's going to be a guard-glut in Cimenster in a few days."

"Preferably one where we travel in the day."

"And no use asking Master Trepik why; it's just 'be ready to start at sunset' and a glare if you so much as look a question."

"Lot of bother for a load of gold" (this from the guards).

"Lot of bother for a load of salt" (this from the drivers).

"Strange way to start a caravan. Master Trepik had the wagon already, looking like it had already been a long journey, and just him and Foret to guard it while he rounded up a crew and contracted the rest of the cargo."

"And now he's given away Foret, without so much as a snarl or a beating."

"Never seen him look so happy to be intimidated and surrounded by magic-wielders, what do you think he has up his sleeve?"

"Dunno, but best stay away from it."

The scraps revolve in Frithwynne's mind, and slowly settle into a new configuration:

The caravan is due to disperse at Cimenster
It is unusual to have so many guards
No-one knows what is in the chests, the dwarves tend to think it is gold, the wagoneers tend to think it is salt - both groups were hired at Barvik, so they don't know where this bit of the cargo originally came from (Foret was alteady travelling with Trepik at this point)
Neither the wagoneers nor the dwarves mention anything about Trepik being a Scalemaster, they probably don't recognise the significance of the amulet
No-one knows why they are having to travel at night - except that Trepik insisted.
Trepik seems surprisingly unbothered by the encounter with Jetse - or the evidence of powerful magic use shown by us - he must see some profit in our continued association (despite the public loss of face)

Frithwynne drifts up and down the caravan, quietly sharing her thoughts with the other members of the party, with the exception of Jetse and Clawdine, who are occupied talking to dwarves.

She also shares her concern that they try to find out more about Trepik, including about the unknown cargo in the wooden wagon (for what it might tell them about Trepik). Who knows what trick he is trying to play or what profit he is trying to gain, but best not to be caught as unprepared pawns in his schemes.

She reminds herself to try to find a time to talk to Jetse and Clawdine when they're away from the dwarves.

[ 26. June 2014, 17:51: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

The dwarf hopped down to speak to the wagonmaster up ahead as Frithwynne drifted back from the front. Clawdine beckoned her up on to the wagon.

'Yer looks tired; come rest a spell up 'ere,' offered Clawdine.

Frithwynne hoisted herself up and they waited together for the carts to start again.

'I wonder what Cimenster will be like?' murmured Frithwynne.
'Dunno,' said Clawdine. 'But we're being taken to some kind of ceremony, and I don't think we're goin' ter like it much. Best tell Jetse, if yer see 'im. Or yer can ax the dwarf about it yerself.'

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne delivered her report to Clawdine that she'd delivered to the others.

"Best tell Jetse yourself about this ceremony," she said, and jumped down from the wagon.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine shrugged, and settled back for a doze. If Frithwynne wasn't interested in this information, then maybe it wasn't of the least importance anyway. They would all see soon enough.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana finds the others and shares what she has learned.

"One of the drivers was telling me what we can expect to find in Cimenster - he has family there and makes the journey often.

They say there have been raids, one in most months, by the forces of the Shark Lord. That's more than I would have expected. Twenty years ago, you might have heard that said a couple times a year, and mostly had reason to doubt the report. No captain in these waters has ever doubted that the waves cover many dangers, but the Shark Lord never went out of his way to war on humans. Something has provoked his emnity. That, or someone has brought something into Cimenster that he wants.

The mercers Guild Council has risen in power as a result, enforcing its will by land and sea in the name of better security. The nobility are backing them - as well they might, if, as in our day, most of the nobles are deeply in debt to the trading houses. Duke Poratis is one of the most vocal of the leaders of that party, but the man I spoke too seemed less than impressed by his parading of liveried mercenaries through the docks as if they were his household retainers, and his keeping a great galleon as the flagship of the coastal defences, while achieving nothing. It's rumoured that he might even be in the pay of the enemy. For what it's worth, the Duke has made a marriage alliance with my family, which may be where his money for thugs and banners has come from.

The real power on the Council is a woman named Wherist Yaris. I haven't heard of her. The man I spoke to thought her the most powerful person in Cimenster, and if he's right, and she's got the trading Houses to unite behind her, she's not someone to be underestimated.

One of the dwarves told me that there's a group of his people in the city, refugees from Mørkbork in the Palatinate. Jetse will know more about that than I, but I'm told that the Cimenster natives are suspicious of them.

My best guess is that our enemy provoked the Shark Lord by taking something from his domain, something that he either valued or feared or was bound to keep safe. That thing was in the chest Dorainen took from the deep, and we were trapped by the magic that defended it. If it's not in Cimenster, the Shark Lord thinks it is, or at least, thinks he can find its trail by starting there. Portatis and Yaris would seem to be worth looking at, when we get there."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne speaks up.

"And what of Trepik? I don't trust him, and I'm concerned what profit he may be plotting to make off us. He gave in to Jetse so easily, and gave us all money and clothes. But he reminds me of the tricksters who would sometimes come through Cragfall gambling with a little set of nutshells, like the one Seigneur Swallow had."

Frithwynne feels her eyes watering as she remembers that charming handsome young man as he was when he first came on board ship. Rogue he may have been, but to take one's own life is too sad a fate for anyone.

She blinks back the treacherous tears and continues, "They'd let the young men win for a bit, but then they'd win everything back, and then some. And anyone who chose to step away while still a winner more often than not fell on ill-luck and would find themselves before morning in a ditch, beaten and robbed.

"I think we would do well to find out what Trepik's business is that takes him to Cimenster, and take care to not fall his victims."

She pauses, and then thinks of more: "And Clawdine says a dwarf told her we're bound for a ceremony in Cimenster, and Clawdine thinks it's not something we'll like."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"The shark lord?" Mary grimaced, "Ill news indeed if true since he is rumored to be immortal though some might take that title who are not the true shark lord but merely follow him as priests. Not the 'merely' is the right word since many of those priests whether man or other race are terrifying in their own right. His followers tithe treasure to him, one-tenth of each type including captives into the depths of the ocean." She paused, "Perhaps what we recovered was once part of the tithe."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked up on hearing Mary speak, "Did any of us keep any of what was recovered? Did it not get passed on to others? So why are they not punished? Or is that the reason for the fortification, keeping punishment at bay? But what fortifications can hold against spells?"

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel comes up to Er. Do you think you could get me a look inside that wagon please?

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looks at Daniel and how many people are listening, says out loud, "Get you into a locked and guarded wagon? If I could, it would be more than my life's worth, in fact, it would probably mean I forfeit my life." He tries to signal to Daniel that he will talk to him without an audience and without making it obvious that they are having this conversation, but isn't sure he succeeds.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Firthwynne observes Er's discomfort, and to cover, continues with the earlier topic.

"Perhaps whatever had the chest, couldn't track it so well once it left the water. We were the ones who took it up, we were the ones who would face the storm. And once the power found we didn't have the chest, it might have kept us on that beach, whether for vengeance, or for punishment, or perhaps even for its own protection. For all it knew, we were powerful enough to sail right to its seat of power, dive and steal its chest, and pass the chest on right under its nose. What else might it fear from us?"

Frithwynne grins wryly at the thought of the power behind the storm thinking that this odd-assorted bunch is a danger to it. Then she remembers the way Jetse and Gunriana dismantled the bone-things, and shivers, realizing that there is indeed power in this group.

"I wonder if it picked up the scent though, and found the new possessor of the chest. Or perhaps not, but the possessor is in fear of being discovered."

Frithwynne hadn't previously given thought to what had caused the wreck, accepting it as an impersonal force no more to be challenged than the winter storms that locked in the sheep farm, cutting off all contact with even nearby Cragfall for weeks at a time. But now that she has started thinking about it, it seems easy to come up with ideas, like playing Adventure as a child in the caves above the sheep meadows, conjuring all sorts of fantasies.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Curiosity killed ...:
Er looked up on hearing Mary speak, "Did any of us keep any of what was recovered? Did it not get passed on to others? So why are they not punished? Or is that the reason for the fortification, keeping punishment at bay? But what fortifications can hold against spells?"

Mary replied, "I don't know. Cimenster is on land not sea and on a high bit of land not easily assailed by the sea. Or the person who took the chest might have turned and gone south to Barvik or even further to the Palatinate or, if trying to evade the shark lord, taken it well into the Apar desert beyond his reach. Or the shark lord doesn't know where it is; he is neither all-knowing nor all-powerful."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er winced at the mention of chests from Frithwynne, "who knows of the powers of the sea and how they cause shipwrecks. " He looks around hopefully for the Good Mother, who was with Daniel earlier.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine was roused from her dozing by the dwarf elbowing her in the hip.

They were moving again, and the night was far gone. Clawdine looked at him with a frown. ‘What did yer wake me fer?’

The dwarf grinned. ‘You were snoring so loud it was scaring the oxen. Guess your throat’s dry. Need a drink?’ He passed her a waterskin.

Clawdine took the waterskin and sniffed it suspiciously.

‘It’s just water,’ assured the dwarf. ‘No tricks. I promise on my name.’

‘Wot is yer name?’ Clawdine asked.
‘Morbring,’ came the reply.
Clawdine drank gratefully. The water was good. ‘I’m Clawdine.’

‘That thing you do with food...’ Morbring paused… ‘might be useful if you had the right partners.’

‘Might be,’ agreed Clawdine. She could see he had been thinking about it for a while. ‘What’s in it fer me?’

‘Your life,’ said the dwarf quietly, ‘and mine. Things are not easy for dwarves in Cimenster these days. Our people suffer much, and food is expensive.’

Clawdine put down the waterskin and said, ‘Keep talkin’, Morbring. I’m listenin’.’

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

After some minutes of tramping in silence with the group, Mary mused, "We need to find a place to stay in Cimenster; I do not wish to depend on Master Trepik's hospitality more than I have to or incur more debt to him." She lowered her voice, "Especially given what you, Daniel, reported."

"Lady Gunriana do you know which member of your family the Duke married? Is it someone you know and were friendly with? Er you are friends with Hewer, can and will she help do you think? Perhaps Jetse knows one of the dwarves in the city; does anyone know where he and the boy are? Also where are the doctor and Clawdine and the good mother? Frithwynne, Dorainen, all, any ideas of what we have that we can barter."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne says: "Clawdine is up ahead on that wagon, talking to a dwarf. Jetse is near the end of the caravan, also talking to a dwarf, at least he was last I saw him.

"As far as where to stay, I don't know how to think for a whole group. We have silver, that could pay for rooms but we may want to spend it more carefully than that. Me, on my own I would find work in a tavern for bed and board, and whatever coppers the folk give me. Or find a farm outside the city, and trade for gentling their animals.

"That's as much as I can think for daily skills I can trade. Sometimes I've found a room for a night by finding something lost, or telling something someone couldn't tell for themselves, but those are chancy. There's only so many lost things and lost ideas in any one house that need finding, and once they're found there's no more to be traded."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Thanks, Frithwynne" Mary replied "I'll go and check on Clawdine then. Someone should probably check on Jetse and also maybe look at the boy since he was fighting earlier and then Dorainen healed him of something pretty nasty just a bit earlier."

Mary increased her pace until she came abreast of Clawdine's sleep wagon. "Holla Clawdine and master dwarf. May I come on board?"

The dwarf invited her up.

[ 27. June 2014, 04:33: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er volunteers to check on Jetse in response to Mary's suggestion. This seems a good moment to see if Jetse knows where the cards and dice that Jack and then Dr Goode were carrying have gone. Er thinks if he can get his hands on the dice and cards he may be able to get into conversation with the dwarves guarding the bonded wagon.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

The dwarf moved along to the middle of the plank so that Mary and Clawdine were sitting each side of him. As his eyes were now uncomfortably level with the bosoms of both these women, he kept them firmly on the oxen.

Clawdine waved the leather pouch across the top of the dwarf's head at Mary. 'Guess what we've got 'ere Mistress Mary? Clawdine grinned, and then answered her own question. 'A mushroom farm and a cider orchard! Wotcha think we might do with them?'

[ 27. June 2014, 07:56: Message edited by: Banner Lady ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"A good meal I'm sure" Mary replied to Clawdine, "I've seen your skill in growing"

She turned to the dwarf, "Good dwarf, I am Mary Hawser". He replied noting her formal tone, "Goodwoman Hawser, Ironfoot I am called." He paused, "A good meal you say? with mushrooms?"

"So it seems. Clawdine has the gift of producing food from almost nothing. She said apples and mushrooms, I believe her." Mary thought they might be in a position to ***barter*** for something possibly even shelter in the city.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen finally found Foret who acted very strangely, he thought. He decided to walk some more, in line with the dwarves, but keeping quiet. A little while later, Foret came up to him again and with the pretense of a curious caution to give about his spiffy new hat. How sad! Foret's sense of aesthetic had been so numbed by slavery that he couldn't appreciate such a fine hat! Oh well, if that was what was needed to get the boy to talk, he'd remove it. He found a quiet wagon whose wagoneer said that he was welcome to store it there for a while. He didn't know whether he quite trusted the wagoneer not to take the hat for himself, but the information might be more important.

Dorainen resumed his walk, singing a little song under his breath to compensate for the loss of the quaint tinkling of bells. After a little while, Foret found him again. The boy appreciates neither hats nor music! But he did have information. He had worked in a salt mine, was given (sold? He didn't know) to Trepik and guided him through the desert. Three of the chests in the protected wagon he knew to be filled with salt, the other three he didn't mention. He gave no impression of ever having been in the wagon, and Dorainen saw no point in telling him about the other chests or the snake.

Foret wanted to go rest, which was perfectly reasonable, but Dorainen was not yet tired. Forgetting for the moment about his hat, he slowed his step to rejoin several other members of his party. He shared with them the news he had heard from Foret. Frithwynne informed him that Mary had been asking about what he might have to barter. Healing, it seemed, she had remembered, but he reminded the party that he also had more 'humane' skills, in tool repair and water navigation, for instance. In fact, he'd been considering what he could do for a living if he remained among humans. The most natural choice seemed to be becoming some kind of ferryman. That should earn him enough to survive on, and allow him to spread the word amongst many people about his healing powers, which should lead to enough occasional healing work to be able to supplement the ferry income with occasional injections of enough cash to give him quite a pleasant life. It would be pleasant, and would be a life in which the best of water elf skill could be used to benefit humanity. Cimenster, he noted from the map, was replete with waterways.

He could also translate between various Elven tongues and the common human tongue, if that was ever needed.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen looked over his shoulder at the unattended gate they had stopped at. It was hard to tell in the dark whether it was ever attended, or had it been abandoned? His eyes searched in vain for signs of life or upkeep and couldn't detect any, but neither could he see any clear signs of dereliction. Certainly, the front wagoneer had thought it might be attended, or else why stop? Was this a sign that Cimenster had given up staffing the farther flung inspection gates? That would fit with the circling the wagons mentality people had spoken of.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

The pause as the caravan checked the gate allowed Er to reach Jetse in the caravan. Hesitantly he approached and asked, "How are you finding the journey, Jetse? Have you seen much of our party, the group that were shipwrecked? What happened to Dr Goode?"

He hopes that these opening gambits will allow Jetse to give him the cards, dice and cups that Jack and then Dr Goode had in their possession. In addition he can update Jetse on what the party have learned if they get a chance for a discreet conversation.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

The dwarf seemed to be very interested in the idea of obtaining fresh mushrooms, but demanded a demonstration to prove Clawdine could do this.

'Well,' she said,'wot sort of mushroom dyer want? Same as this?' She sucked on her fingers, then put her hand in the pouch and pulled out one of the dried mushrooms from the bottom of the bag. She held it up in the moonlight, making sure that some of the mushroom dust fell on her fingers and thumb.

'Ere,' she said to Ironfoot, handing him the shrivelled mushroom. 'You 'old this one, coz I got a better one than that.' Quickly she put her hand behind one of his large ears and pulled out a big fresh mushroom; then another and another and another, until his lap was full of them.

Clawdine winked at Mary. 'Ow much would yer 'ave ter pay fer that lot in Cimenster, I wonder?'

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Whilst Clawdine talks with Ironfoot, the caravan draws to a halt. As before, the camp structure is lose, the wagons are now formed into a rough circle - and the dwarfs start to move unto their day guard configurations.

The fortified wagon is moved a little inside the circle, so there is a wagon between its eastern side and the open ground beyond.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary was also talking with Clawdine and Ironfoot about the best way of cooking mushrooms since before bartering one should establish an amicable relationship. The dawn light was showing when the wagons stopped; had the whole night passed already? She wanted to check with the others but in the meantime helped set up the wagon she had been riding on.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looks in bafflement at the completely unresponsive Jetse. Has he partaken of the dwarves brew? He doesn't seem to have noticed Er's approach or Er's questions but has remained where he found him. Er wonders if he can find the dice and cards that Jack had by ***sleight of hand***.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked at Ironfoot as they unhitched the oxen. "So you really liked the mushrooms?"

"Yes, a real delicacy, and I wish my kin could have some," he replied.

"Well it seems Clawdine could provide and our party is in need of a place to stay in Cimenster so perhaps something could be worked out?"

Ironfoot looked around counting up the party: Mary herself, Clawdine, then the animal person Frithwyne, the witch Gunriana, the nun Aethelreda, and the crazy one Daniel who were helping with the oxen on other carts, that elf Dorainen who might be a bit problematic with Trepik's former slave Foret, finally Jetse who was also problematic, the other dwarves were a bit concerned, and Hewer's friend Er and the doctor. "So eleven?" he asked.

"Only ten, our Doctor Goode decided to head towards Barvik", Mary answered.

Ironfoot pondered. Delicacies ceased to be delicacies if too common. Also he couldn't offer much in the way of shelter; however, not being dwarves they probably wouldn't mind the wooden shelter on top of the roof of the stone building his family (and others) lived in. "One day's shelter for your party in exchange for enough mushrooms to feed 40 dwarves to satiation."

"That seems a lot for a little." Mary also considered the loopholes. "The shelter must have a rainproof roof, be dry, and have space for all of us to sleep at once and half us much again. And how much can one dwarf eat in a meal?"

Ironfoot looked a bit affronted, "The shelter most certainly has a roof and is dry." He hoped his brother had fixed the holes and the sheltered bit was a bit smaller than what the old woman wanted but there was the rest of the roof and they could all sleep under the shelter. "A dwarf could eat a bucketful of mushrooms and be full", pointing to a large bucket hanging on the wagon; it was a slight exaggeration.

Mary looked across at Clawdine, "Forty?" and got no disagreement that she could see. She settled down to the hard but fun work of bartering.

At the end Ironfoot called over a dwarf from another wagon and pulled out a little box from which he removed a pinch of salt that he sprinkled on his right hand, "So forty buckets of fresh mushrooms for two nights of shelter for ten people when desired and with all involved under the protection of guesting for the duration. Goldtooth witness" Mary repeated the words but ended with "Clawdine witness." They then shook hands.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Net Spinster:
"Lady Gunriana do you know which member of your family the Duke married? Is it someone you know and were friendly with?"

"I rather doubt it was the Duke himself, Mistress Drake. Poratis stood in sore need of my father's and uncles' money and ships, but not to the point of mixing de Vanés blood with the line of inheritance. If had had cause to remarry it would be to a noblewoman, and likewise Cirallan, his eldest son and heir.

No, it would have been Bortacles, his second son. And as to who he'd have married from my House, it was intended that it should be me. I met Bortacles once, two years ago, to my reckoning, at our betrothal. I was fifteen, and he was six. He seemed a polite, serious boy, but doubtless he had been as strictly instructed in proper protocol as I had. I cannot truly say whether we would have liked one another, but it was hard to think he would ever be my husband and lord. It seems that for all my father's schemes, my mothers had written otherwise.

The driver I spoke to only knew that Poratis had allied with House de Vanés, but couldn't recall the name of the Duke's sons wife. When I sailed with you, my father had no other legitimate daughters, and was not inclined to remarry, having grown very fond of his concubine after my earthly mother's death, but it is possible that the House could trade Konri, my cousin, who was three years old, or Valassa, my niece, who was but ten months. But I cannot say for sure. In every generation, the sea takes its tithe – you know that better than most, mistress.

Konri might possibly remember me. She was not fate-marked, but she had a sharp mind and tongue for her years, and I liked her. I would have liked to know her as she grew up.”

Gunriana comes to a hesitant stop, as the weight of all that she must have lost suddenly crushes her spirit. Konrielen would have gone from infant to woman, and likely a mother, with infants of her own, children begotten by the man to whom Gunriana's soul had been knit twenty two years earlier. And he would be a man – not the sweet, self-conscious little boy in a ridiculous tin breastplate and slashed silk britches that she remembered, but a man of twenty eight, his innocence but a memory, embroiled in plots and politics. What did he see, she wondered, when he looked at little Konri de Vanés, if she had indeed become his wife? Not the child she had been for so short a time, nor yet the bones that time would one day make of her. Those few years of her cousin's childhood, which Gunriana would now never see, seem for the moment to be almost infinitely precious, and their loss unbearable.

She turns away from Mary, guiltily aware than the older woman had lost so much more, but unable to trust herself to conceal her own grief.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen strode over to the wagoneer who had been keeping his hat for him overnight. He is very impressed that the wagoneer had made no attempt to pilfer it -- what an honest man! Anyway, he informed him that they were less than a night's march to Cimenster. Dorainen saw Foret wandering over and reluctantly decided that maybe he should ask the kind wagoneer if he could leave his hat in the wagon for the day. He didn't want to scare the poor tasteless boy off.

Foret could be useful, even if he didn't have any more information, as Dorainen wanted to walk a little on the main road and company added to safety. Keeping the day camp in sight, the elf and the boy walked a few furlongs along the edge of the road towards Cimenster. He got the map out, but it seemed they were just off it. But, then he found what he was really after: tracks to which he could apply his skill in ***tracking***. He was curious, who had come this way and how recently?

They had neither passed nor been passed by any other travelers on their journey, nor had they seen anyone coming the other way. But, there were tracks ahead of them that he'd never been able to take in during the night marches, as they'd been thoroughly covered by our caravan.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

It seems to Dorianen that his chances of making sense of the tracks should be ***OK***

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen stared at the tracks. Then he tried staring at them upside down (or maybe this is the right way up?). Then he tried looking away and taking them by surprise with a sideways glance. No matter what he tried, they were completely impenetrable to him. But, he couldn't let Foret down.

"You see these tracks, boy?" He asked, knowingly.

"Yes," replied Foret, expectantly.

"Well, they are terribly tracky tracks aren't they. Yes, some of the trackiest tracks I've seen in... years!"

"OK... who made them?"

"Who? Well, that's an interesting question. Good question, indeed, there, Foret. They were made by somebody, alright. Or could be somebodies. Or somethings. Hard to tell."

"I see. And these somethings were going to Cimenster?"

"Oh yes! Or coming from Cimenster. Or just going for stroll and happening to pass over the road."

"Right. Well, thanks, this has been interesting, but I should probably be getting back to the camp now."

"Yes, good idea. Getting back to the camp... always has been one of my most favoritest things to do. Far better than tracking somethings who may or may not have been going to or from Cimenster. Let's get back to camp."

Yes, though Dorainen, I covered that up pretty well if I do say so myself.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

As they return, they feel ..... watched

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine heaved herself down from the wagon, and turned to the dwarf. 'Yer can keep them mushrooms,' she said to him, 'in exchange fer thiz pouch. I'll even cook 'em fer yer, if yer getz a fire goin'.'

As on the previous day, she took herself off to a screened place, but this time she took the harvest basket with her. She came back with it full of apples and oranges and dumped it down in front of Mary.

'Should be enough there fer everyone,' she said. 'Use 'em how yer wish.' Then she picked up an apple and went to see if Ironfoot had any instructions on what the dwarves liked with their mushrooms.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Jetse remained unresponsive as Er approached, so Er sat beside him on the bench wondering what to do next. The pocket beside him gaped invitingly and there he could see the cards, cup game and dice that Jack had had. Dr Goode had given them to Jetse. The dwarves and driving were making camp and concentrating elsewhere, so Er gently eased the gaming accoutrements from Jetse's pockets to his. Jetse continued unconscious, which was beginning to concern Er.

"Have you had much out of this one?" he shouted down to the dwarf.
"No, he's been asleep for miles," was the response.
Er looked thoughtfully at Jetse. "Has he been drinking your brew?"
The dwarf shrugged.
"I think I might ask one of our healers to look at him, maybe the loss of his arm has come with some other ill," Er said aloud. He jumped down from the wagon and headed into the circle of wagons looking for Dorainen or Lady Gunriana.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked wonderingly at the oranges, how had Clawdine manage to grow fruit from so far away here in an area that froze in winter? She picked up the fruit and placed it in the bucket and went looking for Gunriana and the others to pass the news that they had a place to stay in the city for two nights. Gunriana had turned away from her at their last meeting before she had gone looking for Clawdine. Poor lass, lass no longer, Gunriana had lost so much more, her entire youth. She prayed to the sea mother and Volos that Clawdine would produce the mushrooms at the right place, time, type, and amount and also for protection; this place unnerved her and she wondered why they had stopped here.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne is increasingly worried about Trepik, but after a whole night of off and on discussion among the travelers, she is exhausted at the lack of progress in finding out anything solid. She decides to try to put it out of her mind. Perhaps the Lady Gunriana was right: what would come, would come.

Frithwynne goes in search of Dorainen.

"Master Elf, shall we rest on this cool green grass? Will you tell me something about where you come from?"

[ 30. June 2014, 00:57: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked at the oranges again, a strange delicacy, then turned and went looking for Goodman Docker senior, the train's cook. "Goodman Docker, one of my party found some of these." She showed him an orange then peeled it took a piece and ate it herself then offered a piece to him. "It is an orange such as I've seen in the Cyclades and very good. I know no one in the city who would want them but I'm sure you do. Would you like them? All I ask is for some information on what we should expect." Mary attempts to ***barter*** for information.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine knew that the apple tree might take where she had planted it and keep producing to bless other travellers. The orange tree however would struggle - unless caressed by rune magic before it died.

Whenever she called forth a plant against it's right season or climate, she knew she was most likely asking a martyrdom of it. But some of the orange seeds she would save in case chance took her to the right place at the right time in the future. It was usually worth growing a tree just for one crop of fruit, as it gave her a harvest of seed, and seed was more valuable to Clawdine than bullion. She sliced open the sweet coppin apple carefully and shook it's seeds into her pouch.

She wouldn't swap all the riches of Cimenster for this old leather pocket of promise.

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel is wandering around between the various members of the party, surreptitiously arranging for us to share a meal away from the possible attentions of Trepik. Trepik is probably not going to poison our food, especially if there appears no profit in it, but better safe than sorry. Will Clawdine cook for us? Daniel trusts her to spot poisoned ingredients. If any guards or waggoneers that we've been befriending want to join us, that's good (though Daniel doesn't share his suspicions of Trepik with them).

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er wandered back into the group around Hewer's wagon and helped unhitch the oxen and prepare for camp. When they had finished but before the food was served.
"Anyone for a game of cards or dice?" Er asked the dwarves around him, beginning to play with a card pack and show off some magic tricks. Hmmm, he thought, interesting markings on these cards, Jack wasn't as lucky as he liked to pretend. I wonder how the dice work? He rolled the dice and looked thoughtfully at the results. Er wondered how much he could earn if he used his ***sleight of hand/illusion***.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Axe-Minded & Lapis introduced themselves to Er ...

[ 30. June 2014, 21:34: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked up at Axeminded and Lapis, "Do you want a game?" Er asked, showing them his dice and cards. The dwarves seemed to be more interested in the dice, so Er rolled ...

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Autenrieth Road:

"Master Elf, shall we rest on this cool green grass? Will you tell me something about where you come from?"

"Ah, the teyv! It's really very hard for me to know what to say, as life there was the only life I knew for 50 winters. It's the rest of the world that seems strange, exciting and note-worthy.

"Did I ever tell you about how we learn to chant? We're not just born able to do it, you know. It's a slow, laborious process of learning rule after rule, intonation after intonation. Every water elf doubts if they'll ever get it. But then, one day, we each do. It just starts to click. You stop reading notes and start hearing music. The water energy flows through you.

"Most water elves could never tell you all the rules they once tried to memorize, only the mirot, the sacred teachers, remember those. But we find our way into the water's own music and let it flow. You need to start with the rules, because you have to start with something you can get a handle on, but ultimately, you let the water get a handle on you, and just gently direct it.

"Whenever an elf first gets this connection, there's a great party and all chant together the ras-Mi-ras, the Song of Songs, that binds our power to the good of the teyv. I may never go back there, Frithwynne, but whenever I chant, I am connected, and I know that I am somehow of service to my tevv.

"Now, please tell me... what is something I might now know about how you grew up?"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine disappeared with her cooking pot and came back with it half full of water.

'Don't like the feel o'this place much,' she said to Ironfoot. 'But Clawdine knows where ter find the sweetest water, and that makez the best mushroom stew. So get me zome taters and onions ter go with it will yer?'

Ironfoot had a good fire going, and Clawdine knew that as long as she had a few vegetable peelings, she could grow enough food to feed an army. They would all be eating well today.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Docker tried the orange, "Very good but not possible to sell in Cimenster. Orange is or rather was the color of some of those who had opposed the current guild; not a good idea to display it. Not a good idea at all. I would get rid of them as soon as possible."

"Many thanks, Goodman Docker, then." Mary walked over to Dorainen and Frithwynne and sat down beside them, "it seems we best eat these as quickly as possible and get rid of the peel" and handed them some of Clawdine's oranges.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked at the dice and the money he'd earned, then up at the faces of the dwarves. "Hmm, seems as if these dice also are loaded in some way, no wonder I lost so often to Jack. I doubt these dwarves will wish to play again, and who can blame them," he thought. Out loud he said,
"Thank you for the game good sirs. Funny how the luck runs some times. Last time I played with these dice it went against me."

He walked over to join Mary, Dorainen and Frithwynne to ascertain how they fared.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The travellers have had the opportunity to rest, and the afternoon light is beginning to fade. Trepik is standing near the fortified wagon looking speculatively at Mary.

[ 09. July 2014, 07:09: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary notes Trepik looking at her. She had had some sleep and now looked around to see who also was awake. Further up the road she could see crows circling.

She went to greet him, "Evening, Master Trepik, are you planning to arrive at Cimenster tonight or are we still a day's journey away?"

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

"We should arrive at the outskirts before dawn."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne is made nervous by the presence of Trepik nearby, but she is entranced by the elf's story and wants to keep him talking.

"I didn't know music had rules," she says. "My mother taught me songs. She taught me how to sing to count the sheep." And she starts singing, in a low salt-stained alto that brings to mind heather and clouds:

"yan, tan, tethera, fethera,
pit, tayter, layter, overa,
covera, dix, yandix, tandix,
tethadix, fethadix, bon, yanbon,
tanbon, tethabon, fethabon, gun

"At one time we had pit gun and dix sheep, but my father could never hold onto wealth, he'd spend it drinking or lending to friends or choosing wrong about when to drive so many sheep to market, or miss hiring the shearers he needed. When the last sheep were auctioned, after we lost the farm, there were only fethera, plus a lamb.

"Can you teach me one of your songs? Or maybe only elfs can sing them," Frithwynne adds this last, shyly. She feels changed, bolder, since killing the bone thing, but she's unsure of the landscape as she explores this new feeling.

[ 09. July 2014, 18:46: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Mary notices that Trepik appears worried, and not that certain of the arrival time he just gave her.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary nods to Trepik, "I best get the rest of my group ready else we slow you." She wonders why Trepik seems dubious about their arrival time; unlike a ship wagons weren't at the mercy of the fickle winds. Was it his first time on this journey? "Is there anything you want from us?"

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Frithwynne's song had sounded very pleasant, as human singing often did, but it was such a world away from elven chanting he doubted he'd ever be able to teach a human to do that. It would be like taking a competent sketch artist and trying to make them a sculptor. He thought about trying to see how she'd get on with the Ris Fotil, the "Song of the Trickle," but then saw that Mary seemed to be gesturing over at them. Her and Trepik were deep in conversation and, if he was reading the emotions correctly, Trepik did not seem entirely in control of himself.

He thought it best to go and see if Mary wanted him.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine cleaned and stowed her cooking things, then waited by Ironfoot's wagon while the oxen were reharnessed. The mushroom stew had been acceptable. How acceptable, she didn't really know, as dwarves were never fulsome in their praise. Some of them, though, had come back for extra helpings, which was a good sign.

She had been surprised to learn that oranges were not going to be appreciated by anyone in Cimenster. She had never heard of such a thing before, and wondered if Docker was being straight with Mary. Cimenster must have produce aplenty if they could suppress the supply and eating of such a delicacy.

She wondered if she could get Ironfoot to talk some more, now that he was their business partner for the next few days. Clawdine wanted to ***find hidden*** information about who was the most important dwarf in Cimenster, what was their relationship to the humans in the city, and what was the most valuable commodity for bartering.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

But Ironfoot was remarkably uncommunicative - or was it preoccupied? It seemed there would be no further information forthcoming in the next few hours, from this part of the wagon train. Perhaps it didn't matter. Clawdine shrugged and settled back for a good long sleep while the oxen plodded on to their destination.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

So, they were off. The talk amongst the wagoneers had been pretty clear that they should reach Cimenster tonight, but now there was talk of their calculations somehow being off. The caravan didn't seem to be moving much slower, but maybe a slight difference in speed too slow for Dorainen to notice could delay them sufficiently. He looked at the map again. He still couldn't locate where they were on it, but thought they were probably not in the map's territory yet. What he could tell was that the execution place was about an hour's walk from the outer gates, so those shouldn't take them by surprise.

Trepik had clearly mentioned wanted to take advantage of his association with them for business purposes. Would that include entering the city? Hard to tell, but probably best for them to all stick together regardless. He noticed that Clawdine had found a wagon to sleep in. She would probably be hard to rouse. He slowed his step to drop back to her wagon, looking out for other members of his party as he went.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary left Trepik as the wagons started to move she eventually joined the group gathering by Clawdine's wagon.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne went in search of Aethelreda.

"Tell me, Revered Mother, what do you think of our travels from the beach so far? What do you think to do in Cimenster? Will you be able to pick up the thread of whatever brought you on board the ship, or is that long gone? Will you return to your mother house?"

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Trepik is anxious to keep the caravan together and the guards tight to the wagon. He is clearly worried about something, but enquiries are brushed aside.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked around for the others. She wondered whether they should have headed for Barvik instead of Cimenster despite the advantage of the shelter of this caravan.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Dvalinn. Why the panic?"

Jetse had noticed Treppik and his men acting strangely; the master had plugged his ears, and his men were blinding themselves, talking to themselves. A sonic attack, or a gorgon? Maybe a creature that overwhelmed the senses and stunned its victims. Perhaps the soundless speech was a countersong, something to saveeself from dread demonic words. Or perhaps it was a prayer. Already, on the edge of his faded hearing, Jetse could make out a song. Perhaps the soundless speech was a countersong, something to save oneself from dread demonic words. Or perhaps it was a prayer. Not a bad idea when faced with an unknown enemy.

Dvalinn looked straight ahead, not responding to the Guardian, but bound his hand in the reins of his ox. Whatever was coming, the dwarves would hold the train against it.

Jetse got the hints. Probably couldn't tell him, but he'd seen enough.

"Foret, Aethelreda. Something is coming. You know this. Tell the others. Cover their ears. Limit their sight. Be ready."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen noticed what everyone was doing and quickly pointed it out to Mary and Frithwynne. He had a hunch: whatever it was would effect an elf little if at all. He retrieved his new hat, and went to find Foret, who looked very scared. Without a word, he placed it on his head, and tied two of the peaks around his chin. The ringing of the bells should help block the sound and the peaks would do a better job of limiting peripheral vision than downturned hats. Then, unnoticed by the wagoneer who was intently not looking up, he climbed up a wagon, readied his longbow, and scanned the horizon for anything that needed to be shot at.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary took Dorainen's warning seriously and tied her bonnet on tight. "Frithwynne can you sing something" and took her hand and walked beside the wagon Dorainen was on (landward side).

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne unslung her backpack from one arm and fished out her shawl. She tied it over her head, pulled forward to shield her side vision somewhat.

"Er, Daniel," she called out, and passed on the warning.

"Mary, someone should warn Clawdine. Is this the wagon she's in? Or another one? I've lost track." Frithwynne had to stretch up and lean close to whisper in Mary's shrouded ear.

She tried to think of a song. A song for singing on dangerous roads in an unknown country.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Frithwynne, I think Clawdine is in the wagon behind us", Mary replied, "We can drop back and check on her."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine was snoring loudly, oblivious to all whispering, singing and enquiries. The cart began to sway more heavily, and In her dreams, dwarves were running ahead with their ears stuffed full of mushrooms while Trepik attempted to control twenty dancing oxen.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er found the signs of preparation amongst the travellers most perturbing and wondered what their route was taking them into. Frithwynne's warning just confirmed his feeling of danger. He could hear some singing in the distance and rather wished he'd taken a hat from the stores rather than a bag so he could copy the ear covering and blinkering technique he could see around him. He glanced over to Hewer to see if he could borrow a hat but she was as focussed on the oxen she was tied to and trying to not hear or see anything too.

Was all this preparation to take them through the execution ground, or were there other dangers to be found? What were Trepik's plans?

And how distracted were the other travellers? Distracted enough to be unable to guard the bonded wagon properly? He looked towards the wagon and saw the guards there equally blinkered and deafened and wondered.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne scrambled awkwardly into the wagon but no amount of prodding or coaxing seemed to be able to wake Clawdine. Frithwynne jumped back down, tumbling in the dusty road.

"Ouch." Once she had gotten back up: "I can't wake her, Mary."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"If she is out, Frithwynne, then whatever it is probably can't affect her. But we need to be wary." Mary replied as she helped Frithwynne up, she removed the rope from around her waist and held it ready. "If some beast threatens us, do you think you can tame it?"

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :

Daniel thought he saw one of the draugr from earlier. I think I'll go and investigate, he told everyone. They appeared to be fussing about headgear. Don't wait for me, he said.

With that Daniel vanished into the forest.

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :

Aethelreda (failing to notice Daniel slipping away from her) senses along with the others that the caravan is approaching something evil. The dwarves seem to be simultaneously trying to physically attach themselves to the wagons and struggling to get away. One dwarf is yanking at her poor horse as if demons were controlling her.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine's dreams sometimes ***gave inspiration***, but not on this night. The swaying in her dreams became the ship in the storm, and after that there was simply darkness and confusion.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen listened carefully to the singing he heard. What was it? Was it tying into the world's flow? What was it trying to direct where? His senses failed him. The patterns seemed familiar, but ever so slightly off. Whatever it was doing and however it did it, he couldn't quite say.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana is unaccountably tired and distracted as she walks along the line of wagons, looking for ways to offer help. Just ahead, a dwarf is trying to keep one of the oxen steady, and for a second his hand seems to catch in the harness.

Gunriana hurries forward and reaches out to the animal, stroking its neck to calm it, and letting the bridle go slack for a moment so the dwarf can free his arm.

"Thanks" mutters the dwarf, gruffly, and puts his hand out to shake her free hand, and Gunriana flinches away without thinking, not wanting to touch the dwarf with her fate-marked palm. The ox surges forward once more, and the rein pulls tight, trapping Gunriana's left arm against the beast's flank, and she twists and stumbles to keep up as she is dragged along. After a few steps she has recovered her balance, but her arm is still caught by the thick leather strap, as the ox powers forward, heedless of the driver's attempts to slow the wagon.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

He draws his touch down, down, till the shark floats still above the dark seabed - he draws close and stares into the depths of the flat, unblinking eye to see ...
~~~~
The caravan, rolling now over the isthmus, its feeble guardians rocked in the cradle of his Selkies' song - where is the moonlit sacrifice ? Can they have forgotten his tribute ? How dare they ?

Then, the sojourners, no - they can not be, they can not be, They. Can. Not. Be !
~~~~
The creature shudders, as he claws at it in his anger - the clouds of blood draw his children to their frenzy - the pale echo of his rage

[ 14. July 2014, 21:56: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen was so caught off guard by what had just happened that he almost lost his footing, but caught himself just in time. Was he really now being stared down by a shark? A surprised looking shark? All around him all Hell broke loose, but he only had eyes for the shark. He felt sure he'd seen him before, almost in another life, but not on land, that was for sure. He readied his longbow, but then hesitated. What was going on?

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine was dreaming again, and this time she was in the ocean. There were clouds of blood in the water as the sharks attacked voraciously again and again. All around her they were feeding, ripping the flesh of their victims apart, attacking everyone except the beautiful young woman in the sealskin cloak.

Clawdine clawed for the surface, and in her dreams a shaft of moonlight lit the way to the safety. Within the circle of light in the water she could see a naked man swimming. There was a drumming in her ears. The waves were rocking her again and the sea was murmuring. Over and over the words tumbled, until Clawdine was saying them aloud as she slept.

"Cleave to me landwalker, plead to me landwalker, slake my thirst landwalker, the sea runs in your veins landwalker, cleave to me, plead to me, cleave to me, plead to me, cleave to me, plead to me ..."

[ 15. July 2014, 00:08: Message edited by: Banner Lady ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary clutched Frithwynne's hand tight. "What was that! Selkies? but we are not asea. Volos protect us."

[ 15. July 2014, 01:04: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen blinked and suddenly it was gone. He looked around: there was no shark in sight, no blood. How could there be, on land? It had been some kind of strange hallucination. The earth's flow which he could direct for healing sometimes brought strange visions to him, but he had never been able to learn to control this like a he'or. Very few water elves could. He couldn't even tell where the vision came from, whether it was something real, maybe something he subconsciously picked up from the song even though his conscious mind couldn't decipher it, even an overflow of someone's particularly vibrant dream.

He decided to remain in his position as armed watchman atop the wagon for now.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked up at Frithwynne on the wagon above and again at the bonded wagon. Having caught her eye, Er coughed, "Frithwynne, how do you feel about having a look over there?", he murmured softly, with a meaningful glance across at the bonded wagon. "Do you think anyone else would be interested enough to help? How safe do you think it would be for us to see what we can find out now?"

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

As the guards and wagoners move onward looking rigidly ahead, in terrified knowledge of their fate if they let the Selkies' song draw them from the caravan, Er & Frithwynne are able to slip away into the shadows and make their way toward the fortified wagon.

This is the second time Er has worked the lock, and he has it open in moments, keeping careful watch - he motions Frithwynne in ahead of him whispering, "the snake, lay the snake" as she steps up.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne steps up into the wagon. This one, unlike the everyday carts in the rest of the caravan, has a clever little step fitted, which saves her from the ungainly scrambling she needed for Clawdine's cart.

She sees the snake in the corner, and pauses to retrieve her silver chalice from her knapsack. She places one hand on the stem, the other on the bowl, and gazes into it, slowing her breathing until she enters into the calm and inspiration of the chalice's interior, softly glowing in the moonlight coming through the wagon door.

Moving slowly, smoothly, she returns the chalice to her knapsack and approaches the snake, hissing gently under her breath, moving her hands in sinuous curves. When she reaches it, she kneels down and begins a quiet sleepy song with no particular melody:

Ssssleep, ssssleep,
Ssssilent, sssserene,
Ssssoftly, ssssoftly,
Ssssleep, ssssleep

The snake settles down into curves deeply pressed against the floor.

Frithwynne tips her head to the side to beckon Er into the wagon, keeping her eyes fixed on the snake. Her hands slow until they are hovering over the snake gently caressing the air.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne glimpses the basket out of the corner of her eye and realizes what it's for. She brings her moving hands gently ever-closer to the snake, still murmuring her song, until she can slip her hands under the heavy curves of the snake. She lifts it and keeps it carefully balanced to avoid jolting it as she works her way up from her kneeling position. Carefully, she takes it to the basket and lays it inside, then closes and buckles the lid.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary wonders where Frithwynne and Er went as they slipped off silently down the wagon train.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er sighed in relief as Frithwynne charmed and contained the snake.

He followed her into the wagon and looked around and at the chests. He wondered if he would be able to use his ***light-fingered*** skills to pick the locks on those chests too. He was interested to note that the chests did not match. Maybe they contained several different contents?

He also wondered if any of their party had seen Frithwynne and his disappearance into the wagon and if anyone else would join them.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

After a short while, Mary slipped off the wagon and started walking back down the train. She made sure her knife was ready though still sheathed and her rope loose over her left shoulder. In the distance she could see the fortified wagon still trundling along, the driver as all the drivers with his eyes firmly towards the ground but slightly to his left where, along the side of the road, a line of stone blocks every few yards marked the way. Mary was on the other side of the wagons so none noticed her.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Jetse motioned to Foret. Following the Guardian's gestures (Jetse could sometimes be very precise when he needed to give orders silently, or to someone who couldn't hear), he slunk over into the underbrush near the fortified wagon, checked his earplugs, and pulled out his axe. Ready. Hidden. Unexpected.

Jetse, on the other hand, did what he did best: looked scary. He lumbered over to the wagon and stood against it. If anyone came by, it'd look like he was guarding it (from, say, the intruders currently inside); if anyone seemed to take too much of an interest, he could probably make them reconsider it. After all, he had been hired to guard the wagons, including, probably, while they were being pilfered by his own companions.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary notices Gunriana caught in the wagon lines two wagons behind the fortified wagon. She hurries towards her, "Do you needs some help?"

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

From Dorainen's vantage point, he could get a good view of all that was going on. He saw some of his companions entered the main wagon and smiled. He also saw Jetse positioned imposingly in front of it. He looked to see if anyone might be approaching from behind, but all of Trepik's party, human or dwarf, were strenuously avoiding looking at anything but the road in front of them. Still though, he kept an eye on the back of the wagon, thinking he could adequately distract anyone who tried to approach from Jetse's blindside.

He also noticed Mary approaching Gunriana to try to free her. With the excitement of the vision and now his concentration on the wagon invasion, he hadn't previously noticed this. He wondered if his skill in *tool repair* would allow him some advantage in freeing her? For now though, he would let Mary try and remain in his watchman post.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Er succeeds in opening all the chests, having tackled all the locks, he opens each one by one - with Frithwynne peering over his shoulder.

The first chest appears to be full of rock salt crystals. Er moves on to the next, again salt crystals, and the next, and the next, and the next. Just the last of the six chests to open - salt crystals !

It makes no sense, why guard salt so carefully ?

Frithwynne kneels by the last chest pouring the crystals through her fingers.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana staggers awkwardly alongside the wagon, trying to twist her hand free, but every bump in the road pulls the reins taut. It is with grim satisfaction that she note the rune Ur on the yoke pole, carved there a few hours ago, giving inexorable and tireless strength to the oxen.

"My hand is trapped, Mistress Drake, if you could slow the cart, or take some strain from the reins, I might free it. But be careful not to touch my palm - there is rune-power there that I cannot control. Touch the reins only."

[ETA code]

[ 16. July 2014, 20:24: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary nods and moves forward to try the halt the oxen.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Unfortunately Mary has not much experience with oxen (at least not live ones, salted and in barrels was another matter). Grabbing the yoke did nothing, pulling on the lines did nothing. She eventually stood in front of the oxen and waved her hands and had to dive to one side to avoid being trampled. She got up and walked back up to Gunriana, "Frithwynne might stop these beasts or perhaps Er, but, I don't know where they've gotten to. Do you have some suggestions?"

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Frithwynne notices a fine mesh lining the base of the chest.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne, puzzled, runs her fingers speculatively over the mesh.

"Er, there's a fine mesh lining the base of this chest," she says. She hopes for some ***inspiration*** about what it might mean, or what to do.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

It occurred to Frithwynne, that the chests full of salt crystals would be a perfect place to hide valuable crystals, such as diamonds. At the end of the journey, you could dissolve the salt with water, and lift out the diamonds on the mesh sheet. Harder to steal by stealth, and safer for the owner than risking being attacked if he had them on his person. And maybe the salt had value too.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looks puzzled too. "A mesh? Could it be a net? Or a sieve?"
He thinks and speaks again, "A net does not make sense, but a sieve co-u-ld ...",
Er continues puzzling, then thinks aloud again, "... sift out bigger objects to keep."
His expression changes to excitement. "Could there be small objects hidden in this salt? How safe are we to see if we can discover them?"
He glances outside the wagon and sees Jetse on guard.
"It looks as if Jetse is watching our backs."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Yes, I agree," said Frithwynne, and told Er what had occurred to her.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked at Frithwynne. "There's only one way I can think of to see if our ideas are correct, and that is to take a sample from a chest, or all the chests. We must lock them again before we leave so it cannot be seen that we have been here."

He looked at the pockets on the pack he had chosen from Trepik's stores to work out how best to hide samples away discreetly (and discretely), then looked up again at Frithwynne to see if she agreed.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Yes, I'd like to know what's in here," Frithwynne replied.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er started grabbing a handful from each chest and stashing it carefully in his bag in a separate pocket. As he finished he relocked the chests checking that he had left the wagon as he had found it. He gestured to Frithwynne to check where she had been as he started cautiously climbing back out of the wagon, hoping that she would follow him and allow him to lock the wagon behind her.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne unbuckles and opens the basket, and climbs back down the clever steps out of the wagon.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er felt relieved that Frithwynne had understood his gestures and hints. He locked the wagon behind them as he too descended the steps.

After the tension of the wagon where he and Frithwynne had been absorbed in their own world, it was quite a shock to rejoin the almost subliminal singing surrounding the fearful blinkered and bound wagon train members. What was going on?

He nodded at Jetse and slipped back along the wagon train to where he could see Dorainen, wondering what was happening to the rest of the party.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen saw Er and Frithwynne leave the wagon. Er was walking his way. He decided that, after having spent a while atop an uncomfortable wagon, he could probably climb down. He was very curious to hear from Er what they had found.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary saw them walking away from her and Gunriana. She was still trying to free her as the arm seemed to be getting a bit pale. Should she try cutting the harness?

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

As Er filled Dorainen in on what they had found in the wagon, they walked up and down the caravan, surveying the strange scene. As they walked, they found Gunriana caught in the harness. Her arm appeared to suffering injury. Dorainen thought he should be able to heal whatever harm had occurred, but she'd need to be freed first. "Er," he asked. "Would you be able to use your mechanical know-how to get her out?"

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked at Gunriana with concern. He turns to Mary, "How long has she been trapped like this?", he asked. "Is there anything I can do to help? Do you think I can use my ***tinkering*** skills to help her get free?"

Er looks around, hoping that Frithwynne has followed them as she may be able to calm the oxen and keep them from trapping Gunriana worse. And if Frithwynne could calm those frightened oxen he would feel safer getting near enough to work on the mechanism that has trapped Gunriana.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"At least a mile or two," Mary replied, "She was trapped when I found her and the oxen won't stop though I've tried everything I can think of short of cutting the harness.."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary was struck by a sudden idea, "Rope controls ships and rope and controls oxen, perhaps...." She takes the thin rope she had been holding and makes a loop which she drapes around the lead ox on the right's neck. Pulling it to the side and back it slows down a bit. "Er, see if you can release Gunriana" She grits out, she isn't as young as she use to be.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Watching Mary handle the ropes and the oxen, Er gains confidence and looks at the yoking mechanism on the wagon. He sees how Gunriana is trapped and without thinking about it or being able to describe what he has done, a nudge here, a lift there and Gunriana is free.

He had to almost catch Gunriana as she is released into his arms and staggers with his burden towards Dorainen and the others of his party.

[ 21. July 2014, 05:37: Message edited by: Curiosity killed ... ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had started off following Er, but got distracted wondering about the mesh in the salt chests. Should she have tried to lift it with Er, to see for sure what was hidden in the salt? She had been afraid that they wouldn't have been able too budge it under the weight of the salt, or that they would have spilled salt all over the wagon floor. But maybe they should have tried. She comes out of her reverie just in time to see Gunriana stagger into Er's arms.

"What-- what happened?"

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary helps Er with Gunriana and wishes the doctor was still with them though he is probably safer elsewhere.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen beckons Mary and Er towards a quiet wagon. It appeared to be a supply wagon whose supplies had been depleted over the journey, so there was plenty of space. Now they had some quiet, Dorainen could work his ***healing*** arts in peace. As he started the chants, he could feel his world becoming more peaceful.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

The noise of the outside chanting momentarily distracted him, but Dorainen found the flow he needed to plug into soon enough. Once he did, it was easy enough to bend it around to saturate Gunriana's injuries and drive them away. Once she seemed completely healed, Dorainen stepped away. "She's fine, but it would probably be best if she rested here a brief while."

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Gunriana thanks Dorainen she but is badly affected by the Selkie chanting, she curls up in the supply wagon with her hands pressed to her temples - "call me only if you must" - she mutters through gritted teeth.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The unblinkered travellers can see dark shapes dragging themselves over the ground. As they get slowly nearer the sound that seemed like a distant chant, starts to change to a weird strangulated barking. One dwarf, suddenly puts his hand to his ear, then rips off his headgear - he runs away from the caravan towards the dark shapes.

He seems to trip and fall as he reaches them, perhaps there is a scream amongst the barking, it is hard to be sure ....

[ 21. July 2014, 20:59: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary checks her line and rewinds it. She stays by Gunriana in the wagon.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er had been hovering outside the wagon while Dorainen healed Gunriana. The fate of the dwarf makes him wonder whether inside looks a better place to be ...

He looked around their group. He could see Jetse not far off, it was a bit difficult to miss someone quite that big. He hoped Jetse was looking after Foret.

Frithwynne, Mary and Dorainen had all been involved or near the rescue of Gunriana, so where was Mother Aethelreda? And Daniel? Are they together?

"Wha-a-at happened there?", Er gasps. "Are we all safe?" He mentally checked off the members of the group off in his head, "has anyone seen Daniel or Mother Aethelreda?"
After a pause, "and is Foret safe?"
He then muttered under his breath, "I hope the good Doctor managed to get a good landfall."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen looked to the entrance of the wagon were Er had poked his head in. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "I might suggest we all gather in here. You look like you've had quite a fright, why don't you sit for a while? I can go and tell Jetse where we are so as he can make his own mind up as to whether to join us or not. I'll point out to him that Foret would be very safe in here. I'll try to keep an eye out for our other companions too."

Dorainen started walking forward along the caravan to where Jetse was. It didn't take much speed, as the caravan was moving very slowly. As he walked, though, something occurred to him. There was easily enough space in the wagons for all of the dwarves to be inside. The fact that they were still marching as guards suggested that whatever or whomever they were guarding the caravan from was not the Selkies. In fact, they may be cover, whether planned or opportunistic, for another attack. He shivered at the thought.

Before long, he encountered Jetse and Foret. He breathed a sigh of relief that Foret seemed safe. He invited them to join the others in the wagon.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er has recovered from seeing the dwarf dragged off and is now worrying about Hewer's safety. "I hope that wasn't Hewer," he said to Mary and Gunriana, in front of him. "She's been good to me, I ought to check and see if she is safe." He is tense and feels the need to move, to be active in this tense atmosphere, rather than sit tamely inside a store wagon

"She drives the locked wagon, so I won't need to go far," he said over his shoulder as he dived out of the cart and headed towards Hewer and the locked wagon.

Er glanced over to where he'd seen the dwarf, it could not have been more than a couple of minutes ago. There was still see activity there, in the shadows. He looked around as he kept moving towards Hewer and the locked wagon, trying to spot others amongst the Kavetseki party. Where are Jetse, Foret, Dorainen, Mother Aethelreda and Daniel, he wonders, almost speaking his thoughts aloud to focus himself.

He can hear Clawdine snoring where he saw her last. She's safe. Better not disturb her, who knows what she could conjure up with this evil surrounding them, he thinks, wondering if the others in his party will agree with him.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne is feeling a deep sense of anticlimax after breaking into the wagon with Er. She feels like she doesn't understand anything more than she knew before, which is that Trepik is a dangerous person hiding secrets. Maybe it's not given for shepherd lasses to understand the greater ways of the world, she muses. Fancy silk kirtles and brave slayings of bone things seem just to mock her now, giving her ideas above her station that lead nowhere. Safer to stay in the shadows, scrabbling a life in the corners.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary is wracking her memory for any ideas. Singing and that dwarf who had fled from the train implied sirens or selkies (the barking implied what land people called water dogs, the seals, selkies); were they closer to the sea than they thought. And why weren't they affected by the song. Those shapes in the wood; were they like that they had encountered in the river or were they selkies leaving the close shore to prey inland or forced inland from some danger in the sea. She wondered if they could be talked to bargained with. She looked out of the wagon for Jetse or some of the others.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er was relieved to see Hewer still safely strapped to the wagon at her place. She remains blinkered and deafened so he chose not to distract her and instead find Dorainen.

Checking along the wagon train felt different. The wagons continued without the gentle chit chat of the dwarves that had accompanied the earlier nights travel. The occasional snore from a wagon behind him gives an indication that at least Clawdine is still alive and safe. The sound of plodding oxen, creaking harness and wagons is still there, but deadened and almost drowned out by the haunting singing and barking of those ... those ... creatures. It all added to an oppressive atmosphere and almost unbearable tension, not helped by the barking slobbering sounds of the nearby group of ... of ... dogs? seals? What were those creatures?

Er's peregrinations have brought him to Dorainen who is with Foret and Jetse. He greets them:
"What think you of that?" gesturing towards the group surrounding the dwarf. "Is there any way of helping that poor dwarf, do you think?"

He caught Dorainen's eye and muttered quietly, so as not to scare Foret, "Did you find Mother Aethelreda or Daniel? Are they safe?"
Raising his voice slightly to be heard by Jetse and Foret, "I left Mary Drake and Gunriana safely in a wagon with Frithwynne outside, Clawdine is snoring in that wagon there, so the whereabouts of eight of our party is known," dropping his voice again, "us four here and the other four, but I know not where the other two are. Did you see any sign of them?"

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked at Gunriana who seemed to be sleeping quietly after the healing. "Safer here for her than elsewhere" she murmured. Mary dropped off the back of the wagon and moved towards the head of the train looking for the others. She could smell the sea scent now and wondered if they were on the Nightingale's Neck that connected Cimenster to the rest of the peninsula; she heard no nightingales though.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

As the barking got more intense, Dorainen realized that something must be done. "Friends," he said, addressing Jetse, Er and Foret, but possibly Mary overheard, "I don't know for sure what these are, I know what I fear they are, but... Regardless, the snail's pace this caravan has slowed to will be our ruin if we don't get moving. I've also had a vision which might mean that we're in even more danger than we can currently tell, but I have no desire to die on this isthmus."

"The problem is, there's much I can do about it. For whatever reason, and this we'll have to figure out later, we're not being lured by this barky chant. If we don't know why, Trepik sure as Charybdis can't have known. Yet, he did nothing to warn us. Either he's deliberately trying to kill us, or he's being recklessly negligent with our lives. Either way, he might supply enough distraction to get these beasts to not follow us if we could just speed up a little. It wouldn't take any force, just free him from whatever restraints he's under and he'll go of his own feeble accord to their song. I'm going to try to find Mary and see if she'll use her skill with rope to 'free' him.

"Even if we do that, we need to hustle. I'm hoping that all we need to do is speed up the first couple of wagons, and the rest will follow. Jetse, you're a skilled rider, and I think Frithwynne is too. Er, could you find Frithwynne and ask her to help with this?

"Foret... Foret?" Dorainen was shouting, but the jangling ear protection Foret was wearing was working far too well. A gentle shove, and he was safely inside the wagon.

Dorainen walked off, hoping the others would cooperate. Soon, he ran into Mary.

[ 26. July 2014, 23:44: Message edited by: Hart ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary saw Dorainen and was quickly brought up to speed. "Get the front wagon moving faster and the others will follow or so I've gathered when talking to train captains; ships don't work like that. I'll see if I can get the oxen moving faster but Frithwynne would be better."

She hurried to the front and ***tried using her rope*** to pull the front pair of the front wagon faster.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Mary realises her chances of lassoing the oxen and geeing them forward should be ***OK***, after all she's handled ropes all her life and in far worse conditions than this.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary approached the lead pair and lassoed the left one. A gentle yank did nothing nor did a harder one. "Scurvy oxen" she muttered, thought for a second and then took the tail of the rope and flicked the stern of the ox. It woke up and another flick to the right hand ox got them both pulling along the road at a faster pace. Mary thought about scrambling up on to the wagon but even with the oxen at full speed she could move faster than them so she jogged beside. Her eyes looked ahead but it was cloudy so she couldn't see much and could only hear the barking to both sides now.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er could see the low dark shapes getting nearer and felt the danger increasing. He looked around to see if Frithwynne was near enough to hear Dorainen's plan and hoped she had as Mary got the oxen moving on the front wagon of the train.

He jumped up on the driver's step of the wagon following the Mary and hoped that his ***tinkering skills*** would allow him to drive this wagon after the lead wagon and one of the others could take over the other wagons behind so that they take the wagon with Foret and Gunriana and the fortified wagon too.

Maybe they could leave Trepik's wagon; he couldn't remember, but he thought it was taking up the rear guard position.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine snorted so loudly in her sleep that she woke herself up with a start. 'Wotz goin' on?' she asked the dwarf driving the cart. 'And wotz that infernal noise?' He looked at her in a dazed fashion as she appeared next to him. His hat was jammed over his ears, and the reins in his hand were slack. The oxen had slowed to an amble. To one side, sinister black shapes were crawling steadily closer.

Clawdine clapped her hands together sharply, and immediately thunder in the sky answered, but the dwarf did not even flinch. Clawdine grabbed the reins and a switch off him and urged the beasts forward. A mighty downpour obliterated all sight of the creeping menace, but Clawdine had no idea if the water would *prove an effective weapon* against them or not.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had heard Dorainen's plan. She sees Mary at the front wagon and Clawdine at the second wagon, so goes to the third wagon. She moves up to the near ox and gestures to the dwarf to let her nearer. Keeping pace with the ox, she places her hand on its shoulder, where she can feel the extended effort of the foreleg muscles knitting and releasing, knitting and releasing. She starts thrumming her fingers lightly on the ox's silky hide, at first in rhythm with its movement, and then slowly speeding up, trying to coax it to move faster through her ***animal command.***

[ 27. July 2014, 08:46: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

As the thunder cracks and rolls, rain pelts down, and the oxen become skittish. Er finds the rain soaked leather slippery, stretched and slack in his hands, he can't crack the thongs to urge the beasts on. Frithwynne's efforts are frustrated by the sudden distraction of a lightening strike barely five feet from her. The storm had brought Guriana from the wagon, at the strike she stood stock still for only a moment.

As the sky flashed bright the selkie could be seen in tableau, on land here caught in transition between seal and human they look almost crippled, their faces wrenched between man and beast - you might pity, but for the blood at their mouths.

The oxen start and stumble - for a moment Frithwynne had thought the wagon might be overset.

Guriana sweeps her glance around the wagon train, taking in the situation - her expression is grim.

[ 27. July 2014, 16:12: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Mary had decided to speed the oxen rather than free Trepik as Dorainen had suggested. Dorainen stopped to think for a moment, and then realized that we quite possibly didn't have a moment. The caravan was speeding up, but he could still easily outrun it, so he supposed whatever was threatening them could too. He found his right hand, inserted inside his cloak to stay dry, had gravitated to his hunting knife. His mind was made up.

He realized he now had no idea which one was Trepik's wagon, and also that there was no real reason to suppose he would be inside it. He went down the caravan (going up the caravan required something of a sprint now, he noticed, cautiously optimistic), opening the rear entrance flaps to each caravan and waiting till the lightning revealed the contents. Only thirty wagons, and really only twenty seven to check, as he couldn't be in the locked wagon, the wagon he'd healed Gunriana in, or the one Clawdine had been sleeping in.

Twelve down, he saw him. It was a pitiful sight, really. It was a sleeping wagon, and he'd had someone to him to the frame, on one of the least uncomfortable mattresses in the caravan. Hardly an Odysseus tied to the mast! He'd removed his hat, but his ears were still plugged. He snarled when he saw Dorainen's silhouette. Just in case this plan backfired, Dorainen hoped he'd be able to stay silhouetted against the lightning, so as Trepik would be unable to later identify his assailant. He went to rip the wax out of his ears, but Trepik's free head lunged at him trying to bite the hands he could barely see. Dorainen quickly pulled his hands into his cloak sleeves and managed to safely remove the wax. Safely for him that is...

The sleep wagons were not well insulated, and the fatal chant filled the wagon. Trepik stopped fighting the hand and started trying to break free of his restraints. Dorainen hoped this would work, that he'd be able to cut through them quickly enough using his ***hunting knife*** and skill with ***light weapons***.

There was a lot that could go wrong with this plan, he realized. But his knife was now in his hand. At the next crack of lightning, he'd start to cut.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

With lightning guiding his hand, his knife found the rope and it cut easily. Trepik pushed him out of the way in his rush to run to the bank. I took longer for Dorainen to collect himself from the shove and walk out of the back of the wagon than it took Trepik to get to the shore. He was clearly in better shape than Dorainen would have guessed, but human physiognomy was hardly a field he felt overly confident in.

As the next flash of lightning illuminated the scene, he saw several of the human-seal beasts on the left hand side of the caravan turn from following it and round on Trepik. He had to look away as the barking got more vicious. He was a goner, the violence now was fighting over him. Soon enough, he assumed some of them would give up and return to their pursuit of the caravan. He'd bought them some time, but he still wanted off this isthmus post haste.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er is feeling miserable; another inopportune storm! He almost feels cursed. This downpour has made the reins too slippery and stretchy so he can't control the oxen. Just out of reach, beyond the wagon's rightful driver, he thinks he can see a whip. If he could only reach that he might be able to goad the oxen faster. As the weight of his failure increases his desire to do something, anything, he flings out his left hand in despair, to cry out to what ever the fates that have brought him to this pass. He blinks, feels his arm stinging and opens his eyes to find the whip at his feet.

With the whip in his hand and using it to drive the oxen of the second wagon faster he tries to work out how that happened, but thinking about it hurts his head so he concentrates on catching up with the first wagon driven by Mary Drake ahead.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

The caravan definitely seemed to be moving faster. Most of the dwarves had noticed nothing of what had happened to Trepik, but they too seemed to be picking up their pace as the wagon wheels they were watching span faster. It was now fast enough that a few of their short legs seemed to struggle. Dorainen saw one dwarf fall and almost get trampled on by the dwarf marching behind. Picking him(?) up, the dwarf struggled mightily, but then saw Dorainen's face in a flash of lightning and relaxed. He threw him in what had been Trepik's hiding wagon, figuring risking a bruised dwarf was better than consigning many to a watery death.

Most of the dwarves were fit and could keep up, despite their shortness of leg. Dorainen decided he should get to the front of the caravan before he got left behind. Advancing forward up the caravan now definitely required sprinting, which felt so good in this rain. He tried to keep his eyes open for struggling dwarves, and ended up throwing a few more in wagons. He hoped others might notice and follow, but most of them were probably still acting out of fear or duty to obey Trepik's orders and march. There was no easy way to convince them this was now unnecessary.

Reaching the front two wagons seemed like it would be tough, which pleased Dorainen no end. While the third wagon was clearly trying to accelerate, it was not to hard to clamber on board. Dorainen readied his longbow in case any of the creatures approached.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The caravan was gaining speed, the oxen driven by a combination of rope-lashes, lightening, fear and the remnants of Gunriana's enchantments. Jetse sprinted down the caravan throwing the last few dwarves into the wagons. Then made his way back Gunriana as fast as possible.

The elf could see they had to cover barely a mile to get clear of the isthmus.

[ 03. August 2014, 17:37: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana looks back towards the selkie pack as they devour an unfortunate victim. It is too much to hope that this will satisfy them, but from the tales she remembers of these creatures, they do not hunt inland. She turns to glance at the road ahead, trying to assess whether the caravan is likely to get out of sight of the sea before the pack can reach them, or if any of the wagons are in danger of being overtaken.

Making the best guess that her ***wits*** and ***vigilance*** allow, she breaks into a run to catch up with Jetse, to ask whether his assessment accords with her own.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Eliab:
...she breaks into a run to catch up with Jetse, to ask whether his assessment accords with her own.

"We move. Quickly. Don't look back. Always move. Dwarves and the boy come with us. The others? On their own. Need to escape. Faster. FASTER!"

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary noticed that the oxen were going faster than she thought oxenly possible and faster than she could jog so she slowed and let the first wagon pass. Selkies were creatures of water so fire was their bane. Could they set up a barricade of the last few wagons and set them aflame. They would lose goods and wagons but not any more dwarfs or humans. They would need fat and oil from the cook wagons and also their fire pots but ideally they need someone capable of starting a large blaze magically, could Gunriana or Mother Aethelreda do that she wondered.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"KEEP MOVING! Forget fire, RUN!"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine hung on as the oxen bumped the wagon along the muddy cart tracks at a clipping pace. They didn't need the water, but the thunder and lightening were effective goads. Clawdine raised her face to the rain and blew hard. The rain clouds obediently passed towards the rear of the wagon train. Then she clapped her hands again, in the hope that the resulting flash of lightening and thunder would spur the oxen even more. A mighty crack of lightening set the last cart on fire, and all the wagons in front of it surged forward. Perhaps they would get free of the selkies after all.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er continued trying to drive the second wagon on. With slippery, stretchy reins it was hard to control especially when he was trying to make sure this wagon kept up with the first wagon but didn't drive into the rear. The oxen were unsettled and Er hoped that they would keep a reasonably controlled gallop without tiring and without bolting.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The third wagon's oxen, although resistant to Frithwynne's urgings, have now taken it into their own bovine minds to keep up with the wagon ahead, and are moving fast and even faster. Frithwynne knows she won't be able to keep up this pace on foot. She reaches a hand towards Dorainen on the driver's bench.

"Dorainen, help me up."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen extended his hand. Even though everything was slippery, it wasn't hard to pull her up to the wagon. He could see they were less than a mile from the end of the isthmus, and their speed seemed good. He just had to hope it was good enough to outrun the selkies.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana reaches her conclusion - the selkies will tire on land, and be none too keen to fight, and possibly to die, with only earth to receive them.

"Jetse is right - move quickly! We can escape them!"

She sprints for the second last wagon - the very last is burning from the lightning strike, and as glances back shapes Kaun, the rune of fire and fever, in the air, willing the bright embers and choking smoke to sting the faces of their pursuers.

[ 04. August 2014, 21:23: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine glanced back as the fire rune arced through the air towards the rear wagon. She flicked the reins faster against the hide of the oxen. This night was getting more and more strange. The lightening strike on the cart had been a fluke - what next, she wondered?

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary noticed the last wagon burning, the gods had heard her thoughts perhaps so she gave a quick prayer of thanks to Volos, patron of magic and merchants, and to Perun who controlled the lightening. She climbed aboard the 10th wagon, the one just before the fortified wagon.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Something in the rear wagon explodes in a cloud of sparks, sending a shower of burning fragments into the air. One of the oxen, still yoked to the burning wagon is stung on the flank, and veers violently, kicking out and butting in its terror, shaking the wagon and releasing more smoke and ash.

The first of the selkies hesitates as he tries to peer through the flames. The ox is bellowing in fear, and the selkie's long yellow teeth ache at the thought to plunging into frightened prey, but the beast is large, uninjured and strong, and, on land, is far from helpless. More importantly, the selkie knows that he was not sent onto the land to kill cattle, and, tempting though the taste of warm blood might be, there is no time to kill the oxen.

Another burst of flame erupts and a glowing ember settles on the selkie's muzzle, making him bark in surprise and pain. The decision made, he drops his head and glides across the mud to the left of the wagon, keeping clear of animal's horns and hooves, to resume to chase.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Pursued by lightning, fire and barking chant, the caravan hurtles precariously to the end of the isthmus. As the Selkie fall behind and the exhausted oxen begin to slow, the party can see the walls of Cimenster in the shifting storm light.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen jumped down from his wagon and soon managed to catch up with the wagon in front of his, where Er was sitting.

"You OK?" He asked. "Narrow escape that, wasn't it? I thought I should let you know, given what a way with words you have... that idea about sacrificing Trepik. Well, it happened. Least said about the details the better, I'd say. If anyone asks, I'm going to say that I thought I saw him sacrifice himself to try to save one of his party, but it was dark and rainy, and I was trying to look away, so I'm not sure, and maybe he was just overcome by the song?

"I also think we should keep quiet about not having been attracted by the song. Don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves, especially as it might even identify us.

"I'm going to go ahead and tell Mary, then back to tell Frithwynne. Maybe between us we can spread the word amongst the caravan before we reach Cimenster. Possibly, someone will notice he's gone sooner than our word will reach them. Do you want to come with me to the front wagon? It might be good to have you ready to meet whoever's about to come out of those gates."

Dorainen worried for a moment that the cut rope in the cabin Trepik was hiding in would give away that someone had freed him. But, there was plenty of cut rope all over various wagons.

[ 05. August 2014, 21:05: Message edited by: Hart ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary saw they were off the isthmus and were slowing down; the oxen must be exhausted. She turned to see that the bundled up driver on this wagon was young Milt Docker who was taking his hat off and earplugs of beeswax out. "We made it", he said, "though it has never been this bad before". Mary nodded, it seemed Milt at least had not intended their deaths, perhaps he assumed they had been warned; Trepik had some explaining to do. The other wagons had also slowed and humans and dwarves were getting off and walking beside to lighten the load for the oxen. She got off herself and started walking to the front looking for the rest of the party and to retrieve her line from the front wagon.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen started heading back, and almost bumped into Mary who was coming forward. He explained to her about Trepik's disappearance, deciding it might be best to live mute any suggestion of whose agency might have led to it, Trepik's, or someone else's.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana takes a few unsteady steps away from the wagon, exhausted, but relieved to be alive. Selkies are unpredictable, dangerous, creatures, everyone who makes their living on the seas knows that, but for a pack to travel inland to attack an armed caravan in daylight, is something new. There was a purpose to their malevolence, and likely that purpose was something to do with Trepik's schemes.

Gunriana looks around for the caravan master, and, when she fails to see him organising his drivers and guards, begins to feel a shudder of doubt. She starts to look for her companions, hoping that they are among the wagons, but knowing that if they are not, this is no more than fate.

"Who and what did we lose? Did anyone see who it was that the selkies took? Is anyone hurt?"

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked around him. He was still trying to take in that helter-skelter ride along the isthmus and the information Dorainen had divulged. He checked the driver of the second wagon was OK. This man, Er couldn't remember his name although he had seen him around the train on rest breaks, was also shaking his head and removing ties and ear plugs. Er helped him and was rewarded with the comment that this had been the worst trip yet.
"Have you done this trip before, then?" queried Er
"Where do you think we're heading when we get into town? I have been here before, but not for a few years. Are there still stalls around the market square?"

Er hoped that his *** silver tongue *** had not deserted him and he would be able to extract this information from the driver before the alarm about Trepik was raised.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine handed the reins back to the driver of the cart and hopped down. The oxen were blown and desperately in need of a rest. They would appreciate less weight in the wagon, now. She patted the flank of the nearest one and said "Well done, matey. That were a near one." Then she turned and walked back along the train. She could see that all the beasts were close to exhaustion with their heads down and legs trembling. Frithwynne might have a job on her hands to get them to keep going into the city.

Dwarves were now appearing out of wagons, and taking the stuffing out of their large ears. Here and there larger figures loomed in the dark. She had seen Jetse valiantly throwing dwarves into the wagons, but did not know if the black creatures had managed to snatch any of the ones at the rear. She had been too far forward.

She supposed Jetse would know more and sought him out. "Did we lose anyone ternight, do yer know? I can't seem ter see everyone from the ship."

Clawdine wondered if she'd get a reply. She didn't think any of the dwarf rearguard would have been taken, as they had bolted forward when the chase began. As to the fate of the driver of the last wagon, she did not know. Had he escaped or been swallowed by the overtaking menace?

What she did know was that Jetse had now proved to the dwarves that he was a valuable ally. She also knew that they would not forget this. Many of them now owed their lives to him, and dwarves placed a high value on such acts of valour. She wondered vaguely if Jetse liked mushrooms too.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Partick Juggart looks at Er worriedly. He hurries off, returning about five minutes later looking even more worried.

"We've definitely lost a wagon, Bersark Flintson, And Master Trepik. Hewer is mustering the dwarves to be certain, and I have asked Goodman Docker to circle the wagons.

Our timing is all to cock, we should have been arriving at dawn, as the gates open. We're past the isthmus, but everyone knows the execution grounds are haunted. See that gibbet yonder ?"

He points west about 300 yards to the front of the main gate there is an empty iron gibbet.

"If it is ever empty the ghosts will want it filled for their company.

Come the dawn we'd to slaughter the oxen, and butcher them - put them in the empty feed carts. The dwarves have drag ropes to pull them in. You know Cimenster needs the meat, for they can not fish the waters.

We take it all to the Trepik and Yaris warehouse, and then break up most of the wagons for wood. And let us hope Milady Yaris will be satisfied by our accounting of our tribulations.

We must make it safe through to the dawn, your people MUST help us."

[ 07. August 2014, 20:22: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary had reached Er and Partick and overheard the conversation. "I think we must help; we either pull together or we sink."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Foret. Up lad. We're through. Help me."

Jetse hadn't been bothered by the song of the selkies; long years of fighting against aberrations in the dark had hardened him against such devilry. Foret, however, wasn't quite as fortunate; clearly, the boy had never had to deal with enchantments before, and Jetse was glad he was safe inside a wildly bolting and barely controlled wagon for his first run in with dark powers. Kept his Hand safe.

"You survived. You made it. Shake it off. You were strong. You overcame. Come. Time to work. Find everyone. Gather them. I'll be back."

"Dvalinn. I need you."

The dwarf looked askance at his comrades, and slowly came to Jetse.

"Yes?"

"This is a new place. Hostile. The teamsters are nervous. We need to secure it. Need your eyes. The others gather. We'll be back."

"Right. How long?"

The other dwarves were watching Jetse.

"Shortly. A quick survey. Assess threats. Long enough to gather everyone, but no more."

Dvalinn gestured to his comrades, making sure they marked the Guardian's words, then went off with him into the darkness.

"We'll stay in the dark. Hidden. No need for exposure. Find immediate threats. Tell me what you see."

Jetse and the dwarf crawled forward toward the wall, hiding in the shadow of a small hillock. Between the branches of a scrub oak, they could just make out the gate of Cimenster; in the faint, veiled moonlight, the silhouettes of burned buildings appeared to their east.

"See anything?"

"Not the patrol. They must be keeping behind shelter. The outer wall's of timber, but good quality—not hastily made, but not permanent. A little extra strength is good in hard times, no? The old stone walls are further back—surely even you can see those!"

"I see two walls, a patch of clearcut over there, and no watchers. What else?"

"Things are in good repair, and well ordered. The guards are either absent, or, more likely, disciplined enough to not show themselves. Disappointing for you, isn't it, Guardian?"

"Only if it can't be held. They are expecting attack, but not forever. They hope to outlast the Shark Lord. Doubt he can take the city alone. We'll see. Back to the camp now."

The dwarven contingent relaxed visibly as Jetse and Dvalinn returned.

"Losses?"

"One wagon, its teamsters, a guard, and Master Treppik," reported Foret.

"Convenient for you lot that last bit, innit?" said one of the teamsters.

Jetse ignored the remark. "The city is guarded. Watchful. Heavily fortified. We stay here tonight. Keep watch the few hours until dawn. At daybreak, the gates will open. Now. When we enter, we sell the oxen. The wagons become defenses. What of the cargo? Keep it? Sell it? Who has contacts in the city?"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine was watching and listening. It seemed that the fate of the wagons and the oxen were uncertain. She decided to retrieve the items Trepik had allocated to her just in case they 'went missing'. As the wagons were pulled into a circle, she found the one she'd been sleeping in and grabbed the basket with its backstraps and the cookpot and utensils that fitted inside it. She also made sure she had her precious seed pouches and a leather flask of water.

Then she climbed down and joined the others as they gathered inside the circle of wagons. Dawn was still a few hours away, and a chill mist seemed to be settling on the ground.

"Wot about a fire, then?" she asked Mary. "I don't like thiz place much, and we might be able ter see who's missing."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Aye" Mary said in reply to Clawdine. She went over to Milt Docker and had him get his firepot from a cook wagon while she and some others found some loose wood and kindling (some of the wagons had bits broken due to the mad scramble). Mary also took the opportunity to gather her stuff though she had already retrieved her line and retied it around her waist. In addition she looked for and found a few unlit torches that some of the wagons had been equipped with and made sure that each of the Kavetseki survivors had one. Still no sign of Daniel or the holy mother; were they taken and killed? She wondered if Gunriana or Frithwynne or Dorainen could find out.

Milt's father got a large pot of water heating on the fire into which he threw a mixture of dried herbs.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked around and saw Jetse working with the dwarves and that Foret was with him. He seemed to know what was going on and the dwarves could tell him. He just hoped he was working with Hewer as Patrick had said Hewer was to organise the dwarves. And Mary was working with the Dockers, getting a fire going for a camp. Clawdine seemed to be with Mary. How was Clawdine going to react to the slaughter of the oxen? Could Frithwynne help with this.

Where were Dorainen and Gunriana? Could they do anything about the spirits in this area?

And what about Daniel and Mother Aethelreda? Er hadn't seen them for some time.

He turned to Patrick, "I'll come back and help you and the other drivers, but first I'll check on our party, the ones I can't see now, and make sure they are safe and know what needs to be done."

Er walked over to Mary and checked she knew what was planned then went off to check on the other Kavetseki party members.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

As Er seemed about to leave Mary, Dorainen hurried over. He'd been trying to find members of their party to tell, but no one had sign head nor tail of Daniel or Mother Aethelraeda. Had they been taken too? He learnt that neither Er nor Mary had seen them either.

Having been filled in on the ghost situation, he shuddered. He was pleased the fire was being prepared. He was warm enough inside his cloak without it, but the added light was very helpful for vision purposes. He wondered if he'd ***sense evil*** when/if they came? That seemed to be the one thing that he could contribute. Trepik's caravan seemed unfamiliar with ghosts, never having had to camp here before. He decided to crank open that dusty old volume ***Studia Humana*** to see if it contained any tips for dealing with ghosts.

[ 08. August 2014, 15:47: Message edited by: Hart ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana listens to Partick's summation with a grim smile.

"So the essence of it is, that even if all had gone according to plan, Mistress Yaris would have received her cargo, slaughtered the oxen, broken up the wagons, and left no trace that there ever had been a caravan to Cimenster.

What do you think she'll do when she learns that her principal agent is dead?

I'm sure you're a better trader than I am, friend. What exactly would you say our lives will be worth after we report to Yaris's warehouse?"

She turns away and peers into the gloom, towards the old gibbet. Gunriana's left hand falls automatically to the skull at her belt and she strokes it tenderly.

"My sister and I know something of ghosts. Bring my two silver coins that belonged to one of our dead, your sharpest knife, an iron vessel, and fire, as hot as you can make it. Tonight we stand between life and death. Tonight my mothers weigh you on their scales, trader, and wonder whether your life is worth a tale that they might want to hear.

I cannot promise you that the ghosts will not come tonight. I cannot promise you that you will see the sun rise. But I require your obedience and your oath, and the same from all who ask my protection. From your sworn word to stand against the darkness I will make a wall of stout shields and tried spears against the dead. And either my mothers will smile on us, or we die with our eyes towards the dawn.

Bring me my tools. And hurry. I have work to do."

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Partick hurries to obey, and others from the caravan help him, any protection is welcome in this benighted place.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Gunriana's magic certainly seemed their best bet to make it through the night, thought Dorainen, as he thumbed through Studia Humana. There was indeed a section on how to avoid ghosts, but most of the advice seemed to be "avoid places where there might be ghosts." Fat lot of good that was!

There were two pieces of advice that might help, it suggested the telling of jokes, and cursing.

He approached Johnson, the wagoneer he'd met on their first night with the caravan, who didn't seem to be doing much of anything useful, and asked him: "What do you call a dwarf with ear hair as bushy as his beard?"

"Um... I don't know..."

"Anything you like, he can't hear you!" Dorainen almost fell over laughing so hard, but Johnson didn't seem to be cheered (unless he was misreading human expressions again).

Plan B then. "Son of a nutcracker!"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine stood by the fire and stoked it as offerings of more and more wood were brought to make it to the heat Gunriana required.

The oxen had been turned loose and some of the carts and yokes were being turned into firewood. For a moment the bonfire blazed higher than the city gates, illuminating the iron gibbet nearby. The ropes dangling from it began to swing wildly of their own accord. Clawdine instinctively drew closer to the fire.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary heard what Gunriana wanted. Fire and perhaps more than one fire. "Milt, we should surround ourselves with fires at the four cardinal directions". She pointed due south, "Go that direction with a few others for thirty paces and light a good size fire." She then chivied two other groups to go east and west and light fires while she went north to light a fire beside Gunriana. She also offered Gunriana her knife.
"Its good steel from the furnaces of the Volga smiths, made as a gift to my uncle in thanks for being a member of a crew that brought life-saving medicine to Volga during an outbreak of the black spot."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana takes the skull and reverently kisses the greying upper jaw.

"Sleep, dear sister. It is not your restful soul that I would trouble this night."

Taking the coins, she drops them into the smallest iron pot.

"Trepik, soul of darkness, go in peace into the night. We mourn you, our brother. Bersark, child of the earth, be reunited to your maker. We mourn you, our brother."

Gunriana stares upwards at the black sky and howls, a savage, keening shriek. If Trepik and Bersark were ever loved by mortal soul, the witch's voice captures the pain of their loss for a brief instant. She drops her head, and tears fall into the bowl.

"Daniel! Aethelreda! If you live, go with our blessing, and if you are dead, pass into darkness with our love. The fates hold you, in light and in darkness, for good or ill."

Gunriana thrusts the iron pot into the fire, and takes the knife. In honour of the gods, she shapes As in the air, then scores her thumb with Nauðr, the binder. Working quickly, and heedless of the blood swelling between her fingers, she grinds the point and edge of the blade against the crown of the skull, cutting into the bone. When she is done, she drives the knife point first at a stony part of the ground. After three such thrusts, the blade shatters.

"Iron and stone, blood and bone, be witness that here stand men and dwarves, formed by the gods to make names that will endure. All the days of our life we walk the fates' path, in the twilight between life and death. We do not fear the dark."

She pulls the pot from the flames and looks at the small bubbling pool of silver. Raising the skull to her face, Gunriana licks the fragments of bone from the lines she had cut, then places it back on the ground. She pours the molten silver carefully, filling each cut line, and watching as the rune Maðr, the rune of mortal men, forms in gleaming silver under the light of the stars.

Raising the skull above her head, she addresses the others.

"This is your sister. As she is, you will be. Only my mothers now how many suns must rise before you are like her.

The day of your death is fated, and it is given to you only to choose to face death without fear. Stand with me, and when death comes you will our sister's peace, not the troubled bondage of the spirits of this place.

Come to me, kiss your sister, and make your oath, by whichever gods you serve, that those of us who stand in this unholy place will forever be true to one another. Swear that those who have sought our lives, those who would betray and cheat us, are the foes of us all. Swear to seek their harm, their disgrace, their ruin, their confusion, their despair and their death. Until my mothers give you peace, give them no peace. Swear it, and by our faith, by our courage, the ghosts will not come near you this night. They will feel our strength and our purpose, and cower in the shadows. Or if you will not, flee now - and let the hungry dead feast on your faithless soul! Make your choice, my dear brothers and sister."

Gunriana lowers the skull slightly, and kisses it, muttering her own oath of loyalty to any that will swear the same.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen heard the witch's incantation. The joviality was over. There was a ruggedness to her magic that would always seem foreign to him, but that didn't mean he couldn't see the beauty in it. Or the power.

He realized what she was asking for. If he entered into such a compact with non-elves... would any elven commune ever take him? Not water elves for sure, he'd made his peace with that some time ago... There might be a few that would, if it was only humans, but with dwarves! If he made that oath, the minute a dwarf made it, he'd be consigning himself to the diaspora for the rest of his life.

But, if he didn't make it, maybe there wouldn't be much of a rest of a life to be had.

Of course, he could always seek to be released from the oath... But, he knew, if he went in thinking like that, any attempt to say the words of an oath would be pure simulation, without effect.

He cursed, wholeheartedly this time, and approached the skull.

Mayeb qidutzah, redon iynenih: iytayah unetoyahel; tom uneyvyo'

(By the water of righteousness, I myself do swear: my life for our lives; death to our enemies.)

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Come Foret. Do it. Her kind are not mere triflers."

The boy nodded, then looked straight ahead, the veins in his thin neck bulging slightly. Good. He knew to be afraid. He could overcome that fear.

The two followed after Dorainen. Foret put his hand tentatively on the proffered skull, stammered for a moment, then looked back at Jetse.

"Like this, Hand." Did the boy even have any gods of his own?

Jetse put his thumb to his lips, then traced three crossed rays on the skull. He took the boy's hand and placed it under his own on top of the head.

"Undying Light, we call on you now. Unyielding Dawn, come to your servants."

He drew his sword, and clasped it against the sun symbol on his breastplate.

"Flame of the Night, banish the darkness. Star of All Stars, guide us who follow. Radiant Strength, scatter your enemies. Invictus, Unbroken, come to us here."

He put back his sword, roughly pulled Foret's hand off the skull, and, with a last almost glare at Gunriana, walked away.

"Why did you say those things, Jetse? The elf didn't."

"Some keep to their gods. We keep to the Unconquered. There is only one for these times."

"Are there other gods?"

"Only one you should know now, Hand." He took a long look at the dwarves preparing themselves for their own part in the ritual. "The dark gods belong to those who remember the ways of the dark."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine watched as Gunriana made her enchantments. Hewer had been supervising the dwarves as they cut a runnel in the earth around the circle of wagons. Now she ordered them to kiss the skull and pledge their strength to surviving in unity. One by one they did so. Clawdine followed them; spitting into each of her palms before grasping the skull and kissing its forehead.

As she handed the skull back, she heard a groan and a thump. Behind her the first of the oxen had had its throat slit. Its head lay across the runnel, and oxblood was trickling along the circular channel.

Blood and fire, fire and blood. The dwarves seemed to have their own ways of dealing with the demand for sacrifice in this place. At each point of the compass a beast was slaughtered, and the gutter quickly filled with blood.

Clawdine hoped it would all be enough.

[ 09. August 2014, 03:51: Message edited by: Banner Lady ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary watched as her knife splintered in Gunriana's hands, gift for life given for life. "Barring what the eternal sovereigns in agreement forbid, trust for trust, steadfastness for steadfastness, justice for injustice with those here I stand. Lady of the sea, copper tressed, witness my words and guide us in wisdom."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er watched Gunriana's incantations with a mixture of admiration and fear. He had already thrown in his lot with this group and if he needed to swear to that to stay alive, with what he had hidden in his pack and what he'd heard, he was prepared to do so and wholeheartedly. He followed Clawdine and the dwarves to the skull. He hesitated briefly, held the skull and said "I swear".

He turned to Gunriana, "Thank you for thinking of Mother Aethelreda and Daniel. I hope they are safe too. Do you need me to do anything? Or shall I help with the oxen and carts?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had sat stone-still on the third wagon's bench, gripping its edges, even after the caravan had come to a halt, even as Dorainen went to talk to others of the party. When the elf came back and beckoned to her, she scrambled awkwardly down, almost falling in the mud. He bent close and whispered his news, careful for none of the guards or drivers to hear. Frithwynne listened to his tale, in horror at what he seemed to be telling her about Trepik. She only nodded though, to show she had heard and would guard the information closely. Dorainen went to seek out other members of the party, and Frithwynne stood silently, supporting herself on the wagon's wheel. She was briefly sick.

[ 09. August 2014, 19:50: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had been going to calm the oxen but before she had moved someone came and told her the group needed to gather around Gunriana and the fire.

As she watches the savage ritual, Frithwynne can't even remember who told her to come. The words and the actions unsettle her, and she is unnerved at the required oath. She would willingly give her word to follow and help the group, but to swear it with such uncompromising pledges seems like trifling with powers better left unraised. But she believes the Lady Gunriana's intimation that any one not swearing will face death tonight, and Frithwynne has more sense than to tempt whatever evil powers surround this place.

She steps forward, takes the skull, and raises it briefly to face somewhere between the smoke and the witch.

"I swear."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Curiosity killed ...:
He turned to Gunriana, "Thank you for thinking of Mother Aethelreda and Daniel. I hope they are safe too. Do you need me to do anything? Or shall I help with the oxen and carts?"

"Safe, Er? None of us are safe. We already face enemies whose powers we neither know nor comprehend, and tomorrow it seems not unlikely that we add this Lady Yaris to our list of foes. Aethelreda and Daniel are in my mothers' hands, as are we.

Tonight we watch, and mourn, and rest. Tonight we see if the ghosts will come, and if they do, we defy them. Tomorrow we see what Trepik was bringing to Cimenster, and we make our choice about whether to keep his appointment. And we begin to find out who our enemies are and how we can hurt them. Whether we succeed or fail in that will decide the fate of John, Daniel and Aethelreda. I do not think the forces against us will have forgotten them, no matter how far they contrive to run."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine peered through the smoke at the night sky, and muttered "'Ow long 'til dawn, d'yer reckon?" to Dorainen.

Around them the dwarves were busy. It could take two hours for a large animal to be butchered well, and she could see they were experts with their knives. The skins were being carefully scraped three times, and the unwanted bits were thrown outside the circle of blood. The smell of blood and offal mingled with the smoke, while the oxen still alive rolled their eyes in fear.

Clawdine turned her attention back to the fire. She hoped there was enough fuel to keep it ablaze until morning.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Foret watched the dwarves and their savage ritual with a barely concealed mixture of repulsion and curiosity.

"A Ritual of Darkness, Hand." Jetse had noticed the boy watching. "Frees life for those who take it. Purifies the darkness so none need fear it."

"But your god…you worship the light? Isn't the dark evil?"

"We are men. We remember light. We need it. Bring it into darkness with us. Dwarves live in darkness. For them, it protects. Saves. Defends. For those who know the dark, it is good."

"But doesn't the city need food? Why waste the ox when people and dwarves starve? Didn't the witch lady already protect us?"

Jetse sighed. The things he'd have to teach the boy…

"You think the Race of Stone wastes anything? In their temples, even the blood would be saved to temper their weapons. The meat will go to the hungry. The life will go to those who seek it. A life force is food to many foul creatures. Give one to them. They won't take yours. Come. No more questions. Fear keeps all awake. Let us use this."

Jetse walked into the wagon circle, with Foret following after him.

No need for preliminaries. To the point.

"We have been noticed. The city guard must have seen us. Seen our fires. Heard the oxen dying. A besieged city watches. We bring supplies. Food. Relief. We will be met at the gates. We might receive payment. Might have goods commandeered. Supplies are welcome. Extra mouths are not.

"Er. You and Gunriana will talk. There are Palatine refugees? They will keep themselves apart. We find them. Hope the Dværglov holds. That law will not break. The dwarves might help us, if for a price. Yaris will not.

"Find who knows the city. Find its weaknesses. Exploit them."

[ 10. August 2014, 01:09: Message edited by: Ariston ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Lady Gunriana" Mary asked,"would salt help defend us; certainly I've heard of some who use it. If so I gather the fortified wagon has some boxes."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne was near enough to overhear what Mary said to Gunriana. She move closer and spoke softly:

"Yes, six crates of salt, lined with gold mesh and concealing, we think, diamonds or some other small things which can be sieved out using the mesh."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked at Lady Gunriana, "we at least are together, the Doctor is on his own in this benighted land, and who knows if the nun and Daniel are together."

The fires around the wagon circle, glinting on the blood and ox carcases, adding even more red to Mephistophelian scene. Er wondered if the slaughter and blood was really going to keep them safe or to entice in whatever lurked in the darkness beyond, but Gunriana seemed to know what she was doing.

Turning back, "Do you know what we are carrying in the fortified wagon? I guess it will be going to the Lady Yaris? I may be able to help a bit with that." He raised his eyebrows and waited to see if Gunriana is interested in what he has to say.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

"Yaris could find an easier way to smuggle diamonds between two major ports than one that involves her arranging the deaths of fifty wagoners and guards. And if she isn't intending to kill our friends, then I've never smelled treachery.

So, yes, I would like to know what is in those chests. If it's important enough for the leader of the Council to make a whole wagon train disappear, it is probably the most important part of any plan we make.

But by my counsel, we should wait for the dawn. If we are about to meddle with something of power, then I'd choose to do it by sunlight, and without the threat of ghosts."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"If we are to wait for the sun," interjected Dorainen, "it should be no later than dawn's first light.

"We were expected at dawn, and any later than that may well be too late. Instead of fighting ghosts, we may be fighting Yaris' hired help. I for one would like to know what they're looking for before they start trying to find it."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"I also propose we all pay a visit to the supply wagon. It was well enough stocked with weaponry when Trepik let us take one weapon each for us to have our choice: presumably, there is more there which we may need to defend ourselves."

Dorainen hoped that it had not been the supply wagon which had caught on fire on the isthmus. That would be very bad luck.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine cackled to herself as she overheard bits of conversation.

Why would any wagon master lodge all the weapons in the last wagon? It made no sense whatever to her. Surely the weapons would have been kept closest to the most precious part of the cargo?

Were weapons going to be of any use, even if they found them? She doubted it. Jetse was the only warrior they had. One by one the survivors of the shipwreck were disappearing. And the gates of Cimenster did not look exactly welcoming.

She wondered if this oath of unity would be their salvation or their undoing. Her old eyes peered across the flames into the sinister darkness beyond. 'Well, bain't thiz a cheery place, then?' she asked herself, and began humming a nonsense song under her breath as she stoked up the fire.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

"Finding weapons would be wise. Likewise, for those of us who can use them, herbs and bandages, if the wagons carry healing supplies. And we should keep plenty of torches and lanterns ready to be lit. If the ghosts come, it would be better to fight them in the light.

But remember, our protection this night lies not in the strength of our arms but in the strength of our faith. Stand together, hold to your oaths, and we prevail."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er realised how wet he was and that his pack, the one he had collected from the stores wagon, was even wetter from the storm they had travelled through. He wondered what had happened to the samples of salt he and Frithwynne had taken from the chests in the fortified wagon. Peering inside his pack his suspicion that the salt was now gone is confirmed but he has a good half handful of diamonds along the seams of his pack. Turning to Gunriana he mutters:
"Is this what you thought we might be carrying? Frithwynne and I took a sample from each chest, just a handful, so six handfuls in all. That rainstorm seems to have washed away the salt, all I have left is half a handful like this," he continues as quietly as he can, holding out his fist to hand over one of the diamonds to Gunriana discreetly and hidden from any observers.

Out loud he turns to Dorainen, "That's a good idea. The knife I collected from the stores looks very tarnished from that storm we came through. I would like to collect a better weapon if we could."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"A new knife for me also," said Mary, "and also some more line if there is any."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana looks at Er's diamonds in astonishment.

"That is certainly not what I expected. Who would carry such wealth into a city under blockade?

One thing we can be sure of, though - whoever is expecting delivery of this cargo is going to take a great deal of trouble to find it when it goes missing. Even if they weren't already intending to make this caravan disappear, these are the sort of riches which make bloodshed inevitable.

Tomorrow we need to start finding out what is happening in Cimenster, and which side we are on. If any."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er turned to his companions and addressed Gunriana, "If Dorainen, Mary, Frithwynne, if she wishes to come, and I go and find what we can in the stores to arm ourselves now, leaving you, Jetse and Foret with Clawdine, then we can keep watch while you go?"

He turns to Partick, "Would it be a good idea for us to find what we can to arm ourselves in the stores? To face whatever may be coming?"

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked at the diamonds also. "What purpose indeed. Diamonds can cut anything, they are small and valuable though not as much as the colored gems such as rubies and emeralds. Can they be used in magic? And where from?" Mary considered trade routes in her head, "Possibly frozen Uszek far to south and east and traded north to the salt desert since that is where Trepik was most recently. And do they belong to Trepik or was he merely the carrier and the owner innocent of any wish or acceptance of Trepik's attempt to harm us and others."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Eliab:
Who would carry such wealth into a city under blockade?

"Tribute. Bribery to spare the city. Small, easily concealed, everywhere valued—a good payment to a sea rover."

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

"Can you fight ghosts the and undead with weapons ?" Responds Partick.

[ 12. August 2014, 17:59: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Doublethink:
"Can you fight ghosts the and undead with weapons ?" Responds Partick.

"Undead can be fought. Their shell, destroyed. We ended the dolgarkin. Ghosts fear weapons, and love the blood of sacrifices. Those we cannot destroy, we can satisfy."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"I am also worried about what may follow the ghosts once dawn comes. I have not had occasion to use my long bow on this trip, but I'm sure the supply wagon has arrows which are newer, sharper and truer than mine." replied Dorainen.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er looked through the stores wagon, hoping for a hand axe that he could swing in a battle but would also be useful for tinkering work. He also needed a knife as his current knife had been in his pack with the salt when it was soaked in the storm. The knife was easy, but there wasn't anything obvious in the way of an axe, was there?

As he walked across the wagon floor, checking the far corners and to see if there was anything tucked in the back he felt something move under some sacking and clunk against the wagon floor suggestively. He knelt down and investigated. Goodness, what was this?

It was a magnificent axe, covered with carvings, a bit tarnished, but that shade of brownish grey made him wonder if it was silver plated. And those carvings, he's seen something like that before, where? Ah, yes, the amulet worn by Trepik. Could this axe have belonged to Trepik?

Er descends from the wagon carrying his prize carefully and returns to the fire where Gunriana is to be found. He shows the axe to the others and asks if they recognise the markings and have any idea with they might mean.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne followed the others to the stores wagon, but once inside she was at a loss. Maces and axes would be too heavy for her to wield. She'd never touched bow and arrows. She hefted some of the longer knives, thinking to improve her reach over the short knife she had, but the handles were too big for her hand and she feared she would drop them if it ever came time to use.

The stores wagon contained quite a variety of things, and as Frithwynne was surveying the weapons disconsolately, her eye was caught by a jumbled pile in the far corner. Going to investigate, she found a tangled heap of furs and fine chains. Something for barter and profit on the side of the caravan's main mission? No matter the purpose, she found a long chain in the pile.

It had a low sheen to it, reddish. The links were neither so fine as to break easily, nor so weighty that she couldn't heft it. Every handspan along was a stone. Rubies, thought Frithwynne. Or maybe sapphires or emeralds; she only knew of these from fairytales her mother had told her when she was a child, and she had never been able to keep straight which name went with which color. But she had loved the stories of stones which were cool to the touch yet shone with their own inner light. And though the firelight illuminated the inside of the stores wagon only imperfectly, the stones seemed to glow with a fire which was more than merely reflected from flaming wood.

She wanted the chain with a sudden desperate yearning, and all thoughts of weapons, too-heavy maces and over-large knives, forgotten, she reached out her hand and pulled the chain to her, coil by coil.

Once out of the stores wagon, she sank down by the front wheel of the wagon and tried coiling and looping it this way and that, to figure out how best to carry it.

[ 13. August 2014, 22:50: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary followed Frithwynne into the wagon and chose an ordinary knife suitable for cutting line or one's dinner (even if the meat was tough). She kept the unlit torch in one hand and rejoined Gunriana outside.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Clouds covered the moon. Indistinct shapes could be seen at the edge of the firecast light beyond the wagons.

Then Hewer froze, as a Dolgarkin crawled forward and lay with its skull in the blood gulley as if drinking ...

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

"Jetse. They are coming. Dolgarin—just at the edge of vision, watching us."

"Then ready yourselves! We have fire. Let them come to us. We will wait. Face them from strength. Feed them to the fire. Go!"

Jetse turned towards the assembled caravan. "Dolgarin approach! Do not fear. They will come to us. Push them hard into the flames. The fire will destroy them. We will preva—"

"CRAW!"

"What is that, Dorainen?"

"Just a bird in the trees—a…robin, I think?"

"Raven, more like it. Can be possessed. The unquiet dead need form. Destroy a shambler, they take a beast. Pests of old battlefields, the skyggeravne. Southern taiga full of them. Kill the bird, the spirit flies. They go for the eyes. Keep your bow handy. Don't let them get close."

***

Exhorted by Jetse, the companions steel themselves and those most gifted run to the edge of the circle of protection ...

Lit by the dancing flames, with the iron smell of blood inhaled with every breath, they face the crazed and insensate remnants of life destroyed.

***

Er looks worriedly around. He is stationed out beyond the wagons and is guarding the circle near the fire on the north side of the camp. He is holding the axe in his hands but as he stands and shivers in anticipation he doubts the strength of the blade. Is it silver and decorative? Because if so it will bend and flex uselessly if he uses it against anything. Could it be silver plate on something with a bit more strength and power? Better not to use it in battle, better not find out the hard way failing spectacularly, especially as Jetse has said to push the ... the ... Dolgarkin into the fire.

Nervously he looks about him. There! over there! A shadow, moving, coming towards him. Ulp, now what? That awful feeling of butterflies in his stomach and wobbly knees, then ... suddenly, on an adrenaline surge Er swings the axe around his head and shouts as he charges at the creature. His momentum carries him forward and helps him push the dolgarkin into the fire, with Er nearly following it in, but the heat of the fire warns him. He sways off balance but he is still swinging the axe and that helps him turn his path sideways, to veer clear of the fire and stumble out beyond. He almost overbalances into the darkness, but Er is still full of fight and turns back towards the fire to check for ravens. Nothing.

Er suddenly finds himself shaky with relief as he moves back towards his station, knees wobbling again, but differently. He hopes that the awful smell of burning dolgarkin will act as a deterrent to others nearby.

***

Mary stations herself as first on the right of the east fire, safest to be near a fire given she was no fighter and safer for the party if all that could should try to defend the perimeter. To her right about seven feet away stood Milt Docker, armed with a quarter staff. A skeleton ran from the surrounding scrub, jumped the blood line, and attacked Milt with outstretch bony arms. Milt swung his staff and pushed it, worm eaten scum, towards her. She grabbed with her left hand one arm of the off-kilter skeleton to pull it further off kilter and jabbed with the torch in her right hand to force it into the fire where the dolgarkin collapsed and burst into blue and green flames.

***

Dorainen took an arrow from his quiver and set it in his bow. The fletchings were marked with Trepik's symbol, but it was a fine arrow. It felt good to dispose of it and dispatch a foe at the same time. He took aim, draw back his arm, feeling that familiar tension in his right bicep, set his feet, held his breath and fired. The dolgarkin didn't stand a chance. He'd say it went straight through the heart if he knew they had them. Regardless it went straight down, finally dead.

***

Jetse skirted to the back of an approaching dolgar, then, before the construct could turn to face him, bull rushed it towards the fire, slamming his shoulder into its back. The aberration fell under the force.

"Hand! Pull!"

Jetse grabbed one bony hand, Foret the other. The two of them dragged the writhing, bony construct towards the fire, fighting off its attempts to squirm free. One particularly hard tug broke off the arm Jetse was holding; a quick toss and it was burning green, and the Guardian had taken hold of the creature's leg before it could break loose and attack Foret.

"Quickly!"

Jetse was taking some hard kicks to his breastplate. Fragments of bone were breaking off with each blow against the steel.

"Throw!"

The two of them tossed the dolgar lengthwise into the edge of the fire. For a moment, it looked as if it might escape the flames, but, as Jetse reached for his sword, it collapsed the logs on top of it with its writhing. The flames leapt green as the wild magic and unquiet spirits were freed from the bones.

***

Clawdine watched as the dolgarkin crept forward out of the darkness. The gutter of blood drew them like ants to honey. Soon there were so many drinking that the ones behind could not get to it. But the smell of the freshly butchered meat in the wagons hung in the air. Using the first row of dolgarkin as a bridge, the ones in the rear launched themselves over and into the circle of wagons.

Some paused on top of the wagons, ripping through the coverings with their teeth and nails, hungry for flesh. She saw one fall as Dorainen's arrow found it's mark. Jetse and Foret were flinging them into the fire as fast as they appeared past the wagons, and all around her men and dwarves swayed and pushed at the ravenous foe.

Puffs of green and putrid smoke sputtered from the flames like a poisonous fireworks show. Clawdine stood her ground, flaming brand in hand as one leapt towards her.

The creature was impaled through the chest with the brand; as Clawdine cackled with glee, her form shimmering between youth and age, the skeleton exploded into firery fragments spinning out catching the other Dolgarkin within the circle of protection unerringly. The firey explosions of Dolgarkin rippled out from Clawdine's stand like a shockwave, leaving less than a handful intact.

***

Gunriana looks left and right as the dead things close on the caravan. Already missiles are flying, but the creatures stumble on through the erratic smattering of rocks and crossbow bolts as they reach the fires. She sees one go down with Dorainen's arrow through its chest, and then blows are being struck on all sides.

Her left hand is raised, bearing the skull, a symbol of death marked with a rune of life, for both the living and the dead despise these twisted things whose very existence is a betrayal of mortal nature. They must be destroyed. Nothing else matters.

Gunriana walks on in a trance, dimly aware that as she advances she is screaming something to her companions, but barely conscious of her words she shrieks to drive them onward. The dolgarkin on either side are fighting, and being pushed back, but another is limping directly towards her, dragging a leg transfixed with a broken quarrel, baring its gravestone-grey teeth in a hungry leer. She looks down at her right hand, and sees it empty, and time slows as she draws her scramasax. As the creature lurches forward she swings the blade, which crashes into its shoulder, but fails to bite.

Suddenly the air is full of fluttering black wings, and two ravens crash together, vying for the pleasure of tearing at the witch's face. Gunriana flinches away, and falls heavily to her knees. The dolgarkin's clawed hands sweep the air just above her hair, as the ravens circle for another attack.

Gunriana thrusts the blade wildly, and her arm hits something with a jarring thud, sending the blade spinning away into darkness. Screaming in desperation, she hurls herself forward and upward, striking the ghoul just below the ribs, and slamming it forward towards the fire. Sensing the danger, it tries to turn, but loses balance, hitting the flames and rolling away, burning fiercely.

The ghoul ravens swoop again, but the witch is ready.

"Only light and fire for you here!" she yells, shaping Sol in the air, and stepping aside as the dazzled bird crashes into the fire. The second raven tears at her with its claws, cawing loudly as it draws blood, while it looks for an opening to stab its beak at her eyes.

"Help me, sister!" she cries, flailing at the air with the skull, and succeeding only in making the bird take wing for a moment.

Gunriana looks up at the dark lustre of the raven's wings, and on an impulse traces Ar, rune of plenty, over the skull.

"Food, brother..." she whispers, as the bird screeches with delighted greed, and plunges its head into the skull's left eye socket. With a savage twist, the witch jerks her wrist downwards, and snaps the raven's neck.

Dropping to one knee, she gently smoothes the feathers of the little corpse, straightening its head back into place, and feeling its warmth fade into the air and the earth.

"I am sorry, little friend. You were prey to a spirit you could not fight. Fly free now, brother. Fly free."

Gunriana stands and walks back towards the fight, the skull raised once more as a banner of triumph.

***

Frithwynne felt the claustrophobic sense of danger ringing the camp. She got up to look for Mary or Gunriana for advice on how to fight whatever it was that was coming. But too late. Jetse was shouting, and bone-things were howling as they came in between the wagons.

Frithwynne found herself directly in the path of one. Nauseated, she lashed out at it with her triple-folded chain, but it was still out of reach and kept advancing. A raven flew from its mouth and flapped in tight circles, shrieking.

Frithwynne swallowed against the rancid taste of bile and lashed with the chain again. This time she connected with the thing's forearm, but it didn't pause. A raven flew out of its left eye socket and unfolded impossibly wide wings as it joined the first raven, flying widdershins above the battle.

Frithwynne's blow had not affected the creature, but the jerk as chain met undead flesh threw her off-balance and she fell to the side. The creature shambled past her and turned, shaking its head in short arcs as if trying to pick up her scent again.

Jetse's shouted words finally made their way into Frithwynne's consciousness. "The fire!", that's what he had said. The chain was never going to work. Sobbing in terror, Frithwynne rushed straight at the bone-thing's rib cage. Her momentum took them both into the fire. Frithwynne rolled away, burning her hands as she scrambled backwards. The bone-thing lay on its back, threshing its limbs, as if unable to comprehend what had happened to it. Tendrils of smoke rose from its joints, and suddenly it was consumed by a blot of green and black flame.

The ravens swept towards Frithwynne. She could see their unblinking red eyes and their black tongues ululating in triumph. "No!" she screamed. She grabbed a brand from the fire, and swept it at the ghoul birds. She connected with one and it fell to the ground, one wing broken. It dragged itself towards Frithwynne, its good wing beating a frenzy. Frithwynne raised the brand and brought it down on the raven. The fright and rage propelling her blow smashed the bird, and it was nothing but a bloody heap.

The other raven had pulled away to safety at Frithwynne's blow that had brought down its kin. Now it stooped and landed on the dead bird, clawing the flesh with its talons and pecking with its sharp bill. Frithwynne stared, horrified at the raw cannibal greed. Such a thing mustn't exist. She advanced with her brand. The raven raised its head and stared sideways at her, bloody flesh clinging to its beak. Frithwynne circled, staring back warily. The raven turned, watching her, sensing danger but unwilling to leave such rich food.

Frithwynne brought the brand down in a great overhead arc, but the raven took off just before the brand crashed, and flew straight into Frithwynne's face. "Ahhhh!" cried Frithwynne, and fell to her hands and knees. Her right hand connected with the chain she had dropped as she rushed the bone-thing into the fire. She grabbed it and rolled onto one hip, desperately swinging the chain. The raven snatched at one of the glimmering stones, and the sweep of the chain smashed the bird into the earth, where it lay, unmoving.

Frithwynne unsteadily pushed her way back to her feet. The bird's open eye was already clouding from red to ashy grey. Frithwynne's burned hands sent waves of pain as they clenched the chain, but she couldn't bring herself to loosen her grip. She stood frozen, staring at the dead bird.

[ 16. August 2014, 08:44: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Breathless, the companions and the caravan members spin round expecting further attacks, looking for casualties, unable to believe it could be over.

But the dawn is breaking, and all that lies upon the ground are the remnants of their sacrifices, scattered pieces of bone-shaped charcoal, a couple of the elf's arrows, and a few dead ravens.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked at the eastern sky becoming brighter, glad to see the end of what seemed one of the longest nights she had ever known. Beyond the scrubby land in front of her lay the pebbled strand and the waters of the great bay of Balatrey and beyond that perhaps hidden in the distant clouds, the mainland. No more of those walking skeletons could be seen. She turned to survey the party then to Milt, "I'm going to check on those who have been wounded, keep watch".

Frithwynne looked like she needed tending so she went to her. Old man Docker was lading out hot drinks and one of the wagoners was telling a group about what he had seen Jetse doing and also about that strange young woman who he had seen appear and disappear.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne wanted to say something to Mary, but no words would come. She stared mutely at Mary, then lifted her fists as if in offering, with the backs of her hands facing the ground. She was still clenching the chain.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

As the sky began to lighten and colour with the dawn Er looked around from where he was still stationed on the northern corner, refocussing his eyes from the grim attention of straining to see movement and attack, rubbing them as they were sore. He wondered if they still needed to be on guard and glanced over to others defending the area and saw they were beginning to huddle in chattering groups and that, other than the smell of burning bone and feathers still permeating the air, the threat seemed to have gone.

Er turned inwards, towards the centre of the circle and headed towards the rest of the party. He wondered what they were going to have to face next. How had everyone else fared? Was anyone hurt? Should they be planning what to do when the gates opened?

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary noticed that a few of the dwarves were tending the wounded by one of the wagons. A couple were filling up all the available buckets from the well just to the west of the encampment and bringing them back.

"There, there," Mary said to Frithwynne, "Come sit down by the water buckets and put your hands in one."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen tried his best to cry out, "Is anyone *badly* hurt?"

He could only heal a few at a time, and they may not have much time. He really needed someone to triage for him, but maybe people would do that naturally, now that they were sufficiently troop-bonded.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er saw Dorainen, Mary and Frithwynne near some buckets and walked over to join them. Mary seemed to be caring for Frithwynne whose hands looked hurt. Er turned to Dorainen and asked what needed doing.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne lowered the chain into the bucket. Her hands too, but it was the chain she cared about. She felt as if she had come in contact with some unspeakable evil, and as if she had done wrong to use something as beautiful as the chain in combatting such filth. She didn't know if she could wash it clean, but she would try.

She could feel blisters forming on her hands. When Dorainen called out for who needed his help, she looked at Mary and nodded her head towards the elf, as if to beckon him over, hoping Mary would understand. She still couldn't find any words. She didn't much care about healing on her own account, but even in the shattered world that she found herself in after the battle, a sense of duty remained that told her she needed to be as fit as possible if she were to uphold the oath she had vowed on Gunriana's attendant skull.

She tried to remember the calm feeling she had had sitting by the wagon wheel moving the chain through her fingers, but that world from before the battle no longer made any sense.

[ 17. August 2014, 02:10: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine stood amazed as the dawn revealed so little. The night of terror was reduced to a few smoking embers and a couple of dead birds.

"Well," she winked at Gunriana. "No one can zay we don't clean up after ourzelvz. Wonder wot sort o' welcome we're goin' ter get now?"

The party looked up as one when the gates began to creak open.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The creaking of the gates galvanized Frithwynne. Gobbets of putrid flesh from her collision with the bone-thing still clung to the front of her kirtle. She yanked the chain from the water and ran to the stores wagon, where she had left her knapsack by the front wheel. She dropped the chain and unlaced the kirtle, paying no mind to her blistered hands. She tore off the kirtle, and in her shift ran to the fire, where she balled up the kirtle and thrust it into the remaining embers. Back to the knapsack. Her back was spasming again, but she ignored the pain and pulled out the new kirtle she had gotten from the stores, oh, impossibly long ages ago now. She shrugged into it and stood lacing it up with clumsy rushed fingers.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

The gates were creeping open, who knew what was about to emerge from them. Whatever it was, the fitter we were to deal with it, the better. It was easier to heal when Dorainen could use touch, and form a clear intention about how to direct the healing flow, but none of that was necessary. He sang the most abbreviated chant his lips could find, and asked the ***healing flow*** to do what it could in such little time for any injured in this band, human or dwarf.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Dorainen knew it should be technically ***easy*** to heal simple burns, but directing the healing flow to so many individuals would take all his energy and focus.

[ 17. August 2014, 19:18: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

The healing flowed and Dorainen stopped trying to direct it as precisely as he normally would, he just pulled it down and swirled it around their circle like a whirlpool. He could feel people's burns melt away. As he let go of the flow, he could feel it still spinning, spinning and rocking. He was no longer chanting, it was almost as if the flow was chanting him. His head was spinning. He was dizzy, and tired, so very tired. He let himself drop to the floor, as that seemed a safer option than trying to stand in this.

All he wanted to do was sleep, but his gaze was caught by the gates, which continued to slowly open.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

"We fought well. I think it would be wise to take some time to plan our next move. Preferably out of sight of the city gates.

But first, we must gather any of the corpses that did not burn. I have duties to perform for the victims of these ghoulish spirits."

Gunriana gathers up her dropped scramasax from the ground, wipes the blade clean of dew and grave-dirt, and returns it to her sheath. She then begins to collect the bodies of the ravens, speaking softly to each one as she takes it in her hands, straightening broken wings, smoothing feathers, and finally marking each with Tyr, the Warrior, using the wolf's tooth hung around her neck.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Don't hide, Runecaller. We're already watched. We have all been noted. That fight did not go unseen. Nor would your disappearance. Keep working."

"What do we know? The city is under siege. Short enough on food that oxen are needed for meat, not work. Short enough on wood to break up wagons, rather than cut trees. We were expected today. We were early. Treppik was their contact. Treppik is dead."

"What is happening inside the city? They know we have arrived. Fire and fight made sure of that. They expect Treppik. We may catch them off balance. Explain his absence, or leave that unsaid? We may find Yaris's henchmen waiting for us. A valuable cargo like this might be met at the gate. Guarded, even, from a desperate mob inside the walls. If we want to act, we will need to do it quickly. If we are anticipated, those in power will have plans for us they are already acting on."

"Sieges rarely breed unity. Starvation never does. There may be faults in the city. Factions. We know there are Palatine refugees. Brother Er, no doubt, could make contacts of his own. Find who has interests of their own. Where these align with ours. Where they can be made to align. For what price. We may have to force Yaris's hand. We may become her hand. We should be ready either way."

"What do we have? Diamonds. Valuable, yes, but only to those with food and a roof. Supplies. Tools. Weapons. Food of our own, some on the hoof. Water. Wood. A basket holding a present for bothersome officials. Good fighters and strong workers. More mouths to feed."

"We make contact as soon as we enter with parties in the city. Deliver the wagons, find the factions, talk with the dwarves. Keep useful goods with ourselves if possible. Weapons, certainly. We may need to arm our allies soon enough."

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er watched Dorainen fall to the ground and hoped he would not be too vulnerable. Glancing around Gunriana was finishing clearing up after last night's battle. Her words that they should move out of sight of the gates chimed with his thoughts, and the collapse of Dorainen made finding him somewhere safe to recover also looked to be necessary.

Er looked around to see if he could see Partick and Jetse and see what they were planning.

Whatever their choices they did not seem to have many options. They needed to be safe within the town's gates by nightfall or face another night like the last, but the prospect of the likely treachery within the town's walls was not appealing either. Unless they could think of a way to take control of the situation.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne needed bandages for her hands. Regretfully, she pulled the silk shift from her knapsack. She could tear a strip off the bottom. She bit her lip against anticipated pain, but as she gripped the cloth to tear it, she realized that there was no pain. She opened her hands. The blisters were gone. Nothing remained but white scars, like a string of pearls across each palm.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary was helping with the other wounded while Frithwynne was soaking her hands, but, then they were no longer wounded. She looked around and saw Dorainen collapsed. So an elf freely healing a dwarf; they world had changed.

Time to get prepared for what might be the fastest talking of her life though ideally they should just glide into the city. She ducked into one of the remaining wagons and changed into her new better clothes (pulled from her bag of holding); she must look respectable. She looked at the 5 silver pieces Trepik had paid and put 2 back with the remaining 3 in her right hand she then approached Jetse.

"Jetse, your bargain with my husband was to provide safe protection to the city gates for the ship and crew. We are now at the city gates so I owe you final payment as promised. This will close that bargain though the oath we made last night still binds us." She offered over the 3 silver pieces.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne found Mary with Jetse.

"Mistress Hawser, the city gates are opening. This caravan was Master Trepik's, and he was to deliver it to Mistress Yaris. We should find Mistress Yaris and deliver the caravan to her, or at least what remains of it."

[ 18. August 2014, 19:04: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine noticed that since the slaying of the dolgarkin, the dwarves were keeping a respectful distance from her. They would nod as she walked past and quickly turn back to their tasks. Under Hewer's directions, more oxen were being butchered. Clawdine took the opportunity to slip into the fortified wagon.

Was there any chance she might ***find hidden*** things the others had missed?

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Good thinking. While we're at it, there's a block. Your head belongs to the executioner. Deliver it."

Frythwynne looked shocked.

"Are you a damn fool, girl? Yes. You are. You would walk us to the gate of our enemy. Hand ourselves over. We survived storm and shipwreck. Made it through the wildlands. Outwitted treachery. Now you would give us all over to our greatest foe? Yaris is no friend of ours. She wants our goods. Not us. Even that rusted little pretty I had you hide? In her hands, valuable. She gets it when we all die. Easy solution for her. Go to her gate, her guards fill us with arrows. Problem over. Never even sees us."

"Why should we give her anything at all? Does it help us to hand it over? What's the pay? What does she have more valuable than diamonds? Than food? Than her city's life? Than her own? What could she give us?"

"She may have answers. That…what sank us. Wasn't natural. We…you were there. I…no…you remember. Surely. Think. Even if…can't say it. Damnded devilry. Remember. Someone caused that. Someone powerful."

"Who has power here? Who now rules the Council? Who is the most powerful? Wherist Yaris. Is the Shark Lord looking for something? Perhaps. Perhaps she has it. She has the nobility in her hands. The lesser guilds too. They are in debt to her. Warships sit in the harbor. The people grow restless. We bring money. Supplies. Soldiers. We gain power. Pay off the debts of those who help us. Have Gunriana negotiate with Duke Poratis, her new family by marriage. Size the warships. Fight off the Shark Lord. Find answers. Deliver the city. What more would you? Precious morals? Darkness take them. Do right."

"We have power. Gunriana connected to the duke. Me to the dwarves. Mary to the merchants. Er to the people. The city has guards. Ships. A navy. It can overcome the Shark Lord. We apply force. Use our pretty sharp toys. Do what needs doing."

"Yaris gives us answers. We will force her to. Answers, or I kill her."

[ 18. August 2014, 20:42: Message edited by: Ariston ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Clawdine finds the lock on the fortified wagon has been damaged over the night's journey, she is able to slip in. She sees the snake out of its basket, moves slowly, calmly.

It should be ***easy*** to find anything hidden here that the others overlooked.

[ 18. August 2014, 20:41: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had been shocked at Jetse's reaction. For the executioner, in the world she found herself in after the battle, she cared not two whits.

"Suit yourself, Guardian," she said. She reached under her shift and untied the ribbon which held the wrecked halberd blade to her thigh. "Yours, I believe." She laid it at his feet and turned on her heel, seeking the part of the caravan circle that she judged to be closest to the ocean.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Clawdine reaches out slowly and pulls a chest toward her, it is locked. Looking more carefully, she sees one with a stave sprung from the night's buffeting, and pulls this toward her.

In it is salt, the mesh the other's described.

Clawdine rocked back on her heels and consider whether to try to reach past the snake to pull in a further chest. Her eyes rested on the snake. Hadn't Daniel said Trepik was a scalemaster. Would a master have an ordinary snake ? Would a master have a mistress ?

Clawdine gave herself to wonder whether the snake or the chests were more valuable.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine considered all that was in the wagon. Money and gems were of little interest to her at all. The problem with them was that it turned other people nasty and murderous. But the snake - the snake fascinated her. And it seemed she fascinated it.

Slowly they circled each other in a dance of destiny.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine had hypnotized water snakes before. But this was not a water snake. Could she use her skill to ***hypnotize*** it?

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Slowly the circles decreased in size until they were moving in a sinuous waltz a handwidth apart. The beautiful snake, scales glittering like a stocking stitched with precious gems, uncoiled and rose in height as they moved, until its golden eyes were staring deeply into Clawdine's. Something in her dark eyes responded, and golden flecks appeared in them, like stars in a midnight sky.

'Cousin!' smiled Clawdine. The serpent smiled back at her, revealing blood red fangs and a silver tongue. 'Csssin' it hissed softly, and wrapped itself once around her waist as if to hold her closer.

Clawdine cupped her hand behind its head. It closed its eyes, as if in pleasure. 'You have been alone and afraid too long, cousin,' she whispered to it. 'And this prison is no place for those like us. Will you come with me?' She stroked its nose affectionately. The serpent bowed its head and slithered around her body, over her shoulder into the basket strapped on her back.

Clawdine's old body bowed a little under the weight of it, but her heart was light as she stepped out of the wagon and saw the open doors of Cimenster before them.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary addressed Jetse, "We've been out of the world too long to just jump into an unexplored pool perhaps filled with sharks and orcas, mortal enemies to each other but neither ever friend to a seal. We guess but perhaps guess wrongly. It is not unknown for partner to turn on partner and we know not whether Trepik was betraying Yaris or carrying out her wishes. Do we even know whether the Lady Gunriana's former betrothed is here. Mistress Frithwynne may have a most useful skill if it is true she can find her way through mazes and what is a city but a maze writ large. Let us enter quietly and see if her skill can lead us to what we need to know or failing that the merchant guild hall where all news near and far will come. Or perhaps split the party, each small group explore and then come back together to pool what we've found."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Jetse picked up the blade. Someone in town should know what to do with it. He saw Clawdine emerging from the fortified wagon with a beautiful serpent wrapped around her body. Even Jetse had to smile (or at least lessen his usual scowl). There was something about the old crone and the snake that seemed to belong together. He nodded to her as he walked to the open door.

Just a handful. Enough for proof.

Jetse watched as the salt dissolved and the uncut stones remained behind. Not too many, none of any really great size or quality…well, maybe. Not a gemcutter, after all. Still valuable. Spells use diamonds. The best Dwarfsteels too. Someone might be interested in these. But now the real treasure…

"Foret. Get Dvalinn and Silverjoy. Light arms."

Jetse found the remnants of the cured horsemeat from their time on the beach. He cut a few tough chunks off the haunch, handing them to the dwarves.

"Protect these. Who knows their worth?"

"Mary. If you enter town, I'll look for you at the dockside taverns. Otherwise, here. If you don't see me by midafternoon, I've been taken. Find me."

Jetse and his companions set off for the town. As they walked through the barbican and the gatehouse, only Foret openly stared; the dwarves and the soldier seemed almost bored, contained in their cloaks.

"How many guards, Hand?"

"Four?"

"Where?"

"In the place next to where we came in."

"And?"

"And?"

"What about the two in the barbican?"

"Where?"

"The first gatehouse. Have you never been in a city?"

"…no"

"Stay close, then. Look well. Note everything. Six guards at the gate. Two in the barbican. Behind the arrow slits. Four in the guardroom. One the captain. Better armor, slouched less. Learn to see without looking. Notice without being noticed."

The four of them walked into the narrow streets of Cimenster. Ahead of them, a party of workmen were slowly pulling up paving stones from the road and putting them in a pile; Jetse noted their frail build and sunken eyes. Clearly food was scarce in this town, and building supplies were in such demand that even the main road into town was prey for scavengers. No doubt the caravan outside the gates with sides of beef, wood planks, and supply wagons would be welcome to many inside the walls.

The party entered a shantytown, occupying what had once been a market square. A few sad stalls were still open, but refugees from the outlying villages lived in most of the abandoned places. Several parties of guards patrolled the square, including a few elves, who somehow looked more gaunt than usual.

"They look sick."

"They are, Hand. Weak. Hungry. Notice. They try to look strong. To stand straight. Training. Discipline. Haven't forgotten it. Short rations take their toll. Too many people. No food. Shipments blockaded. Disease spreads. Even the best will break."

"Where now?"

"Onward. Find the poorest part of the city. The most desperate. There will be the dwarves."

"And why exactly would you say that?" asked Dvalinn.

"There are two dwarf guards in the city. You and Silverjoy. But Palatine soldiers not fighting? Unthinkable. Unless they can't join the guard. Or won't. City not worth fighting for. Not part of the city. Outsiders. Underclass."

"There's worse than this?" asked Foret.

"Much worse. Wait. Look."

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Whilst the companions set out, the caravan members start the process of slaughtering of the oxen.

Two pairs are kept aside yoked to two wagons, one of which they are starting to stack with butchered meat, the other is being stacked with timber as the wagons are disassembled.. These will be shuttle run to the warehouse under guard.

Meanwhile, the dwarven guards have started to move the chests out of the fortified wagon. The chests are being rolled into hides and then stacked into the timber wagon.

[ 19. August 2014, 06:56: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Mary, Frithwynne and Clawdine have gathered together, and have found Ironfoot - intending to get directions to the accommodation he promised.

[ 19. August 2014, 07:06: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Partick has instructed Er to help with the breaking of wagons, loading the wood on to one of the preserved wagons for dragging into the city.

Er had considered offering his skill in preserving meat to those butchering the oxen, but preserving took time and he wanted to keep an eye on those chests containing the diamonds as he thought that the party would be crazy to lose control of the bargaining power found there. It also served his purposes to dismantle the wood from the wagons as Hewer was part of this group and he knew she was likely to be staying with the dwarves later and could find their way there if he wanted to rejoin Mary, Frithwynne and Clawdine later.

He wasn't sure quite what was in store for the party inside the city but thought staying close to what was going on would prepare him more for future events.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana hurries after Jetse.

She is still wondering whether to approach the Duke. He has probably long forgotten the betrothal, at which he bound his younger son to her, but a sworn word is a sworn word, and an oath given to a daughter of the fates is not one to be set aside merely for unforeseen circumstances.

She looks at the high walls and the desperate people. To be confined in such a place by duty and a husband's will is scarcely a life to be envied, and Gunriana feels no resentment at the broken vows, but, nevertheless, they were broken, and she will not know, until the Duke or his son stand before her, whether her mothers have appointed this as the occasion for their mercy or their spite.

Gunriana fumbles at her copy of Demoslant's Principles of Rhetoric. It would be as well to prepare both speeches, since she knows not which she will be moved to deliver.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Jetse saw Gunriana as she entered the market shantytown.

"My lady an Gwened. You found us. Sølvglæde, point. Onwards."

The five of them left the square, staying to the low side of town. Best avoid the guildhalls and Grotemarkt for now. Someone might recognize Gunriana as the lost de Vanes heir, and, if the duke's son had been married off to a younger daughter, one lower in the inheritence hierarchy, the sudden reappearance of a senior claimant might set off a rather nasty succession crisis.

Not that Jetse had any objections to crises among local governments. Just preferred to cause them himself, on his own terms.

An especially scruffy young boy sat off in the gutter beside the road.

"The dwarves. Where are they, boy?"

"Wh' wou' ye wan' t' know? Thems jes' dvarvs."

Silverjoy moved forward, and pointedly placed the haft of her axed on the ground with a thud. The boy looked back at Jetse.

"Iv ye's business wi' thems, theys dow' by th' ol' kee. Fishdumps. Pass th' wharv, by thems wall. Not nothin theres, bu' suit yeselves."

"Here. For you." Jetse pulled out a small strip of horsemeat and gave it to the boy. His eyes grew wide. It had probably been a while since he'd last eaten meat.

"More later. The siege will end. Soon. Be ready. Sølvglæde, onward."

The party headed down towards the harbor.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Ironfoot led the way through the gates with Mary and Frithwynne close behind him. Clawdine trailed the three, strolling along with her hands behind her back to better balance the heavy basket. She could tell that her new partner was sleeping contentedly inside it.

The sun was rising in the sky, revealing to them all the sad state of the city.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Ironfoot led Mary, Frithwynne, and Clawdine through the narrow alleyways of the city and around towards the seaward dock area. The buildings looked derelict and one had to walk carefully to avoid noisome messes.

Eventually Ironfoot stopped by a solid building (at least on the ground floor) though the surrounding area was the worst off they had passed and knocked on the door. Two knocks, three knocks, then two again. The door opened.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

A thin, pinched looking dwarf looks out, his face lights up as he catches sight of Ironfoot - there is a rapid exchange of dwarfish and then he turns to Clawdine. "My name is Honed Blade, welcome to my home - please, come in"

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

As Jetse and Guriana enter the harbourside area they see a carpet of tents, battered, salt encrusted hides laced together. They look as if they could have been here a hundred years, but they probably looked like that the day after they they were put up.

The boats at their anchorages are decaying, and the sea wall looks as if something has been taking bites out of it - maybe the sea ...

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had walked behind Ironfoot through the city. Her eyes were troubled, as if the wide cleansing ocean had been filled with dolgarkin bodies. The world made no sense anymore. She tried to figure out where things had started to go wrong.

It had seemed to be the battle; the contact with the bone-thing had been perhaps the most wrong thing, after which everything had shattered.

But maybe it had started to go wrong earlier? Maybe she had been wrong to be so entranced by the chain, so that she chose it and not a more useful weapon? And then had sat coiling and folding it, instead of finding out what to do in the battle they had all feared might come?

Or perhaps earlier -- should she have been warier and not trusted so much that the Lady Gunriana's spell would work, and then she, Frithwynne, would have remained more alert before the battle? But much as she feared what would eventually happen as a result of being bound by the spell-oath, Frithwynne didn't want to think any ill of the Lady Gunriana's spell, and decided that it must have worked by making the battle less awful than it might have been. (She refused to think about how the battle might have been more awful, though.)

Or perhaps it started with the murder of Trepik? She had mistrusted Trepik, but she couldn't think how it could be right to throw him to the selkies. But maybe elfs thought differently about life than humans did? Or perhaps a human life, so short next to an elf life, hadn't seemed much loss to Dorainen to make Trepik's life even shorter? After all, what difference between two eyeblinks and only one eyeblink?

So maybe it started when they begged onto the caravan? They had sensed danger in Trepik then; Frithwynne was convinced she wasn't the only one. She thought back to Seigneur van Adescant's gesture. It had seemed strange then, for him to risk antagonizing the caravan, its leader and guards, with such ill-concealed antics. But maybe he had sensed some great danger for them if they joined the caravan, and was warning them as best he could? She regretted never having been able to observe the Seigneur for long stretches of time, to find out why he seemed so different from any other man she had ever met. But she had sensed some deep power and intelligence in him, carried restrained behind his smooth surface.

Maybe what the Seigneur had seen was that the prophetic vision was a tricksy trap, as visions were so often told to be in the long yarns spun in the tavern back home on winter nights? She wondered if her romantic longing to find the golden ship half-buried in rock salt was a trap for her, as much as she feared her longing for the jewel-studded chain had been. And part of that tricksy trap seemed to be that she had expected Cimenster to be a haven, and here it was, anything but.

Thinking about Cimenster, she wondered if the Guardian was right. To hear him describe it, it was a place where you could trust nobody, yet had many allies. How could both be true? But no, it seemed to be that what he had expressed was that the rulers couldn't be trusted, but many of the people could. But how did he know that? Had he put together the scraps about Cimenster they had heard on the caravan, and intuited the real situation, in a way that had completely escaped her own intuitive senses? But on the caravan she had been thinking only for her own survival. Maybe Jetse had had a more magnanimous heart, to think about other people's survival? Or maybe, she thought cynically, Jetse was well provided for, and so had the ease to think beyond how to provide for himself after the shelter of the caravan ended?

But no, she decided, that was unfair. Jetse had lost his arm, and she could only think of a few injuries worse than that. And although apparently she hadn't been paying enough attention to the gossip on the caravan, or hadn't understood what it meant, or maybe had forgotten what it meant, she had at least picked up and retained that Jetse had possible enemies almost everywhere, just by being a Guardian. And that seemed like a far more chancy life than her own, since she had practice slipping unnoticed around the edges of society, scrabbling for food, shelter and clothes. (She thought hard-eyed of the night she had bartered for the boots, that had been lost at sea now. Not the barter her mother would have liked to see her child making, and not a barter that had brought Frithwynne any pleasure, but oh the boots, they had been worth it. And these elf-made boots she now had were even better. She almost smiled, behind her frozen eyes, at how nice it was to be walking with proper boots.)

She wondered if there were anyone in the party she could ask about these things. The Lady Gunriana seemed like the one who would know most -- or Dr. Goode might have known, with his practical healer's attitude. She almost smiled again, at the thought of the Doctor in Barvik with a ridiculous doll's umbrella fallen into his drink. But she feared the Lady's cool answer "it's written in the fates." So she thought she probably wouldn't ask the Lady Gunriana.

But she wanted to know something that might help the world make sense again, or some scrap that would let her know if she was alone in these thoughts after the battle. Perhaps Mary, who had always been kind to her?

But she arrived at this thought too late to ask Mistress Hawser anything, because now they were knocking at a door, and now the door was opening, and now they were being invited in.

[ 19. August 2014, 21:45: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine nodded at Honed Blade and ducked through the low door.
Mary and Frithwynne followed.

Ironfoot stood talking fast and low to Honed Blade for a few minutes and then departed, almost at a run. Clawdine wondered whether all the arrangements were going to be straight forward from here on. She desperately wanted to put the basket down, but Honed Blade turned and beckoned them to a dark stairwell. It's rickety wooden treads were fastened on one side into a crumbling brick wall, and on the other into wooden posts.

Up went the dwarf, then Mary and Frithwynne. Clawdine paused, hoping her weight wouldn't bring the whole lot crashing down. Taking a deep breath, she followed, noting as she went, that the damp and crumbling mortar in the wall would be the ideal place to grow mushrooms.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Up and up they went pass several floors with wary small dwarves, children?, peering out at them until they reached the top of the stairwell. A ladder went up from there through a trap door to the roof and Mary and the others followed.

Mary noticed a ramshackle shelter, not much but it didn't look like rain and they were above most of the smells of the city; to one side was a slab of granite (she had heard that dwarves liked to be under rock, was this a symbolic way of being under rock? Clawdine's snake might like the sun-heated surface come nightfall). Even better the roof gave them a good view of the surrounding area. Not the whole city, they were too low down on the city hill for that, but at least of the dock area. Mary was shocked at the sight; what had been a busy harbor was no longer; it was worst thann the harbor of Dunwich after some storm god in his fury had choked the entrance with sand. She glanced at Frithwynne; this was a shock to her, what must it be to Frithwynne who hadn't traveled as much.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne was staring at the sea beyond the harbor. It seemed powerful, powerful enough to not be affected when the world turned upside down. She wondered if it even noticed the ships that sailed across its surface? Or were they mere blinks of an eye, one, two, gone? She felt that she could look forever at something that powerful.

What had she been going to ask Mary? It almost didn't seem worth the effort. Yet the skull-oath bound her to help the ship's survivors, and maybe asking the question would help her be some small bit better at doing that. At least, that was how she remembered questions working before the battle.

She side-stepped the few inches closer to Mary, so their heads were almost touching.

"Mistress Hawser," she murmured. "What are we doing? And why?"

[ 20. August 2014, 01:47: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine raised an eyebrow. The shepherdess seemed mazed. Had been ever since the battle with the dolgarkin. And she kept fingering an invisible necklace. Clawdine turned to the dwarf.

'I will be back with some bedding shortly,' said Honed Blade. 'No doubt if you produce what Ironfoot says you will, then we will make you as comfortable as possible. There is not much left to share, these days.'

With that, he left them on the roof, and Clawdine sank thankfully down on a rusty metal box to rest.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Of course, Elsa. Rotting. Useless."

Gunriana and Jetse had both spent time around ships—but even Foret, who had never seen the sea before, could tell that the vessels in the harbor were beyond hopeless. Green with algae, half-capsized and fouled in their slips, it seemed as if even their captains had given up any hope of ever setting sail again. Even the once mighty galleon of the duke sat abandoned in the drydock, the paint and gilding on her intricate carvings flaking off in the elements.

"Can't even salvage the planks. Too warped. Rotten."

The five of them made their way slowly along the wrecked seawall towards the far quays, passing the disordered tent cities of the displaced.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Frithwynne, we are surviving," Mary sighed, "though perhaps not too well. It might have been safer to return to Barvik though." She paused and looked around, "this is not the city I remember. I think the ill that fell on us fell also here though in a different form and perhaps we can find it and remove it. If we don't, I don't think we will leave here alive." She laughed, "listen to me, I'm no hero, no wise woman to speak of facing great evil, but, as all, we must do what we must."

She turned to Clawdine, "I intend to see if the merchant guild still stands now that we have found a place to stay for the next few nights. You and Frithwynne can come also or stay and find out what the dwarves know and prepare those delicious mushrooms of yours. Remember Jetse will meet us or at least me at the dockside taverns...or where they stood at noon or by mid-afternoon at the latest."

Mary went to the trap door and started descending.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine shook her head. She was too tired to go anywhere now. Sighing, she reached deep into the basket for her cookpot. The snake was asleep around it, and wriggled slightly as she carefully lifted the pot out. She took off the lid and removed the packet of precious seeds and dried mushrooms.

Then she waited for Honed Blade to return.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"I'll go with you." Frithwynne wondered, when had she made that decision? She'd rather stay and look at the ocean. But that seemed... selfish. As she went down the stairs after Mary, she looked curiously at these bits of values that had survived the battle-wreck. Keep your oath. Don't be selfish. She wasn't sure they were quite so much landmarks as they were the last pieces of a sinking raft, but she would hold into them.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er wiped the sweat from his brow as he helped push the first wagon-loads of meat and wood into the city. The wagon was beginning to move jerkily but had just about settled as the dwarves pulling the loads got into rhythm, but then they reached a part of the trackway where the paving slabs were being removed which meant they had to push even harder.

The area they had just left outside the city walls looked chaotic: piles of possessions stacked in packs and bundles ready for the party to carry them into the city with the last wagon loads, a small group of dwarves and men butchering oxen and stacking carcases ready for the next wagon load, most of the party were pulling carts. He would probably be better employed reducing the carts to stacks of cord wood and components to ready the next load, but he wanted to see where the locked crates were going. There were so few of them here now so many dwarves had gone with Jetse, (oh and hadn't one gone with Mary, Frithwynne and Clawdine?) that any willing hands were welcome.

The city looked so different, so sad. And the people were thin and hungry-looking. He wondered if they would get people following when they saw the meat and wood, but they seemed cowed.

He wondered where they were going. The guards on the gate hadn't given them directions, instead a pair of guards were coming along to supervise the wagons and were barking instructions when they came to turnings.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Honed Blade appeared again with a few tattered mats and pillows made from sacks stuffed with rags. He heaved them up on to the roof and from the ladder asked if Clawdine needed anything else.

"I'll thankee fer a bucket o'water and a jug, master dwarf," said Clawdine. "I'm hopin' water bain't as scarce as food round these parts."

The dwarf nodded, then reappeared with two empty wooden buckets and a hollowed gourd-jug. He beckoned Clawdine over to the lowest corner of the roof where an enormous water barrel sat on the granite slab, and showed her how to tap it to fill either bucket or jug.

"There be many hungry mouths downstairs," he warned, as he disappeared through the trapdoor. "Don't disappoint us."

Clawdine spent the next few hours wetting the crumbling bricks in the stairwell, and shaking mushroom spore into crevices. As she worked, she muttered, sang and cajoled the fungi to grow. And grow they did; some as large as dinner plates.

At last she was content. The stairwell walls were covered top to bottom with hundreds and hundreds of mushrooms. She picked one to keep, and climbed back on to the roof to rest. As she lay down on the manky bedding, she had a sense that she was being watched and weighed. But she was too tired to care. Within minutes she was asleep, unworried by a pair of golden snake eyes gazing at her from the granite slab.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary was glad Frithwynne had joined her. Once outside the house she took streets and alleyways that seemed to take them up the hill and northwards till they reached what had been the merchant market square bounded on one side by the guild hall and with a short road leading south and up to the gate of the inner citadel of the city. The guild house was still there but its gates were shut; she knocked.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen walked along with the wagon party. He wasn't so tired he needed to lie down; the slow pace it was moving at was pretty much perfect for his current energy level to keep up with walking. The dwarves seemed to understand. None of them had thanked him for the healing, but he didn't expect that, the unspoken air of respect (not quite acceptance, but respect) was enough.

None of the humans or dwarves in the city really seemed to be paying him much attention. The wood elf guards (he was yet to see any elf who wasn't wearing the insignia of a guard) were definitely eyeing him, though. They were probably the only ones who could tell he wasn't a wood elf. He wasn't sure, but one young female elf guard appeared to be following them.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The guildhouse door is opened by a fat human porter, "What do you want ?" he snaps.

On hearing Mary's tentative reply, he shakes his head dismissively - "Everyone's got a sob story in this town, tears in the ocean is all the difference. You want to trade - you need a guild council permit. Petitioners are heard at noon on the first of the month - that's two days hence.

You want to look for employment, talk to the Duke's chamberlain at the keep, he might have something if you are useful.

There is nothing more I can do for you."

He shuts the door quickly before the companions can respond. The sense is of an inconvenience dismissed, irreproachably.

[ 20. August 2014, 20:09: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

For the last few streets the party hadn't been pushing the wagons but holding them back from careering down steep cobbled streets with weeds growing in the cracks. Different muscles were beginning to ache as all their effort was going into halting the wagon to a cautious crawl so they kept the loads from tipping off the wagons or from overturning the wagons in the frequent potholes. There was very little moving, people seemed to be hidden behind doors, keeping out of sight, no birds or animals. Er wondered if the people had eaten the animals or if they'd died from lack of food.

It looked as if their route was taking them to the harbour area - there were masts ahead, but they didn't look quite right - too skeletal, not quite solid. Rounding a corner there was a sea of tents ahead, and behind them a bonded warehouse with the most solid walls and locks they had seen yet. A quick scoping glance showed Er that there were only hulks left in this harbour, and the harbour wall itself was in poor repair.

The wagons moved to the bonded warehouse and the guards from the gate handed them over to additional guards. The doors creaked open and the party were encouraged to drag the wagons inside. Er hesitated, really wanting to know what was inside this warehouse, but also how safe it was to enter. Thinking about it, at least there was another load to come, so hopefully they would be encouraged out to collect and deliver again.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary tapped her foot at the brusque reply, "Stoutest being I've seen in this city since we've arrived," she declared to Frithwynne, "and that includes the dwarves."

There weren't many people in the square and those there were scurrying across. Mary looked at the citadel gates but there were plenty of guards and they didn't look welcoming. She told Frithwynne, "Lady Gunriana might be able to face those citadel guards down, not me, not without support. The first time I was here the gates were always open during daylight hours and a representative of the guild council was always available. I think we should head to the docks and find the others but let us take the long route and see what we can see."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Finally, tucked between the seawall and the city wall, they found the refugee camp. "Fishdump" was an apt name, judging by the smell; clearly, this refuse pit was the only place the government of Cimenster felt kind enough to let the survivors of the Purge use once the siege began. Decades, if not centuries, of fish carcasses, fouled shipping planks, ship's ballast, refuse, trash, and effluant had tumbled into the sea as a kind of unholy infill, a reeking peninsula hemmed in between sea and walls. Seabirds and gulls shrieked loudly, scavenging the decomposing, gurgling mess for food, their excrement covering every surface. At the stagnant water's edge, bubbles emerged from the heap, periodically building then breaking the algae-covered surface when they burst. Every once in a while, the bone of some forgotten carcass poked through; perhaps best not to look too closely at those.

Yet, almost comically, perfectly straight rows of tattered tents and hovels were arranged on this foul ground. Even here in the light, exiled to the foulest place a cruel regime could find for them, the dwarven penchant for order and craft prevailed. The tents were patched where not filled with holes, stiff with salt spray where not caked in gull dung, their poles and lines broken and tattered, scraps of worm-eaten driftwood and piles of crumbling, loose-set stone—and yet, someone had tried to make the best effort at an ordered village possible. The great crafters, soldiers, sages, and explorers of the Palatinate had been reduced to scavenging the trash heap on which they lived for scraps to hide from the sea, the wind, and the sun.

It was a sad sight, to be sure, and a lost cause. As Jetse and his company approached the ghetto, they could see the emaciated dwarves, their eyes sunk into deep sockets, many covered in open sores, some bent over with disease, others laying near death in their sad, decaying shelters on the spit of foul ground.

Fanden. Ødelæggelse. Only Jetse had the presence of mind to even manage swearing.

Velkommen, rejsende, til Ny Mørkbørg. Smukt, er det ikke?

An old, tattered dwarf, leaning on a piece of woodworm-infested driftwood, stood next to them. Jetse waited for him to stop coughing.

"This, New Mørkbørg? This? The Palatinate's end?"

"Yes, Whitehair. You have been scattered long if this is news."

"Indeed. Here. Come with us. My companions are waiting."

Jetse pulled out a good hunk of meat and gave it to the dwarf.

"Take. Eat. Yours."

The dwarf hobbled along slowly with them, back towards the docks, talking occasionally with Jetse. Hopefully, Mary or Er had found somewhere that counted as a tavern, even if closed...

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine woke up to the sound of hammering. It was coming from downstairs.

She yawned and stretched and noticed that the snake seemed to have taken up guard by the ladder that led down to the next floor.
She peered down into the gloom below. Two dwarves were busy making a pair of wooden doors that could be drop-bolted across the entrance to the stairwell.

And she could smell mushrooms cooking.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary looked over the houses as they proceeded down the streets. The further down the poorer, no children playing and the few people visible were gaunt and scurried away from them though Mary and Frithwynne scurried themselves into a side alley when an armed group of five men wearing blue bandanas turned into the road they were on. Eventually they got down to Cuttlefish street once the site of most of the dockside taverns. Not any more, one place remained but the customers were more of the men wearing blue. Mary walked to the other end to what had been the Sea Queen, the most expensive hostelry on the dockside and sat down on the remnants of a stone wall to wait for Jetse and the others.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne had trailed Mary through the city. Now she sat on the stone wall, staring past the broken masts in the harbor, watching the ocean.

There was something odd about what had happened at the guild hall, she thought.

The oddness wasn't that they had been treated brusquely. Since realizing that Cimenster wouldn't be the haven as she had expected it, Frithwynne had no expectations at all.

What was odd was that when Mary described how it used to be -- guild hall open, guild master available -- Frithwynne had felt that that way was good. And once she had that good way to consider, she had felt that how it was now -- guild hall locked, doorkeeper dismissive, doorkeeper living fat while others starved -- was not-good.

She wasn't sure how to generalize these small bits of values: "guild hall open, guild master available." But she would add them to her raft to cling to.

She sat watching the slow swells of the ocean, and then gasped softly as she realized that a piece of the guild hall fitted with a previous piece: the not-good of "doorkeeper fat while others starved" matched with the raft-bit of "don't be selfish." It was unutterably surprising to find that feeling of things fitting together, in this disjointed post-battle world.

[ 21. August 2014, 17:34: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Er must be tired after all that pushing, he wasn't following the dwarves into the warehouse. Dorainen certainly didn't want to leave him behind, but just as much didn't want to let the diamonds out of his sight. He followed the wagon in.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The warehouse is two furlongs in length. Three quarters stashed full of wooden barrels and wooden crates, there are some areas of large wooden shelves stacked with goods wrapped in cloth or hide. About half way down the length of the warehouse is a work area with trestle tables, coopers fittings etc.

As one goes further in, it is possible to see that the last quarter of the space is divided from the rest with wickerwork screens, There is passage left between them, and it looks as if it may be an office area.

The caravan'swood and meat are being processed for sale and storage in the work area. There seem to be about two dozen folk on this task.

[ 22. August 2014, 07:26: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er groaned to see Dorainen slip in with the load. He needed to keep up if he was going to be able to get a good look around, but he wanted to check what was happening outside too. If he had his bearings right, they were near to where Mary and Jetse were to meet up.

He looked around the warehouse and wondered quite what was going on in the city for there to be this much here and such impoverished city folk from the state of buildings and the people, dwarves, elves and other beings he'd seen on their way to the warehouse.

He could see what was happening to the wood and meat, but he wondered about the diamonds.

He wandered over those butchering the meat and said: "I have skill in curing meat so that it keeps for longer." He showed them a hunk of the cured horse meat from his pack as a demonstration. "could I help you in your work?" hoping that his *** silver tongue *** will give him a reason to stay in the warehouse openly and find out more.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Across the road from Mary and Frithwynne was a small shrine to the Sea Mother now abandoned. Mary remembered that she and her husband had visited it on their trip to Cimenster to pray and to give a donation to the priest, a former sailor who had lost an arm to a shark attack and who ran a charity for down on their luck sailors. "Frithwynne, I'm going to pay my respects to the Sea Mother."

She rose and went across to the broken fountain of a dolphin and the mosaic behind of the Sea Mother surrounded by sea creatures though much was gone. All that remained of the Sea Mother were her feet. "Give good fortune on those who roam the sea, abundant lady. Comfort to those who mourn, gray haired calmer of seas. Wisdom to all silver footed dancer upon the waves. Guide those dead upon the sea to safe havens, Nicholas, Jan, Elric, Yvan, Abram, Dan, Yosef, Elgar, Vaun, Ketel, Kimbal, Vach, Berie, Eesel, and Jack. Do not hinder those who can guide those dead or missing upon the land, Daniel and Mother Aethelreda. Bless the doctor, John Goode, wherever he goes. Favor the quest of our party Frithwynne, Clawdine, Gunriana, Jetse, Er, Foret, and Dorainen and bless the dwarves who have given us shelter and aid." She clapped her hands three times at the end.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

The scouting party found Mary at the altar.

"My Lady. We return. Tresor, inside. We'll join you."

Foret paused a moment before realizing this was addressed to him, but went in. A serving boy in a warehouse wouldn't be noticed, but might notice something himself.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Those curing the meat reached out to touch and sample the cured horsemeat Er offered them. They felt the texture and tasted, murmuring appreciatively. The man who looked to be in charge of the butchers began questioning Er.
"When was this cured?"
"Over a week ago"
"How has it been kept?"
"In our packs and in the wagons we travelled in"
"Can you show us how to do this?"
"I can show you. How much of this oxen meat do you need to cure for later? We'll need salt water and a fire, can we do that here?"

Er and the group became absorbed in technicalities and working out how best to cure most of the meat, which looked to take them some time. Er, however, did not forget his reason for staying in the warehouse and angled himself to keep an eye on the wrapped chests stacked on a shelf in a quiet corner.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Thank you, Jetse", Mary replied, "Clawdine, Frithwynne, and I have found the house where we can sleep. Clawdine is growing her mushrooms; the space is sparse but sheltered and the house looks easy to defend." She paused and looked at an elderly gaunt couple hurrying fast, "I checked the merchant guild, closed but not empty; we can petition in two days time on the first; I don't think petitioners are often successful. Those guild insiders do not seem to lack food. The citadel is also closed and guarded. And you?"

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine picked up the snake and draped it across her shoulders. Together they went down the ladder and two flights of stairs to confront the dwarven doormakers. When she appeared in front of them they stopped and stepped back nervously. Honed Blade, alerted by the cessation of hammering, appeared behind them.

Clawdine stood with her hands on her hips and looked down at the three rugged faces. “Wotz all this about, then?” she asked, indicating the unfinished carpentry.

Honed Blade stepped forward. “Mistress, we don’t want to upset you. Ironfoot asked us to look after you, and we are trying to do that. We simply want you and the mushrooms to be safe.”

“From wot?” Clawdine demanded. The snake raised it’s head questioningly too, so that Honed Blade was looking at two sets of eyes.

“From…others… who might try to take you away from us…” he faltered a little, for the snake was inching forwards towards him.

Clawdine snorted. “Do yer be wanting more mushrooms from me?”

Honed Blade spread his hands. “But of course. We have been half starved for so long now, your mushrooms are worth more than diamonds.”

“Then make yer door ter keep ‘em safe from prying eyes, but yer gotta give keys fer it to me and ter each of me feller travellers. No keys, no more mushrooms. And I have a few things I want brang ter ther roof, startin’ with containers of earth mixed w’ nightsoil.”

Clawdine turned on her heel and went back up the stairs, trailing one hand along the crevices in the damp brick wall as she went. Wherever her hand touched spore, a mushroom popped out and continued to grow behind her.

Downstairs three voices began talking at once, and then the hammering recommenced.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

The practice yard behind the Poratis villa echoes with the clash of blunted blades, as blows are parried or strike home against armour. The Duke believes in training his men rigorously, and his sons have been brought up to lead by example.

Bortacles gulps down a refreshing draught of ale, before laying aside his heavy pollaxe, and unlacing his breastplate, before finishing the afternoon session with the rapier, mercifully light by comparison to the helm-crushing tool of war. He is no natural swordsman, but discipline and practice have made him a serviceable one, and he emerges from the bout a narrow victor. Had the blades been sharp, though, he reflects uneasily, his opponent's touches (nine to his twelve) would have cost him the use of his swordarm, two fingers and at least one lung. He walks wearily to the villa door, stripping off his padded practice gear as he goes.

At the front entrance, a visitor regards the servant on duty with harsh, unblinking eyes.

“He will see me. And you will not stand in my way.”

“And you are … ma'am...?”

“The one who holds his soul, his oath, and his life. You will admit me. You can do so with a coin and my blessing, or with empty hands and my curse. The choice is yours.”

The woman's right hand twitches curiously, and as the servant opens his mouth to send her away, his jaw suddenly spasms with an unbearable cramping pain that stabs through him from temple to thigh. Gunriana drops a silver piece into his unresisting palm and steps past him into the hall. She looks around, taking in her surroundings.

“Tell my Bortacles that I am waiting.”

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Following a short interval, a houseman opens the door of the reception room in which Guriana waits, admitting Boracles Poratis

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er stood with the group butchering the meat ready to preserve it, showing the others the techniques that would cure the meat effectively. After the first few attempts, as everyone learnt the new tricks and didn't need to be shown every time, the group began to chat. The man who seemed to be in charge was a chatty older man called Denvil.

Er wondered aloud what had happened to the city. He'd been travelling overseas for so many years and had come back to find out what had happened to his cousin Patch Maker who had run a meat stall in the town 20 years ago or more. He was told,
"Mebbe he wouldn't go along with Trepik and Yaris or the mercer's guild?"
Another chimed in, "or could be they'm not liking the competition and he got run out of town."
Er looked puzzled and queried, "So you have to work for Yaris, Trepik or the mercer's guild to have meat?" The other butchers nodded as they continued busying their hands.
"We travelled with Trepik. He was killed on the road. Would the Lady Yaris know this?"
"Oh, yeah'm. Was the first news brought to us'm from the gate. 'Course she'm been told."
"She's a witch, she is," chimed in Denvil, who seemed less cautious that some of the others. The others looked shiftily around and Denvil continued, "She's bewitched Duke Poratis, he could stand up to her if he would, but he don't"
"It is true," another agreed, slowly, "that the other nobles don't agree with the guild council, but they don't say so, and if Duke Poratis don't stand up to the guild, the others daren't."
"Wonder what would happen if the other nobles did argue with the Guild," mused Denvil. Er looked at Denvil thoughtfully.

The group concentrated as Er showed them the next stage in the curing process, but the conversation soon drifted back to Er's cousin Patch.

"Do you think my cousin Patch could have sailed somewhere?" he asked
"The harbour hasn't had working boats for twenty years, not properly, just the occasional fisherman when they got hungry enough," answered Denzil
"Well there was a bit of smuggling until ten years back," another man commented.
"Yeah, wisht them Gasloughs would go back to smuggling, better than they'm doing now."
"They'm can't do that, they can't put out to sea and come back alive and you'm know what it's like coming through the isthmus into Cimenster," Denvil said, looking at Er.
Er raised his eyebrows, "What are they doing now?"
"They'm making it even harder to trade for them few people who do. 'Protection' they'm calling it, but it's bloody daylight robbery."
"Least ways you can spot them coming."
"Yeah, they blue bandanas do warn us it's them and to hide the goods."
"Not sure it's all the Guild and the Gasloughs," another man muttered.
"Oh, you'm be thinking of them strange characters with the big teeth and smooth skin who keep asking questions?"
"That be them."
"Where do you think they'm come from?"
"No idea, but they make my flesh creep. Makes me feel so unsafe near them."
"They'm staying down the harbour, on the front."
"Are they? That's not where I'd want to stay. Too close to the sea, and that bain't safe no more."
Er wondered if these odd characters were anything to do with the Sharklord.
"I wish whatever is happening to Cimenster would stop," sighed another of the men.
"It do be getting worse," replied another.
"Yeah, the last ten years we've had nothing but harder and harder times," Denvil agreed.

While they chatted the men had reduced the pile of meat for preserving into chunks and put them into curing solution to cure overnight. Er turned to Denvil and asked if there was anywhere they could go for a drink after they'd finished their work and Denvil told him of a discreet drinking place on the harbour front. Er turned to the group and asked, "Who else has worked up a thirst then?" to be told that all but Denvil had to go home to wives and children, with their hunks of meat.

Er hoped that if he got Denvil to one side he could persuade him to join with the Kavetseki party. He wondered what was happening with the diamonds and was hoping that Dorainen had been able to keep an eye on them while he worked.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

“Can I assist you, mistress …?” asks the young nobleman with unconvincing civility, as he steps through the doorway.

He is wearing a light silk shirt in place of his quilted doublet, and is beginning to think it was a mistake to put it on before the luxury of bathing. His man was, however, quite insistent that the visitor needed to see him urgently before she could be persuaded to depart. The visitor does not reply, and instead looks him up and down, with something part-way between someone trying to remember a face, and a sergeant-at-arms looking to find fault with a novice spearman.

“Do I know you?” he says, with less confidence.

The eyes fix upon his. There is no particular reason why Bortacles should recognise eyes he saw only once, twenty years ago, in the face of a teenage girl, but something about the travel-worn face of the woman staring at him makes him distinctly uneasy.

“Say your piece, woman, and begone. I have business to attend to.”

That is not good. Something of his father's bluster and arrogance has fastened on his soul. Gunriana has her decision made for her.

She steps towards him, tearing off the silk glove from her left hand.

“Do you know me!” she hisses, spitting the words at his astonished face. “All of my body you would have known, had you been true to your vow, save only this mark. This is Hagall, the hail-rune, rune of woe, rune of the netherworld, rune of cursing. All that I am was yours, and only this would have been withheld from you, had you kept faith. But you have given this body and soul...” she seizes his shirt in her left hand, then thrusts him away dismissively “...given it to another, against your sworn word, and while I yet live. And now, Bortacles, this mark of woe is all of your portion in me, and curses are all of your future, for you have shown contempt for a daughter of the fates, and nothing is left for you but weeping and weakness.”

Bortacles mouth falls open as he tries to make sense of this unprovoked tirade. There are, it is true, women in his past who might perhaps have something against him, but surely none with such cause for spite as this. A very dim memory stirs, as he thinks on the woman's mention of vows and sworn words. He never swore faith to a woman except his wife … except for his wife and that girl he met as a boy, the one who was lost at sea …

“You are...”

“Gunriana de Vanés, Bortacles. Your betrothed.”

“But you died!”

“No, Bortacles. As you can see well enough. I was and am and will be alive until it pleases my mothers to take me to them. I was alive when you took my cousin to your adulerous bed. I was alive when you promised her what was mine. If I had been lost through chance, and you acted in ignorance, the fates might perhaps forgive you, but I was lost, for a while, through the schemes of an ally of your House, whose rise to power you have abetted, and who even now leeches the life from your city and people, as my curse will leech the life from your very bones.”

She pauses to let that sink in. Even a pampered aristocrat could not be oblivious to the misery of Cimenster. And there was good in Bortacles, if she had the art to find it.

Gunriana twists her hands together to form Ar, the turning year, ripping away the veil of years and speaking directly to the soul of the nervous eight year old boy who had once promised that soul to her.

“My Bortacles, I know you were not at fault. I know you were told I was dead. I was promised to you, too, and I cannot hate you. Nor could I wish to deprive my cousin of the joy she has in you. But still, you were not at fault when the poison entered your city, and yet your city is dying. Surely you see that? You were not at fault when you broke faith with me, but still, my mothers will not let a rune-marked daughter be treated so. Broken faith is as poisonous to the noble heart as intrigues and lies are to a people. If you help me now, you cannot give me back the years that I was lost, but you can free your father from the snares of the one who took me from you, and your people from the poison of this pointless war, and then, perhaps, we can both take new life, in place of curses.”

Bortacles is surprised to find his eyes filling with tears. Every sight and sound and smell of the dying city that he has been ignoring, thinking he could do nothing to relieve, is suddenly sharp and personal. He did not think he could weep over such memories. Childish tears had been beaten from him long ago. 'Weakness and weeping' she had said – was that coming true so quickly? He scarcely trusts his voice and he speaks in a whisper, still uncertain.

“Help you how?”

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine busied herself on the roof. Everything she asked for was brought to her, and soon she was surrounded with all manner of containers of soil mixed with dung. Nervously, a dwarf plopped an old half barrel in front of her, and stammered that they had now brought all the chests, cases, boxes and pots they could find in the house, except for their cookware. A bucket relay was in progress to fill them to the top with earth.

Clawdine grunted, and demanded to see the cooks. "Take me to yer kitchen, master dwarf," she said. "I needs to ax them that use it a few things."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Keep your oath.
Don't be selfish.
Guild hall open.
Guild master available.

Frithwynne repeated these to herself while Mary prayed. When Jetse and Foret arrived, Frithwynne slipped from the wall.

"I'll meet you again at the dwarfs' house," she murmured to Mary, and crossed the street to the shrine.

The feet of the Sea Mother were chipped all around the top, as if they had been gnawed by sharp triangular teeth. Frithwynne walked slowly around the shrine, and then around the remnants of wall that seemed to have formed an enclosed courtyard for it. She wondered if there were anything to be ***found***, perhaps something left ***hidden*** by the onetime worshippers, before whatever attack had destroyed their shrine.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

As Mary talked with Jetse, she noticed Milt Docker approaching. They paused and Milt asked, "Mistress Hawser, my father sent me to find you, he would like you to meet a friend of his, Rafe Hawser." Milt stopped and then continued, "Is he kin to you?"

"No," Mary replied, "but I know some Hawsers of Cimenster". This was true, the Hawsers were rope makers, the very line she had tied around her waist was Hawser made perhaps why she had chosen her alias. The Hawsers were also clients of the de Morgans or had been. "Jetse, I think I should go to meet Master Hawser. Shall I meet you back at Ironfoot's place as sunset?"

[ 28. August 2014, 02:26: Message edited by: Net Spinster ]

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Net Spinster:
"Shall I meet you back at Ironfoot's place as sunset?"

"Back to Ironfoot's Lodge by nightfall. New Mørkborg first."

"You are friends of Ironfoot?" asked the wizened dwarf.

"Yes."

The dwarf nodded. "I'll stay here, if you don't mind. Old and stiff. Ask for Mangesangn. Or Rundøje."

"Who sends me?"

"Mentoren."

"Tresor. Come." Foret emerged from the warehouse. The two of them set off back towards the slum.

Jetse questioned Foret as they walked along the seawall. The boy had seen much, and Jetse was able to deduce still more from what his Hand told him. That the Gaslough company had a remnant in Cimenster was not entirely unwelcome news; though his old contacts were no doubt gone, he'd had many dealings with them in the past. While few would likely have known Polytrope and his crew personally, perhaps one or two might remember the days when he was employed by the Mystery and Fellowship . . .

Blue bandannas. Good. Watch. Useful later. Ah. Arrived.

"You again. Why? We have nothing. Here to make trouble?" Clearly, the dwarves weren't used to visitors.

"Mentoren sent me. Find Mangesangn and Rundøje."

The dwarf snorted. "And who do you think you are to make demands? The Markgreve of Skyggevæg? Thautam's Hierophant? Or the Jarl back from the dead?"

"Kaptajn Ingen asks."

"Kaptajn Ingen? Common name. Mine too. My mother's. Kaptajn Ingen killed her. Kaptajn Ingen saved me from the Udrensning. Kaptajn Ingen watches over me. Who else might you be?"

"Uthuze Polytrope has returned."

"Polytrope? You turn and turn again. Turn enough, come back to where you were. Keep turning, return once more. All those knots you turn yourself with your many turns. Save the trouble. Stay at home, in your room. I'll stay right here."

Jetse sighed. Damned dwarf. Maintain secrecy. Reveal nothing. Damned dwarf.

"You know an Ankou an Gwened?

The dwarf looked straight at Jetse.

"Last heard of him twenty years ago. A bit more. Just before the Udrensning. A strange man, I heard. Born into the dark. Granny was the Jarl's sister they say. Taken by the City's legions when ilithids came. Everywhere after that. Dangerous. Untrustworthy. You knew him?"

"Looking for."

"Don't know why. Best if he's dead. Joined those he took. But Rundøje would know, Herre Polytrope. This way."

[ 28. August 2014, 04:17: Message edited by: Ariston ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine followed the dwarf down the stairs to the ground floor, where a number of doors opened off the square entry. To the left of the front door and opposite the newly gated stairwell was an ornate set of studded doors. Clawdine moved towards it, but the dwarf shook his head. "That's the Gathering Hall. Not that there's been any gatherings this long while. Not much to celebrate about these days. Anything of value was sold years ago. It's mostly empty."

He led her through a plain door opposite the front entrance and down a few steps into a long and sparse kitchen. A wizened dwarf woman stood stirring an enormous cauldron full of mushrooms. Around her excited women and children were chattering non-stop, their hollow eyes fixed on the pot simmering in the fireplace.

Clawdine looked at them pityingly. "Yer poor wee mites," she exclaimed. "There be hardly any flesh on yer at all." By comparison Clawdine was mountainous. The chattering stopped, and they gathered around her. When one of the bolder children poked at her huge girth to see if it was real, Clawdine guffawed in delight.

"I know yer like mushrooms," Clawdine said to the women, "but mushrooms on their own ain't much of a feast, and yer will be havin' important company ternight." She winked at them. She didn't really know if there would be anyone other than her fellow travellers present for dinner, but she was sure that by now rumours of their exploits would be circulating, thanks to Ironfoot. "I need yer help."

She explained what she was after, then returned to the roof. Soon, a timid face appeared at the top of the ladder, and a scruffy basket was pushed towards her. In it was a withered turnip top, a necklace of dried pumpkin seeds, a few precious vegetable peelings, and a bonnet band with a sprig of lacquered cloudberries stitched on it. To this bounty she added the contents of her drawstring pocket, with its oranges seeds, apple core, date pits, corn kernels, old nutmeg and blackberry bits.

Clawdine cackled delightedly at the thought of what was about to happen, and set to work once more.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen watched as Er and their new companions worked and talked. He hoped the talk contained information that was useful to them, but it was hard to hear them over the noise of the work. He made etched in his mind the location of the diamond chests, the distinctive grain of the wood they were made of, the shape of their handles and a few other details to make sure they didn't get lost in the shuffle. He wondered if anyone would try to stop him if he just explored the warehouse a bit.

Wandering away from the working party, he noticed the wicker screen at the far end. Could he hear voices behind it? Coming closer, he realized that he could, and it was far enough from the workers that he could start to hear what they were saying. Approaching from the side, and staying behind a stack of crates, he could hear the conversation quite clearly without being seen. And what he heard was quite fascinating.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

"Fare well, Jetse", Mary said and then turned to follow Milt. He took her up the hill and away from the harbor and eventually to a narrow street for the rope makers guild judging by the sign. At the second house, he knocked and they were quickly whisked in. Old Docker was there, "Mistress, you and yours do stir things up don't you". They went upstairs to the common room of the house and Old Docker introduced her. "Mistress Mary Hawser, this is Trader Rafe Hawser and his wife Amfi de Morgan Hawser." These were a couple of about 40 years of age. "His brother Boetius of the rope guild and his wife and my eldest sister, Mawd". This couple was considerably older.

Mary clasped her hands and bowed in greeting.

"You're no Hawser", said Boetius.

"No Master Boetius, my real name is Mary Drake", replied Mary deciding to gamble and remembering Boetius from many years before.

"From?" he asked.

"Aisling", she replied.

He looked at her closely for a minute, "What happened to the Kavetseki that has been missing these 20 years, the guild never got the hemp promised?"

"It", Mary choked, remembered the hold full of hemp bespoke to the rope guild almost like it was yesterday, and could not continue. "I [i]can]/i] not say", she replied, "We were lost many years ago. Cimenster isn't what it use to be either."

"Aye", said Amfi speaking for the first time, "Desolation, trade gone, forests gone, the de Morgons are gone except for me, people starving in the streets, ruffians roam, and Yaris and the Duke seem to do little good. Can't blame the Duke for the first few years, just a kid then but for the last few."

"It seems I can't offer much but perhaps we can ***barter*** for something else. We are dining at the house of Honed Blade this evening and providing the food." Mary hoped Clawdine was holding to her end of the bargain little knowing what their sleeping area was being turned into.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

It was the apple tree that did it.

Honed Blade had been keeping a respectful distance, while still attempting to oversee what was happening on his roof. As the strongest part of the roof was the granite slab, that was where they had placed the largest containers.

Clawdine seemed to be in a world of her own as she planted and watered and whispered to the soil. He was a little alarmed at how quickly their water supply was diminishing, and even more alarmed when he saw the size of some of the greenery erupting out of the tubs and chests. The parapet around the roof was not high enough to shield the corn and the fruit trees from the houses around them, or the street below.

The dwarf quickly organized some more carpenters to dismantle the shelter on the roof and turn it into a privacy screen where it was most needed. By the time the corn cobs were ready for picking, the screen was in place. Clawdine worked on, oblivious to the dwarves, whose eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets at what they were witnessing.

Several small orange trees, two date palms and a little nutmeg tree were inching higher by the minute. In the largest tub, an apple tree was growing, and small flowered shaped green fruit was beginning to appear on its slender branches.

Clawdine clucked her tongue. "You'm needs more water, me luvverlies," she said to the trees. "We needs yer fruit ter be good 'n plump." She clapped her hands, and immediately a thunderclap replied from the sky. "I hope yer don't mind gettin' wet," she said to the dwarves, as it began to pour.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

The apple tree glistened in the rain, and the flower shaped fruit grew plump and pink. Honed Blade stared at it in disbelief. A tear appeared in his eye. “Mistress,” he said, “ This be a wondrous thing. We haven’t seen a Blencher for many a long year.”

Clawdine nodded as the rain stopped, and picked an apple to sample. “They be ready, she said to him.” Tell yer people to bring their buckets ‘n baskets ‘n aprons to fill ‘em.” She supervised the harvest, being careful to pocket a sample from each container to ensure the future.

Honed Blade made sure that each of the workers received a reward for their help, and that every piece of produce was cleaned and carried reverently downstairs. Soon all that was left on the roof were bare stalks and tumbled earth. As the last basket disappeared down the ladder, Honed Blade turned to Clawdine. “Will there be more? Blenchers are worth even more than mushrooms around Cimenster.”

“That depends,” said Clawdine, as she pulled an apple out from under her shawl, “on ‘ow well yer treat us ternight.” The snake wound its way up the apple tree and lowered its head towards them from a branch. “I dern’t think some of my companions ‘ll be very impressed at bein’ made ter sleep up ‘ere on zackcloth.”

“Mistress,” said Honed Blade. “If you can bring us more apples and mushrooms, and if they taste as good as they look, then you may have the best beds we have.” Clawdine offered him the apple. “Try it,” she said, “’n tell me ‘ow good ‘tis.”

Honed Blade made short work of this gift. Clawdine held out her hand for the core. “Well?” she enquired.

The dwarf bowed. “Truly, you have a mighty gift, and we are in your debt today. You are both talented and generous. Whatever you ask for, we will try to provide, great mistress.”

Clawdine laughed and clapped her hands with delight. In the twinkle of an eye the age and weight dropped off her like her ragged clothing. Another thunderclap resounded overhead.

Honed Blade turned and fled, and the last sight he had of his strange houseguest as he dropped down the ladder, was of her dancing naked in the rain around the apple tree with the jeweled snake draped across her shoulders.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er and Denvil made their way along the harbour chatting, away from the warehouse, towards a decrepit looking building tucked out of sight but with a view around the harbour. He thought that Denvil might make a useful convert to their cause if he could persuade him. The poverty of the houses and streets continued to depress him and had made him determined to do something for Cimenster, especially as whatever they did for Cimenster was almost certainly going to help him and the Kavetseki too.

Denvil led them into the worst and roughest tavern Er had ever seen and he'd sampled quite a few on his travels, having made a point to seek out interesting beers and experiences wherever he was. And here the beer could only be described as another experience. He wondered quite what had been brewed to produce it, because hops and grain didn't seem much in evidence. Really better not to ask, he thought. Er wondered if it was a smugglers' meeting place and was not surprised to observe a number of blue bandanas in amongst those gathered there.

The sudden localised rain squall across the harbour attracted a certain amount of comment across the bar. Er had encountered a number of these, travelling with Clawdine. For once he was quite pleased to see this one, it told him where to find her. He looked at Denvil,
"When did you last taste fresh mushrooms?"
"That was years ago."
"If you follow me, we have mushrooms to eat tonight." Er gestured to his pint, "they'll taste better than this."

With Denvil at his heels they headed around the harbour area to where a rainbow and rain shower competed in the sky.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen could hear two voices, clearly human, one male and one female it seemed. The lower voice referred to the higher as "Milady" and the higher never used a name for the lower. It seemed the pitches matched their relative status. They knew about Trepik's death, but didn't seem particularly interested in the cause. The possible effects, rather, dominated their conversation. There were concerns about how loyal Trepik's team would remain, but to whom, he couldn't tell. To each other? To Yaris? Their firm, on the other hand, is 'tight' (once the woman used the term, the man kept repeating it). The woman reminded the man how important it was that the people don't find out about the 'understanding' and he agreed, but Dorainen couldn't tell what understanding that might be.

Dorainen kept listening for talk of diamonds, but none was made. Instead, they were worried about the snake being missing. Apparently, it was 'needed' (for what, was left unsaid). When the woman said how mad Yaris would be, that blew Dorainen's theory that it was Yaris herself he was listening to. The only other name that came up was that of the Gasloughs (again in third person). They were useful, it was agrred, as a distraction. The man was worried they would grow too powerful. Dorainen couldn't tell if the woman agreed that that was likely or not, but she certainly agreed it would be bad if it happened.

The man at one point asked when 'the time' was set for (again, for what was frustratingly tacit) and was told that it was "two nights hence, the night of the petitioners hearing, at midnight." It seemed that this was maybe the piece of information the man had been looking for, for shortly afterwards the conversation seemed to end. Dorainen got out of the way quietly enough and ensured he wasn't seen as he exited the warehouse.

Er and the men had left, but as soon as he got outside he saw Mary Drake walking somewhere with a man he recognized from their caravan. He greeted her and told her he had much news, although thinking about it, it was hard to distill much news from what he'd heard, except for the information about the snake. She said she really had to get going, though, and explained how to get to Ironfoot's, where the party was due to regather at sunset.

Dorainen was not sorry for a little peace and quiet, to walk in solitude towards the dwarven house while thinking over what he had heard. How strange, to think of spending the night in a dwarven house!

[ 29. August 2014, 20:23: Message edited by: Hart ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Bortacles and Gunriana arrive at the Ironfoot residence. The nobleman is still feeling uneasy at passing through the poorer parts of the city. He had, on Gunriana's advice, discarded his silks and velvet-lined coat, and taken an unadorned travelling cloak and stiff leather garments which might turn an inexpertly placed blade.

All the same, the rapier is hard to disguise, and to the desperate and opportunistic, that is, most of the hungry denizens of Cimenster, Bortacles' good boots advertise wealth. The thugs that looked at him with outright malice did not unnerve so much as the silent pleading looks of those who had all but given up hope.

"I didn't mean to disregard you, lady ..." he begins for about the eighth time, more to avoid the tension of speaking about those they pass in the streets.

"That matters not," cuts in Gunriana, sharply, "oaths and curses bite the innocent, as surely as hunger. What matter is that your fate and Cimenster's fate is one. We believe that one on the Council both brought this curse on Cimenster, and caused your father to think me dead and give you to another, and that even now they scheme for their own ends and grow wealthy while the people rot. They have your father ensnared, whether by threats, lies, or sorcery you are better placed to judge than I, and when he is freed, and Cimenster is freed, how should the curse still fall on you? But unless they are freed, how should it be that you alone escape?"

Gunriana pauses just before they go inside.

"Welcome to our counsels, Bortacles Poratis. Enter freely, and speak freely. Place your courage, your wits and your heart at the service of your people. That will pay all debts, fulfil all vows. We were fated to owe one another debts we will never pay. What is written cannot be undone. What this city's enemies intend may yet be."

Ushering him into the room she scratches Bjarken on the lintel, the birch-rune, for inspiration, subtlety and strength, and quietly calls for her mothers' wisdom to guide their plans.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Something sharp caught Frithwynne's finger as she ran her hand along the remnants of wall. She paused, sucking on the scratch, and then felt closer to find what it might have been. Loose mortar fell away, and she pried out a triangular tooth, etched with some script. Frithwynne had never learned to read, so she wasn't sure, but it looked different from writing that she had chanced to see before.

Looking closely, she could see more sharp points sticking out from the wall; some widely spaced, some close together. She scraped out a few more, using the first one to pry them out more easily. They all had similar etchings on them.

She turned from the wall back towards the shrine, and saw what she had missed before: a ring of sharp points bristling from the base of the shrine, where it met the earth. She knelt and dug one out. It looked like the others. She uneasily set it back in place. She didn't mind taking from the wall, but the shrine seemed holy and she didn't like to disturb it. She didn't think the teeth were part of the shrine's holy purpose, but they had entered into its circle of influence, and good or bad, she didn't want to touch such power. Perhaps Mary, who spoke to the Sea Mother, would know whether they ought to be removed or not.

She left the enclosure and wandered down to the end of the dock, carrying the three teeth from the wall. She sat, dangling her feet over the edge, and pulled Jack's hat from her knapsack. She held it upside down and placed the teeth in it. She shook the hat a bit as if the configuration of teeth could tell her something.

Three shark fins circled where the calm harbor waters met the rough open sea. Frithwynne watched them: one white, one grey, one almost blue.

She started when a voice addressed her from behind on her right.

"You'm interested in the ocean, miss? That's a good place to watch it, if you'm like to watch. Yaris comes down here sometimes at night, whispers to they'm sharks. Don't know why; surely no good for Cimenster."

The speaker, an elderly dwarf, had by now drawn close enough to Frithwynne to see what lay in the bowl of the hat, and stopped moving so suddenly she almost tripped.

"Oh, begging your pardon, miss, uh, mistress, uh, lady. I didn't mean no harm. The Lady Yaris, oh we depend on her, we do, she guards us from yon --" and she jerked her chin towards the circling fins. "Protects Cimenster, I'm sure she does, it's a hard job but she does it for us, begging your pardon lady, and you'm wearing blue, now why didn't an old fool like me see that, and you'm sure a witch with they'm in your hands, and I'm sure we're grateful for your presence..."

The voice faded as the dwarf scuttled backwards up the dock, bowing as she went, and trying to look in all directions at once.

Frithwynne stared after her, astonished. Yaris? Whispering? Blue? She, a witch? She compared her tattered self to the stern presence of Gunriana, and this time she smiled.

"Well, Lady Frithwynne the Witch, you have come up in the world," she said to herself, climbing to her feet. She placed hat and teeth in her knapsack, and started back to Ironfoot's house.

Retracing her steps first to the Guildhall, she noticed more toothy points sticking out from occasional house walls. At the Guildhall, sharp points almost completely buried bristled across the threshold of the gate.

From the Guildhall she knew how to get to Ironfoot's house, and traced her way there. She would show the teeth to the Lady Gunriana, in case there were aught to know from the etchings, and in case the presence of them lodged in walls all over the city, and especially so many guarding the shrine and the Guildhall, were some danger to the oath-bound group that Gunriana could read.

"If she will read it, and not just say the Fates will decide," grumbled Frithwynne to herself, and then felt guilty. "But are the teeth guarding, or are they attacking? Maybe Mistress Hawser will know something; she knows both the shrine and the Guildhall, at least knows them as they were."

Puzzling over these things, Frithwynne found herself back at Ironfoot's. The door had been fortified since the morning, and the ground around the house was wet, although the rest of Cimenster had been dusty.

Frithwynne knocked.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen had gotten lost in some alleys with some very strange smells, but eventually had found some of the landmarks Mary had mentioned and arrived at what he thought must be Ironfoot's residence. He knocked on the door and a gaunt looking dwarf (he hadn't thought such a thing possible!) answered. He had wondered how a dwarf would react to an elf knocking on their door, but had never expected the scared expression he received.

"Please, you've got to give us more time. The last guy they sent, he told us we'd have more time to get it together!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Dorainen, honestly. The dwarf got seemed to think this very worrying.

"Oh, but he said we would. And why are you coming round out of uniform, anyway? How can we be sure you really work for Biracheness if you don't wear your uniform?"

Birechaness, he must mean thought Dorainen. It was a wood elf name, common among their minor nobility, but you couldn't judge an elf entirely by their name.

"I am in league with no wood elf, and wear no uniform, elven, human or dwarf, I am..."

He got cut off by the dwarf: "An elf who isn't a guard? What do you want knocking at my door, then? What do you want in Cimenster for that matter."

"I am Dorainen, a companion of Clawdine, the producer of mushrooms." It felt disrespectful to his race to identify himself in this strange way, but that seemed to be what his oath, and expedience, required.

"Oh," replied the dwarf, "then I suppose you're as welcome as she." His tone seemed to combine relief with resignation. The dwarf had been numbed to the reality that he had no real control over his life. Debt collection had been put off for now at least, but here he was, forced to conclude that an elf was welcome in his home. An elf with a darn funny name too.

Dorainen bowed, and entered.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Rafe scowled at the mention of the dwarf, Honed Blade, but Boetius noticed and said "Rafe, ignore the rumors sowed by the strife mongers of the city", he nodded in the direction of the top of the hill, "Honed Blade has a good name though his people have suffered worst than most so some have resorted to petty theft of food".

He then turned to Mary, "And the purpose of us going?"

"Can things continue here as they are? We coming has changed things. The Hawsers and the de Morgans have worked with the Drakes before can we not again?" She replied.

"We?" said a voice in the corner, "The Lady Gunriana was lost on the Kavetseki. Is she back? I loved the ballad about her how she was sailing to meet her betrothed here, the mildest and most beautiful maiden in all the lands, when they were attacked by pirates and she threw herself in the water rather than be taken."

"Gunni, quiet!" rebuked Amfi, "Apologies Mistress Drake for my daughter". Said daughter, Mary noted, was a girl of about 15 in a house dress curled up in the corner with a book.

"Accepted" Mary replied though she had a hard time reconciling the image with the actuality of Lady Gunriana. "Lady Gunriana is indeed here."

"Then we go", said Mawd silencing the rest temporarily, "Amfi, Gunni, fill three trugs with wine bottles as guest gifts. Gunni you are coming with us, change quickly." Boetius called for a couple of his journeymen and all six of the men armed themselves with cudgels. Within 20 minutes they were heading out.

Gunni walked beside Mary, "The Duke had a memorial statue put up of the Lady Gunriana with little lambs at her feet and a dove perched on her hand", she burbled, "His son, her betrothed, was so upset he refused to marry until the Duke chose her cousin."

The party moved quickly and alertly and the blue bandana men they saw steered clear from the well armed group. Eventually they reached Honed Blade's house as the sun was setting, knocked, and were admitted by Honed Blade. The scent of cooking food permeated the house. They were escorted upstairs to the room where Gunriana and Bortacles were waiting.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne, seated in a corner, watched Mary enter with several companions, and sighed. Now here were the Lady Gunriana who had already arrived when Frithwynne came in, and Mistress Hawser newly arrived, both the people she wanted to talk to. But first the Lady Gunriana had been attended by this young man, and now Mistress Hawser had arrived with a small retinue, and Frithwynne wasn't decided if she could speak of what she'd found in front of the strangers, and she didn't want to make them all conspicuous by asking to speak to them alone, apart from the strangers.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Foret noticed the men in the blue bandanas first.

"Still dealing with the Gasloughs?"

The dwarf shook his head, and started slipping a bit behind Jetse.

"Not like the old days. Most of ours ran the sea lanes—no longer. A few who remember still in town, but mostly local youfs. Take from them with nothing to take."

"That's all?"

"A few still run. All we get comes from them. The enforcers take it as tax. Don't respect the runners. Becoming just a street gang."

"Pity. Could be useful. Take. Cover. Both of you."

He handed the dwarf his bow and quiver; his companions fell just a step behind, Foret on his left, axe in hand.

The three enforcers were in the midst of a shakedown of a group of about twelve dwarves living in a tent when Jetse and his companions walked up to them. Two of the dwarves had been badly beaten, and the rest were on the edge between resistance and giving in. Clearly, the appalling conditions had taken their toll—a dozen dwarves could usually overpower an equal number of normal men—and many of the dwarves were obviously sick and nursing injuries from past attacks. At the feet of the lead enforcer was a small pile of rather sad, but unspoiled, potatoes.

"Wha' ye be wantin', haf'man?"

The three men in blue bandanas were strong, but poorly disciplined and poorly armed. A few clubs, a paving stone or two. Good for roughing up dwarves. Not good for much else. They were outmatched. Didn't know it. Yet.

"Taking what's brought in?"

"We bring it. We take it. Filth get too much, take mor'n their cut. We fix't."

"You obey. Runners decide. That's the code."

"An' who ye be tellin' us o' our own law? Ye nay one o' us, outlander, so go teach ye granny t' suck eggs. An' take ye's two filthy kids wit' ye as ye leave."

Jetse's sword came out, and was quickly pressed against his throat; and invisible hand grasped him by the neck and lifted him into the air.

"Ran along the Company when you still sucked. When they were strong. When they would have run this city. You are weak. No runner. Find those who are. The old ones. The strong. Tell them Captain Polytrope lives. Returns. Will have his revenge."

The invisible hand threw the enforcer to the ground, and Jetse's sword point remained at his throat. Foret and the dwarf advanced on the other two, weapons at the ready.

"Go. Tell it."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary noticed Frithwyne to the side and was glad she had made it back and that Dorainen was also here though sitting somewhat isolated. Clawdine was also around as the bowl of oranges by an older dwarf sitting on a raised chair at one end showed.

Mawd and Amfi had whispered some instructions or encouragements to Gunni just before they had gotten to the door. Gunni now went to the front carrying her trug of wine bottles which she laid before the older dwarf. Amfi and Mawd laid their trugs beside it. Gunni took a quick breath then recited, "A daughter of the house of Hawser comes with cloudberry wine from the Dwarrow hills above Volga, she asks the Mother of the house of Honed Blade for her mother, Amfi, and the Mother of the house of Hawser, Mawd, to be welcome here this evening, amity to reign."

The dwarf looked at the bottles at her feet, made a sign at which a young dwarf took one of the bottles and put it beside the bowl of oranges. Three other dwarfs removed the trugs. Gunni stepped back and the party moved to one side. Mary had little experience with dwarves and none with them in their halls (or house). She looked at Mawd but it was Gunni who answered, "The Mothers of dwarf houses rarely speak except on most important matters, she accepted the gift so we can stay. Mother and Aunt Mawd have me learning protocol all the time. I'm suppose to go to Barvik to marry my betrothed, a merchant, Jojo Soot, but there is no safe way there now."

Mary nodded glad to have one question answered though she wasn't sure how the Hawsers even with de Morgan connections had managed an alliance with the Soot family, long wealthy from their trade alliances with many of the non-human races. Perhaps Jojo was of a minor line or even estranged, being in Barvik far away from their home cities seemed to indicate that; the Soots were also quite prolific (some rumored they used fertility potions acquired from one or another of their partners).

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine put down her back basket and looked around the kitchen with satisfaction. It was a hive of activity and the smells mingling in the air were pleasing. Bowls of oranges and apples were being carried into the Gathering Hall. Pumpkin soup and mushroom stew were being ladled into tureens. Dishes of corn and root vegetables were being assembled and platters of dates and berries created as centrepieces. No meat was in evidence, but this did not seem to be bothering the dwarf women. The atmosphere was happy and they smiled and nodded at her when she came in.

'Can we help you?" asked the oldest one there. Clawdine looked down. "Mebbe. It's just...well..." she indicated the tatty shawls and skirt she was wearing, now even more stained and ragged after her days exertions." I was wonderin' if any of yer might borrow me a cape or sommat fit fer company."

Immediately the heads of the women bent together and a rapid conversation in dwarvish followed. Finally one of them left, and returned with an ancient cloak that looked like it had once been trimmed with jewels. These had long since been picked off, but an attempt had been made to cover the gaps with scraps of coloured material. They put it on Clawdine, and it was voluminous enough to go around her - though somewhat short.

Clawdine thanked them profusely, and promised to return it later that evening. Then she picked up the basket and went out to the entry. "Shall we?" she said to the snake, and offered her arm to it.

The snake inclined its head, then slithered up her arm and neck to the top of her head, where it arranged itself like a living turban. The torchlight in the entry made its scales sparkle in spectacular fashion. Together they went through the studded doors to join those already in the Gathering Hall.

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Er and Denvil followed the cloud and rainbow and arrived outside a house with a front door that looked to be recently strengthened. Er was confirmed in his suspicions that this was the right place from the localised dampness, smells of food and general hubbub issuing forth. Denvil was looking around in surprise, "Your party seems to have changed things here already," he said, as Er knocked on the door.

The dwarf at the door looked harassed, "Who'm are you then?" he asked grumpily.
Er looked at him with some sympathy, "Has Clawdine been keeping you busy?" he asked.
"Ooh, she'm been havin' us haul stuff up to the roof, for hours and hours. But then there's this food, never seen anything like it. But she'm a scary woman, particularly with never knowing where that snake is going to pop up."
Er thought about this and realised that Clawdine really had taken the snake from the locked wagon and wondered how clever a trick that had been, as there didn't seem to be much interest in the diamonds, certainly not while he'd been in the warehouse.
"I came into Cimenster with Clawdine, can we come in to see her and the others?" he responded to the dwarf, who smiled wryly and said,
"You and everyone else, it seems."

Er and Denvil walked up the stairs and arrived into the banqueting hall to find Dorainen near the back of the hall, and when he looked around he could see Mary and Frithwynne had made it here already. Denvil's eyes widened as he looked around the room, "Where did you get this food? We haven't seen oranges for years."
Er grinned and said, "Ah, well, that would be telling. But if you stick around with us, we'll see if we can shake Cimenster up."
"If you can shake Cimenster up so we have food like this again, I'm in," Denvil agreed.
Er hoped that Denvil really meant this, but he wasn't just relying on his own skills, he hoped that the evening's events would really convince him. It looked as if all his companions had been successful in reaching groups within Cimenster as there were so many disparate races and peoples gathered here already, and Gunriana and Jetse had not arrived yet, but were no doubt out doing their best to change things.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

The three toughs backed away a few steps, then broke into a run. Jetse shook his stub arm; whatever magical force made his hand work stung whenever he used it.

"Impressive. What I would have expected from what we heard of you. Come with me."

The three walked to a shack in the center of the ghetto. While there was no confusing it for the High Temple of Thautam or the Exarchate of the Invictus in IJzerhaven, it was, without a doubt, the least run-down structure in the district. It might even have taken a somewhat determined shove to knock it over, rather than just a good gust of wind.

"Inside."

Jetse and Foret followed the dwarf down a few steps dug into the wet, seeping ground. With the door closed, the interior was almost completely dark; thin beams of light poking through the walls soon died in the smoke of the interior coming from the smoldering seaweed being used in place of the usual thick dwarven incense. A new voice spoke from somewhere in the temple, an ancient voice croaking in the dark.

"Your blades, Foarst Jetse."

The dwarves, no doubt, saw Jetse start in the gloom. He had studiously avoided using that name around the dwarves—at least, these dwarves—and certainly not the title he had but little right to, one not even the most deluded of pretenders could claim.

"Bewaker Jetse. No prince." Still, Jetse drew his sword, and took out his ruined halberd blade.

"Foarst I call you. Many died in the Udrensning. It is yours."

"Renounced when I was drafted. Forsook the darkness. Barely had it. A man of IJzerhaven now. Cannot claim Økseherren's inheritance. A Son of Light. The dark cannot claim me. Nor I it."

"More prince than any here. All of you, look"

Jetse felt the blessed knife cut near his wounded stump. The blood flowed out, and the priest took some and smeared it on his blades, muttering prayers in half-forgotten Old Dwarvish. There in the gloom, the blood formed itself into flowing dwarvish script, glowing with a faint red light:

HALBADANIZ RÆVEN WODURIDAZSON BÆRER MIG

"You cannot escape your past, Halfdwarf, son of the Furyrider. Your names follow you through your many turns. You may not claim the Obsidian Seat, but you must see that your clan's rule is restored."

"I am a man of IJzerhaven. I will restore the Black Chair. But I bear no responsibility for it."

"To the contrary, Guardian Vos." The old priest almost spit the name out between his teeth. "It is because of you that the Seat fell."

"LIES! I never betrayed Mørkbørg! Was nowhere near when the Purge happened! Can't remember those days. Wasn't there. Blame another."

"Yet its loss was because of you. Mørkbørg would have withstood the siege were it not for you. The factions in the Duchy would never have endorsed a protracted siege. Loss of life. Loss of trade. Loss of money. Revolts would have wracked the Canton. The colleges and trade guilds were already restless. The lower wards were rioting. Too many soldiers away from the City. If they didn't know about the passage to the heart of the third ward, the hidden passage, the Jarl's Way, Mørkbørg would have stood. The Udrensning would have failed. It was a team of soldiers from the City who breeched the hidden way. One served with you during the Ilithid Wars. Remembered your ways. How you escaped their advance. Where you rallied, and repulsed the flayers. What you did then to save Mørkbørg and IJzerhaven would later doom us all. You may have been away overthrowing some merchant family or other. You may not have intended to kill us all. But you did.

"So here is our bargain, Guardian. You would restore your homeland. IJzerhaven. The Palatinate. You would take this city. Make it yours. Start your war of revenge here. We will support you—but on this condition: IJzerhaven belongs to the new Palatinate. Your home bows to ours. Your liege will be in Mørkbørg, not the Citadel. You will be Jetse the Black once more. The Child of Light taken back into the darkness. This we demand of you. Your beloved city belongs to us."

Jetse looked at the old dwarf, and for the first time noticed that the ancient creature was missing an eye—a high priest of the Palatinate, sacrificing the light of the eye to see better in the mind's darkness. One who knew much. A loremaster.

"Your answer, soldier."

******

As darkness fell, Jetse, Foret, and the dwarf who lead them to the temple found themselves back at Ironfoot's Lodge. An older woman, well into middle age, the signs of a hard life written on her face and hands, met them at the door.

"Captain Polytrope?"

"Yes. I sent for you. Keeper Jetse Ræven of the Palatinate. We work with the Gasloughs once more."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine had to admit she was enjoying herself hugely. Mary and her clan had brought a precious gift of wine, Er and Denvil brought strips of cured oxen, and having so much fresh food to share seemed to have lifted the mood of the entire extended dwarf household. She didn't quite understand the blood relationship between Ironfoot and Honed Blade but when she produced a mushroom from behind the ear of one of the younger ones, the dwarves did not leave her alone all night.

Every time she turned her head there seemed to be another dwarf asking her to create more baskets of food. She didn't know where they were coming from, but she had never felt so wanted.

Finally she held up her hands. "Enough. I'd be needin' an 'undred rooftop gardins ter do what yer ax. I can plant ther seed, tha's fer sure, but plants need soil ter grow in. Yer'd 'ave ter find a mountin' o' earth ter get what yer wants now."

Honed Blade stroked his beard, and then nodded to two of the women. "Show her." Then he gestured for her to go with them. She followed them down to a dusty and cavernous cellar. All along its walls were great mounds of earth. Buckets and spades, picks and shovels were littered about.

"What's all this 'ere fer?" Clawdine asked. The snake unwound itself from her head and slithered down to disappear into the shadows.

"Tunnels," said one of the women. "Every dwarf house has them. Not that we've had the energy to make any lately. And the blue bannermen are always filling them in and fining us when they find them. But there's plenty of soil for you."

Clawdine returned to the party thoughtfully. She wondered aloud to Mary and Frithwynne if she should attempt to grow things in the cellar and ask the dwarves to engineer some shafts of sunlight to it, or whether they needed to carry the soil up. And where had the snake got to?

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"...tunnels..." overheard Dorainen. Who had said that? Clawdine?

"Excuse me," he called out over the din of the feast. "Did I hear something about tunnels? I don't suppose any of those would allow surreptitious access to important places in this city, would it?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne found herself between Mary and Dorainen at the feast table, and Gunriana next to Dorainen. She had taken out the three teeth and showed them to Mary and Gunriana, asking what they thought or could read in them, of necessity including Dorainen, and not trying to exclude the rest of the Kavetseki group, but also trying not to reveal the teeth too openly to the assembled dwarfs, fearing an unexpected reaction as on the pier.

She was waiting to hear what they might say about the teeth when Clawdine came in with her news of tunnels.

"...tunnels", she echoed Dorainen. "I wonder what's in them? And where they go?" She remembered the fantasy-filled caves of her youth. She hadn't done any exploring of that nature since the loss of the sheep farm, or even thought about it much, but suddenly memories were flooding back.

"I could find my way in them," she found herself volunteering.

She turned to Dorainen. "Important places in the city? Surreptitious access? Where would we want to get to? And why?"

[ 04. September 2014, 05:30: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"Well, at the warehouse I overheard..." Dorainen filled in whoever could hear on what he had heard. In particular, it was notable that something was planned for midnight of petitioners' day, that we had the snake that was 'necessary' and if we could get into Yaris' mansion and get our hands on the chest, we could thoroughly spoil her plans and put ourselves in a position of power over her. He was still waiting to hear from the dwarves whether the tunnels could be a way in.

"Of course, this would be dangerous. If some people could create a Jetse-sized distraction for those of us sneaking in, it might just work though." He hoped this would pique the guardian's attention.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Bigger than me. We have weapons. Tools. Can arm the dwarves. Take the city. Restore the Palatinate. The Gasloughs will be joining us. They know the tunnels. Use them. Built some. They have agents.

Gunriana. Will the duke or his nobles be with us? Men at arms will be welcome. And the citizens. The traders. Will they join us? A large riot will distract Yaris. Her guards will be elsewhere. Her attention, on the city. Not her citadel. She'll notice the revolt. Not the assassins creeping in."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana places a hand reassuringly on Bortacles' arm.

"Duke Poratis is closely entangled in Yaris' plans. Bortacles assures me that his father would not willingly bring ruin to his own city. He is a proud man, it is true, but he does not forget that to be noble, a man must lead, and not merely rule. It seems likely that there is deception or sorcery at work. Probably both.

We can use this. Bortacles, and his brother Cirallan, both serve as officers of the Duke's personal retinue. There are many warehouses standing empty in Cimenster, and Bortacles' men may well chance to discover in one, not far from the Poratis villa, evidence of suspicious activity - stored weapons, crossbow bolts, perhaps a ballista or scorpion taken from the rotting hulks in the harbour, and, more worringly, runic charms that suggest sorcery is being used in an insurrection. The men tell Bortacles, Bortacles tells his father, Poratis tells Yaris.

If Yaris is a witch, then she will investigate further. I doubt she will trust others to read mage-signs. I would not in her place. Nor will she go onto enemy ground unguarded. Thus we draw her and part of her forces from her mansion to chase shadows.

If we can stage a riot or other distraction at the same time, so much the better. Either way, this gives us time to investigate her lair. And if she is indeed the enemy we take her for, when she returns from her investigation, we will be waiting."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Siege engines. Weapons. Good. The treachery of our enemy will be used against her. We seize the armories. Arm the company. Put the citadel under siege. It gets better."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana examines the sharktooth that Frithwynne has shown her. As soon as it touches her skin she knows that it has been made a focus of power. Turning it in her fingers she begins to feel cold, cold from the menace the tooth represents, sea-cold, as her mind is drawn to the ocean depths...

"These are symbols, Frithwynne. Just as every man is a warleader within the reach of his sword, the shark is the sealord of whatever is in reach of its maw. These teeth are placed here to put Cimenster under the bite of the Sharklord. They will comfort his minions, strengthen their influence, aid their designs, and make powerful such sorceries as the Sharklord brings against the city. There will be more. Many more.

Because they are so closely tied to him, though, they might be used against him. This is not exactly my craft, the teeth are not runes, though they focus power in a like manner. I could attempt to harm him and weaken his power, given enough of these, but I cannot be sure of success."

[ 06. September 2014, 08:44: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Curiosity killed ... (# 11770) on :

Denvil has been sitting next to Er within earshot of the Kavetseki party with his eyes becoming rounder and rounder. Caught up in the narrative, swayed by good food and company he is allying himself with the party, but Er begins to worry that if he leaves to go home he may worry and demur, "Denvil, is there anyone waiting for you at home?"
"No, my wife died in childbirth last month."
"Do you want to stay with us?"
"I want Cimenster to return to the thriving trading city it was when I was a youngster. If you can do that, I'll help all I can and I have nothing to lose now."
Er turned to the others. "Denvil is prepared to help us. He knows the city. Would it help if we searched to see if we can find more of those teeth? Should we destroy them Gunriana? Or should we bring them to you?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne says: "Where there's most of them is around the base of the Sea Mother's shrine, where we met Jetse and Foret near the harbour, and across the gate to the Guildhall. Maybe if we removed those we would free the Sea Mother to protect us, and the merchants to arouse from slumber and return to... "

She feels odd appealing to the Sea Morher as a protector -- that's Mary's religion, not hers -- and she doesn't know how to describe what the merchants would return to, or how to put into words how they could help, so she finishes as best she can, hoping this can make sense to the others:

"...to Guildhall open, guild master available."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine mutters to Mary, "Well, if we can bergin ter extract a few o' the shark lord's teeth from Cimenster, that bag o' holdin' yer have might come in useful."

Mary raised her eyebrows. How did the old crone know about the bag of holding? Clawdine chuckled at her discomfort. Just then, Clawdine felt something wrap itself around her left ankle and tug. The snake had reappeared. Mary stepped back in alarm.

The snake slithered to the door and turned expectantly. Clawdine put her hands on her hips. "I think it wants us ter follow!" she said to Mary and Frithwynne. "Mebbe its found sommat."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"But -- but wait" said Frithwynne, torn between wanting to escape the hot crowded feast hall, yet wanting to understand what was happening and what might be expected of her. "Are we decided? The magic for Mistress Yaris to find, is that... will that... we're not just spreading a rumor, we're going to assemble a horde of arms and there will be actual rune magic there, which the Lady Gunriana will cast? And -- am I needed for anything here, Lady?" (This last addressed to Gunriana.)

"And... I don't know what will work best, but I would like to help us find out who did --that which we know of-- to the... ship." This last was prompted by feeling an intuitive thrum of empathy through her forearm which lay on the table touching Mary's.

"Clawdine, I don't think we have to bargain for the teeth, we can just go and pull them out, they're everywhere. But for a large lot, most quickly found at the shrine and at the Guildhall. But be careful, the locals will think we're witches if they see us with them. Which may be a good thing or a bad thing. They're scared, but if they get too scared they'll attack us."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine followed the snake back down to the cellar. One of the younger dwarves walked alongside her with a torch. The serpents scales glittered and winked as it snaked on further and further into the gloom. Finally it came to a crumbling archway that looked like it had been hastily bricked up. In front of it were a few implements.

The snake circled what looked like an open bottomed bucket with a lever on the side, then, with its tail it picked up a small stick that seemed to have an iron tuliphead.

"Wot's this?" asked Clawdine.

The dwarf shrugged. "Just a clutchbucket and a knabbler. We use them to remove dirt and to pick precious things out of rock faces."

Clawdine took the knabbler from the snake. "Yer reckon we be needin' these?" She tilted her head. "Let's show 'em ter the others. Mebbe they'll know what ter do with 'em."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Curiosity killed ...:
"[...]Would it help if we searched to see if we can find more of those teeth? Should we destroy them Gunriana? Or should we bring them to you?"

"The safe thing to do is to destroy them, of course."

Gunriana thinks for a moment, then smiles grimly.

"But fearlessness is better than a faint heart, and the length of our lives and the day of our deaths were written long ago. Let us not throw away a weapon we might want to use. Be under know illusions, though. Using these against the Sharklord is no simple matter. Using his own magics, and his own symbols, to work a curse against him is to fight him where he has all the advantages. If we knew more about what he intends, what his weaknesses and desires are, the chance of hurting him would be much greater. At the moment, I cannot think of any place more likely to tell us whether we need fight the Sharklord, and if so, how we do it, than Yaris's mansion."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Autenrieth Road:
"[...]we're not just spreading a rumor, we're going to assemble a horde of arms and there will be actual rune magic there, which the Lady Gunriana will cast? And -- am I needed for anything here, Lady?"

"I believe the plan is to collect what information and advantage we can from the Yaris mansion, by stealth if we can, by force if not. Everything else serves that end - by fixing her eyes on the firebrand, we blind her to the blade. Let us put what effort we can into our distractions, and after that, we are all needed for the raid."

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The Hawsers had been listening carefully, and whispering to Mary. She spoke up, explaining the Hawsers could call on many hands to scour the city for the graven teeth, if the darves could supply more knabblers, the faster it would be.

Ironfoot agreed to supply the tools.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine listened as one by one everyone in the gathering room began to talk about a different future, and what they could do to help bring it about.

Jetse and Gunriana were exploring diversionary tactics.

Ironfoot and Honed Blade were drawing on a napkin as they worked out with Er how to create the new tunnel that was needed.

Mary's clan were keen to gather shark teeth, and some of the dwarves were giving them a demonstration of the knabbler's mechanism, and how to use it most effectively.

Clawdine sat with Frithwynne and Dorainen, and wondered how to keep the food up to everyone.

"It's gonna be a lotta work," she muttered, "until ther food in that there warehouse be lib'rated fer ther poor starvin' things in ther streets o' Cimenster."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen wandered over to the tunnel making party. "I was wondering... do any of your tunneling ***tools need repair***? I'm not without skill in that regard, if that's needed.

"Also, I'm sure you know the underground regions of this city very well: are they any subterranean aquifers? If any of those might go past Yaris' mansion, you need only get me to it. I can find the mansion from there. Your people may be the tunnel specialists, but water is water and I can ***navigate it.***"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne excused herself to Clawdine and Mary and followed Dorainen.

"I have some skill at ***navigating mazes***, when we go into the tunnels. So between both of us -- one, me if by land, and two, Dorainen if by sea -- I think we may be able to make our way wherever we need (or even if the water is not so extensive as an inland sea, Dorainen will still be our best guide). Dorainen is such a long fellow, I'm not sure how he'll fit in a tunnel, but he's lithe, so if he needs to bend over I'm sure he can still manage."

She was feeling slightly poetic, and slightly revolutionary, and a little bit surprised at putting herself forward so much. But the intuitive thrum she had felt of Mary's desires in the matter seemed to have given her courage.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

"Well," said Clawdine to the snake, as it settled itself back on to her head in turban fashion, "It looks like we be up fer an adventure, pretty soon."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne wanted nothing more than to escape to the cool cellars and explore these mysterious tunnels. But she was wary of allowing herself to be beguiled by her desires, as she had been by the golden ruby-studded chain.

What to do, what to do? She turned her four principles over in her mind, and her mind caught on "guild master available." What would a guild master do? She had dealt with guild masters over the sale of wool, and they always seemed to be confident about what needed to happen. She herself was not at all confident, but perhaps some plain summing up from a plain lass could help.

"Ummm." She tapped her flagon with her knife. "Ahem." She tapped louder and stood up. "So we will seek to enter Yaris' house by the tunnels"

(she figured all those present had heard pieces of the evening's conversations, so no harm for them to hear it all)

"and the Lady Gunriana will lead the preparation of a scene to lure Yaris out of her house, and"

(she gulped, realizing that she had no idea how to address the man she had heard Gunriana address as Bortacles)

"and the Lady's noble guest will help to convey word indirectly to Mistress Yaris to draw her out of her house. Will we need someone to tell us when she is out"

(Honed Blade stepped forward and nodded slightly)

"or will we simply start in the tunnels and assume that our timing is good?"

"Perhaps those dwarves who were so busy constructing doors today could turn those skills to the reverse use, and unblock the entrance to the most likely tunnel belowstairs?

"And Ironfoot, if you know where more knabblers might be had, the Hawsers who have come with Mistress Mary"

(she was suddenly unsure if she should still call her Mistress Hawser, with all these Hawsers present to put the lie to her claim on that name, but also unsure whether it was safe to say the name "Drake", and so settled on the slightly audacious but certainly safe expedient of referring to Mary by her first name)

"would collect shark's teeth when it is light. They're all over the city, but are so tightly packed at the shrine of the Sea Mother and at the Guildhall that I wonder if those places are particular threats to the control under which this city has been held,"

(she was superstitiously fearful of saying the Shark Lord's name... or title, she supposed, and was glad she didn't know whatever his dread name might be... out loud in front of so many people)

"where it would help us especially to remove the teeth.

"When we go in the tunnels, it seems possible that Dorainen where it is wet, and me where it is dry, and the Lady Gunriana if it is beyond our skills, could guide us to our goal. Clawdine, will you come with us? The snake seems to be your friend, by inviting it with us we can guard it from Yaris, who has who knows what fell purpose for it.

"And Mistress Mary, you know the ways of merchants, if there is aught amiss for what should be the house of an honest merchant, perhaps if you come with us you will be able to tell?

"Master Er and Guardian Jetse, I think you know best your own counsels for how best to help us towards our goal, and how those who you have brought might be most inclined to help.

"Will we start our preparations tonight so as to get ahead of the morrow, or do we sleep and begin refreshed at daybreak?"

She sat down, and realized she was trembling.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Master Bortacles. How many men at arms do you and the nobility command? We'll need them. The dwarves will be armed. The smugglers will incite the citizens. Infiltrate. Use their networks. But armed mobs are not soldiers. We need their arms. Armor. Training. Command them for us, and the town is ours."

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine listened to all the plans being made around her. She was tired. Very tired. And tomorrow people would want more food to eat. Slowly she slid down under the table, dragging a cushion with her. Soon she was snoring gently, oblivious to the conversations above.

Occasionally one of the company would peer under the table to check on her, only to be met by the hostile glare of the snake, which had taken up guard duty by her side.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen approved of this plan. He had offered to repair the tools needed for tooth extraction, but it seemed there no were broken as no-one had brought him any. That was probably for the best anyway, as he was tired, so very... very... tired...

Face-planted into the table, Dorainen slept, and dreamed he was swimming again.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne curled up in a corner with her head on her knapsack and began counting sheep, waiting for sleep to come.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Marissa. Tell your men to incite the populace. Infiltrate the town. Use every contact they have. Avoid direct combat if possible. Use the mob."

What else? Siege equipment from Bortacles. Some men. Unclear how many. Dwarves. Raid the warehouse and caravan shipment. Even tools in the hands of a dwarf can kill. Let others take to the tunnels. For them, stealth. For us, the fight.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

After some discussion with Denvil, Er turns to the company and explains that Denvil has agreed he will smuggle food out to Jetse's dwarf contacts. Denvil decides to leave at this point so that his return home is not so late as to be remarked upon.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The feast draws to a close, one by one the visitors slipped away into the night bearing the news of the insurrection, of the hope to come, and the parts they were to play.

The last of the companions laid down to sleep - in the dawn there would be wonders to perform.

[ 11. September 2014, 19:37: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

Clawdine awoke early. Various forms were still slumbering around the Gathering Hall, but the cups and plates had been cleared away and she could hear faint sounds from other parts of the house.

She put her head through the kitchen door, where one of the dwarf women was stoking the fireplace. The woman smiled at her and asked if there would be more mushrooms today. Clawdine nodded. "I 'spect so." Then she turned and made her way up to the roof, to see how the fruit trees were faring.

They were much bigger than yesterday, so Clawdine watered them and sang to them and watched as the fruit began to cluster again. These were strong bearers, and would make many scions. She picked an orange for breakfast, took a bucket of water, then walked back down the stairs sprinkling water and more mushroom spore liberally as she went.

At the bottom of the stairs the snake met her and tapped its tail impatiently. She followed it down to the cellar where two parties of dwarves were hard at work unbricking the entrance to a tunnel. Under Honed Blade's direction, one lot were levering out bricks and rubble, and the other lot were carting the debris away as soon as each bucket was filled. Clawdine was standing and marvelling at their efficiency when Ironfoot appeared with those who had volunteered to go through the tunnels.

Using torchlight, he drew a map on the dusty cellar floor to explain where they would be attempting to go. Clawdine shook her head at the snake. "Dwarf tunnels!" she hissed at it. "They'm not made fer the size o' me. Yer can't make me go down one 'o them!"

The snake wrapped itself around one of her legs and looked at her intently. Clawdine shook her head vehemently at it. The snake wound its way around her neck and tilted its head imploringly. "I'll toss yer fer it," she grumbled. " 'eads I goes, tails I stays."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana leaves Bortacles for a moment and turns to Jetse.

“As you know, Guardian, it is silver that keeps iron sharp, with the blockade of Cimenster, there is less silver in the city than there once was.

The nobility each have their household retinue, and Poratis keeps sixty trained men, with each of his sons having twenty more. These are true fighters, with mail and sword. That is more than most – Poratis’ connection to Yaris, and to my own House, has mean the hard times have hurt him less than others. But Bortacles warns me that the Duke’s sixty contain many hired from Yaris’ ship crews after the docks closed, and not all are loyal to him first. Cirallan and Bortacles mostly lead young men from the Poratis estates, not guildsmen, so their troops are safer to count on.

The Duke, and most of the noble and merchant Houses, could double their numbers by arming all their retainers – smiths, warehousemen, footmen, watchmen, messengers – and will doubtless do so quickly if there is rioting. They will be scattered, though. Each House will look first to its own property. The Duke could put two long hundreds in arms, but he would not put them all in one street. Most will be at his villa, or guarding his other possessions.

Given time, the nobles could raise something more like an army, from farms and villages around Cimenster where the folk work a Lord’s land under obligation of service, but it would not be quick to assemble them, and they are mostly untrained. Most Houses, if they need fighters, will hire them from the gangs and Guild militia, or from the taverns, if desperate enough.

Bortacles will use his own men, soldiers and other retainers, to salvage what he can in artillery from the remains of Cimenster’s fleet. He will also have them ‘discover’ the headquarters of the insurrection. I do not think we can count on the Duke’s men just yet, but I trust Bortacles to at least keep them at the Poratis villa, and not intervening in support of Yaris.”

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne woke to the sound of pounding and scraping coming from directly beneath her. She got up, found the stairs to the cellar, and went down, where she found a racket of dwarves busy disassembling a wall, and the snake waving some unknown message at Clawdine.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen awoke with a terrible crick in his neck. He looked around, had he really spent all night asleep at a banquet table? Apparently so, for he felt quite rested. The air had that distinctive smell of the morning after a feast. Heading down to the cellar he found the dwarves already at work. Or perhaps they had worked through the night? Say what you like about dwarves (and he did), they were certainly industrious.

He looked over their tools. They showed signs of age and disrepair after years of deprivation. I suppose they had been too proud to ask him. He approached an older dwarf whose pick looked about to come apart, guessing an older dwarf might feel more secure and better able to accept help than a younger dwarves still establishing themselves.

"I do have some skills with ***tool repair,*** you know. I'm sure your work would be even more efficient if I worked on that pick briefly. May I?" He asked, trying to be polite. After years of trying to figure out human politeness and failing, he didn't know if he was anywhere close to dwarven etiquette.

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :

"Great Mother o' Mercy," sighed Clawdine. "it's 'eads. Well, I'll go, but I don't likes it." She stomped back up the stairs and was soon back with two bucketfuls of oranges.

Ironfoot had returned with more dwarves, and Frithwynne and Dorainen had appeared. Eventually the last container of rubble was removed. After a brief planning session around the map in the dust on the floor, the dwarves lined up behind either Ironfoot or Honed Blade ready to go in. Frithwynne was with one lot and Dorainen with the other.

Clawdine went along the lines giving each one there an orange.
"Keep ther seeds," she said to each one. "They'm good ones. If yer plant 'em all there'll be ther best orange orchards in th' world at Cimenster."

The eyes that looked back at her were blank of understanding. She sighed again. How could they be such good diggers, but not at all planters?

Armed with their excavation tools, the two parties surged into the newly opened tunnels. The snake seemed especially excited. "Off yer go then, " she said to it, after all the others had gone in. "I'll foller yer." She eyed the size of the opening doubtfully. Fine if you were a dwarf, or a lithe elf or shepherdess, or reptile, but not if you were a great troll of a woman like Clawdine.

She took a deep breath and squeezed through the entranceway. The others were already a fair way ahead. With difficulty, she inched forward, her back hunched against the low ceiling and the walls hugging her girth. At the first bend she knew she was in trouble. A bulge in the wall held her fast and the more she tried to get past it, the firmer she was stuck. She banged against the walls with her head, her fist, her feet, but all that happened was an ominous rumbling. She clutched at the divining rod around her throat and called on the water to help her.

Water began trickling through the walls, but with it came even greater instability in the earth. Far ahead, the others heard the faint sound of sliding mud, and quickened their pace. They had no idea Clawdine and her seeds were buried for good behind them. Only the snake paused briefly. But something ahead of it was more important and soon it was out in front of them all, slithering confidently through the darkness....

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Er had been adamant he was not going down some tunnel into the bowels of the earth - "I'll meet you there" he had stated, and before the others could question how that would be possible, he was out of the door. No-one noticed a mangy cat slinking around the corner of the main street a few minutes later. As Er made his way through the streets, he was unaware of Clawdine's fate.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

It is some time before Gunriana's nagging feeling of unease causes her to stop. She had heard Clawdine enter the tunnels behind them, but since then, there had been no sound from behind. Except ...

Gunriana peers back into the darkness. There is only silence, no light, no footsteps, nothing behind them at all. If Clawdine had found some side passage and taken that, she could be lost in the tunnels, but if she were, would there be any chance of finding her? Particularly if the strange river-witch did not want to be found.

She shivers slightly. The sound she had heard, of movement and water, had seemed too soft at the time to be worrying, but perhaps could have been something more sinister. She places her hand gently on the skull at her waist. Small beads of condensation have formed on the smooth bone, and yet the air in these tunnels is dry. Water-magic has been used, and moisture drips from the empty eyes of the enchanted skull. Those hollow orbs had witnesses the formation of this desperate fellowship. Were they about to see its end?

Gunriana closes her own eyes, and gouges Clawdine's rune, Logr, rune of the waves and of rivers, on the tunnel floor. If it is so written, then she will meet Clawdine again. If not, then the fates will watch over her, in whichever world she now walks.

The others are moving ahead. Gunriana hurries after them.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne's group was ahead. She led the way, lit by a torch held by one of the dwarves behind her. She kept one hand to the rough-hewn wall, the other ahead of her as if feeling her way through a veil. Occasionally the tunnel forked, and at these points she would stop and close her eyes, feeling the quality of air from each path, before choosing which way to go. She simply walked without pausing past passages that led off more directly to the side, until she came to one from which a cold mist flowed out over the main tunnel's floor. Here she paused for longer than she'd paused at any of the forks, weaving shapes with her hands as if patting the air, before saying "This one" and leading the way into the side tunnel.

The tunnel began to slope down, gently at first and then more steeply. This puzzled Frithwynne, but she still felt certain this was the right path, so she continued on.

She rounded an angle in the tunnel, and found herself at a small lake. Its black surface was perfectly still, and reflected the torch's light as a long and perfect slash.

"Wait here," she told those in her group, and worked her way back along the passage to the second group.

"Master Dorainen, there's a lake. Can you find a way for us past or around it?"

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Dwarf tunnels. Water. Mines. Delving. Certain danger.

Just like home.

Bypass surface. Unseen. Emerge in town. Mob assembling. Will be ready.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen looked around the two groups. There was no way that some of these people would be able to swim the lake, especially not laden down with their heavy equipment. How to navigate a lake like this wasn't a question he was used to asking. The answer for him was obvious: you swim. But, this was a dwarven tunnel and must at some point have been traversed by dwarves. Unless it had later flooded, the dwarves must have had a way to do it. They are notoriously bad swimmers, but notoriously ingenious too.

"Wait here a minute," he cried, as he jumped in and dived deep. While the lake was not too broad, it was surprisingly deep, and at the bottom very dark. The water was still, the rocking he felt was just the effects of his own movement reverberating against the bottom. He started murmuring a chant, not quite under his breath, as he wasn't breathing, but that's the closest physical equivalent. The water had knowledge, and that re-echoed to him as sure as his movements did. It wasn't clear straightforward fact type knowledge, but it was a sense, a sense of traversability, and pull to a particular point at the base of the lake.

Dorainen felt the pull diminish as he followed it. The lake sounded pleased with him. He reached out his hand and felt wood. He followed the line of it and felt a little metal. A bolt? Yes, a bolt and more. He ran his hands over this contraption, it was large. It was a boat, capsized and submerged, but he couldn't find a hole in it. However it had been sunk, if he could get it to the surface and empty it of water, it should float. The couldn't find any oars but he, and maybe a few other strong swimmers, could push and pull it across the the lake. It would hold about half a dozen.

He found a rock that would work as a stable enough fulcrum, and arrange himself as a lever. Once he got it moving, it wouldn't be too hard to keep the motion going. He stepped up both his physical tension and his supervocal chanting. The water obliged and within what seemed like moments, Dorainen and a water-logged boat reached the surface. As his head came above water, the water seemed to miss him, it stopped helping. But, he was well rested and felt at home, his legs found a strength he didn't know they had and froggily propelled him to the side.

A few from the party, he almost didn't want to look away from the water to their faces, strode in and took over tipping the boat, emptying it of its water.

There were two small holes, but if we didn't dawdle, we shouldn't sink. People should just be prepared to get a little wet.

"Who's up first?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne started counting heads to see who might go in the first crossing. The Lady Gunriana. Guardian Jetse. The Elf Dorainen. Herself. Er had gone overland, and Mary had gone with the Hawsers.

"Clawdine. Where's Clawdine? Didn't she come in the tunnel with us? She organized us all to start in, but wasn't she going to come too?"

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen finished 'ferrying' the two halves of the party over, and found that everyone was talking about the whereabouts of Clawdine. The last he'd seen of her, she'd been behind him. Was it worth waiting for her? This lake was somewhat of a Rubicon. Now it was passed without her, perhaps the party would simply have to continue. He did worry that someone had entered the dwarves' house and detained her. If she was in trouble, though, probably the best they could do for her was precisely what they were about to do.

He made his mind clear and started to walk up the narrow ascending tunnel. Those unused to elven fabric were amazed to see his cloak so quickly dry.

At the end of the tunnel, was a stone wall. Dorainen was disappointed. He hadn't exactly expected a revolving door and a porter to welcome them, but had been hoping for something more passable than a stone wall. It appeared to have strange markings on it he did not recognize.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne was worried. Dorainen had come out of the water, which seemed to signal that everyone had come across. Yet still no Clawdine. Frithwynne gazed across the lake biting her lip until the departure of the dwarfs and the torches forced her to move. She headed up the tunnel and caught up with Dorainen where the tunnel ended at a wall.

"Dorainen, what about Clawdine? Where is she? Did she not want to cross the lake?"

[ 16. September 2014, 17:28: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"She was behind me last I saw her, but then we lost her. Whatever has happened to her, I suspect that going forward with our plan has the best chance of helping her."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary had returned with the Hawsers back to their house though Boetius sent one of his journeymen to contact the woodwright guild. The sun was rising as they arrived; "red sun, sailor take warning", thought Mary.

Rafe went off immediately to see some traders, no allies of Yaris. Boetius summoned his fellow masters in the rope guild who, after a short discussion, sent their apprentices and many of the journeymen in small groups out to collect shark teeth. Some of the masters set off to spread the word to other guilds while the rest and the remaining journeymen prepared barricades so the rope guild street could be defended if necessary. Amfi and Mawd went to the kitchen and started preparing hard biscuits and other foods that would keep and would be easy to carry and eat while on the move.

Mary settled at her table in the main hall with Gunni beside her, paper and pen before her (Gunni had pen and a large map of the city) to receive teeth, note number and source, bag and label, and place in Mary's holding bag. The teeth soon arrived brought by breathless apprentices from many places in the city though most from the waterfront. Amfi came in and lit candles at the household shrine by the south wall of the hall.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne nodded at Dorainen's words. She was still troubled, but saw no way around the worry of Clawdine's except, except to keep going forward. Which was exactly how she felt, against all logic, about the wall in front of them.

"I--," she gulped at the strangeness of it. "I'm sure this is the way. I could feel it the whole way along, 'this way, this way' the air and the turnings said. I don't understand how it can be that it ends at a wall like this. Is there some magic that blocks our way? Maybe there's a hidden latch?"

She started examining the wall, hoping to ***find a hidden*** way in.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Her sensitive finger tips were able to feel the fine, blade thin gap around each magic seal (invisible in the gloom) - between them a spidersweb of connecting crevices.

If enough energy were forced down these paths the wall would surely collapse. Perhaps magic, perhaps nature ....

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne wondered at the imperfections in the wall. No, not imperfections, they seemed perfectly placed and shaped. But she had never encountered crevices so fine, where even her slim fingers experienced at tracing cave walls could find no purchase.

"Dorainen, Lady Gunriana, there are crevices here. So fine my fingers can only feel them: fine as frog's hair. But Dorainen, perhaps water in them would ease them wider? Or Lady Gunriana, if the Fates would permit us to go further, you might have some power over them? Guardian Jetse, I do not know what your blade might do; they seem to want energy more than force but perhaps you might have some thought for how we might open them."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

"Clawdine has not been with us for some time, Dorainen. She was the last of us to enter the tunnels and shortly afterwards, water-magic was used. I do not know how she was separated from us, or whether it was done by her choice or her fate, but I have felt the eyes of the dead weep, and fear that Clawdine is no longer of our fellowship.

It would be fitting, I think, for you, a son of the waves, to be the one to sing a lament for the departed, and of safe haven for the traveller. I must attend to these enchanted wards."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana placed her hand delicately on the stones, tracing the markings, stretching her mind to find the intent of a shaper who had carved them. Dwarf magic, if that is what these marks were made to channel, was no part of Gunriana's craft, but she knew it's reputation. The gift was rare amongst the folk under the mountains, but those that had it worked with patience and art, aiming not for showy displays of power, but enduring strength, rooted in earth and stone, weaving subtle wards that would guard their wealth and their secrets until such time as the memory of their treasures had faded from the world.

Gunriana could feel the life in the stones, the silent flickering the energies from the great masses of rock above and around and below. She flinched back with a shudder, as if burned. The weight of it is unendurable. The stone-sages had known their craft.

When she tried to move again, her slender limbs felt slow and heavy, as if weighted with lead. There was a deep art here, ancient and built on things more ancient still, woven by the sons of stone, in halls of stone, to endure as stone endures, and for a daughter of the storm and the shore to think she could overcome a stone-mage on hs own ground was absurd. Her shoulders dropped, and her mouth began to feel dry. The journey would end in failure.

Suddenly, Gunriana burst into laughter. So that was their trick! Of course any rival mage would expect strength, and doubtless there was strength enough in the wards, but what had been built to last was the charm of despair. To drain the life and strength from the attempt at breaking the bond could make even a feeble ward endure.

She leant in agains the wall, being careful not to touch them. It was still true that these were symbols unknown, and formed in a place of power underground. It would be useless to try to unweave the shaper's strange magic. But that which is not understood can yet be spoiled.

Gunriana closed her eyes, shutting out the vast ceiling of earth separating her from the clouds, and reached out to them. Understanding and mind tricks would yield to the wildness of Fate, as stone has ever yielded to the mark of the runes. She snatched up her mason's chisel, and with eyes still screwed shut, thrashed at the wall in savage, reckless strokes, scratching and chipping ugly rents in the faded carvings. The runes seems not so much to be cut, but to grow from the chaos, Kaun, the fever-rune, the wildfire, the burner of darkness, and her own rune of power, Hagall, the Breaker, the storm's rage, the piercer of veils, the splayed claws of the underworld itself. Gunriana was shrieking and shaking, and she lashed at the wards in blind, brutal fury, willing all of her mothers' power of destruction to break and cast down what it could neither undo nor comprehend.

At last, fatigue overcame her, and she sank to her knees. Two vast, crudely-cut, but imposing runes stood out starkly against the older carvings. Gunriana was gasping for breath.

"I have done what I can against their mage-work. There will be a catch of some sort in one of those cracks. Someone find it, and open the door."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne gaped at Gunriana's furious carving of runes. But when Gunriana said there was a catch to be found, Frithwynne shook herself out of her astonishment and set her fingers searching again to ***find the hidden*** catch.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen nodded at Gunriana's words. She clearly had work to do which was beyond his ken to understand. Rock seemed so flat, so toneless to him, yet he knew there was a magic to it to which she could have some access. Leaving her to her work, he began to sing a lament: ulvahv un'ahv

[ETA code, DT, Host]

[ 23. September 2014, 16:09: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne's finger found the catch with ridiculous ease in the first crack she tried. Snick, it went, and with the lightest bit of pressure the wall rotated out of the way. It felt, not like a rock face, but like a sturdy dwarven door, on well-balanced silent hinges.

Dank air on her face, and then the gloom was minutely illuminated by one of the torches, held high by a dwarf near the back of the group.

Frithwynne tilted her head towards the room, gesturing the others to follow her, and went in. She was now in a rough cellar carved into the rock.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne stood in the middle of the cellar, hands loosely linked. She wondered if she could ***intuit*** anything about the dank room, or about the house which she presumed stood some levels above.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Nothing. Frithwynne felt nothing special. Nothing but dankness, and as she moved slowly facing different directions in the darkness, she felt something crunching underfoot.

Nervously, she reached down to feel what it was.

[ 24. September 2014, 16:51: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana steps as softly as she can into the dark cellar. The magical protection is an ominous sign. Whatever else awaits in the mansion, there is power here. There is no guarantee that the day will end well. No guarantee of anything, except...

"We were meant to be here", she whispers to her companions. "It is written. King, Jack, John, Daniel, Aethelreda, Clawdine, none of them were fated to stand where we stand, but we have a purpose here. I cannot promise you that it will be easy. Or that we will succeed. Or even that we will live to see the sun set. But I can promise you that there is meaning to what we do. My mothers' have already marked our steps. We go where they guide us."

Her chisel is still in her hand, and Gunriana stares through the gloom at her companions - not at their faces, which are impossible to make out in the blackness, but at their souls. She turns and reaches up above the door to scratch the runes of those who have made the journey so far:

Is, for the elf, smooth, and hard, and cold, Sol, for the Guardian, sun's champion, Fe, for the shepherd, protector and provider, and Hagall, for the rune-shaper, the hail-maiden. Runes of power, and runes of purpose. Whatever happens next, the knowledge that it was and is written before the world first floated will inspire the fearful heart.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne stopped her hand before touching the crunchy things, and straightened back up.

"Guardian Jetse, do you still have that magic torch from Doctor Goode? Will it give us light here?"

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"It's yours. Take. Use. Find."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The magic torch was cold and heavy in Frithwynne's hands. She felt it in the dark. Circular ribs all up and down it. One end bigger and very smooth. A soft spot halfway along. She was pressing the soft spot gently, trying to figure why the otherwise hard torch had this one yielding area, when there was a click and the torch lit up brilliantly, shining straight into her eyes.

"Aaaaa!" she cried, screwing her eyes shut but managing to keep hold of the torch. By taking quick peeps through slitted lids, she was able to work out that only one end of the torch seemed to be on fire, with a magical fire which produced a brilliant white light but no flame.

She adjusted her grip to make the light face up, and looked around.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne saw that the group stood in a six-sided room with walls, uneven floor, and high ceiling all black. On the walls and ceiling were obscure drawings which perhaps the more learned in the group could interpret. None of the walls had doors (except the hole the group entered by). On the floor were many fragments of bone looking like they came from snake skeletons (but only small ones, nothing like the size of the one in the train). A few rats fled from the light down small holes in the corners.

"Now what?" Frithwynne imagined an unending string if black chambers and passages, each with no obvious exit into the next one, that the group would have to figure their way through.

"Can anyone tell what these drawings mean? Or might there be some hidden runedoor, like the one we just came through? And where did all these snake bones come from?"

Frithwynne walked across the floor, trying nog up mind that she crunched snake skeletons at every step, and at the wall turned looking back towards the way they had come in.

She tried again to ***intuit*** what this might mean, or what they should do next.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"Can everyone keep very still?" cried Dorainen. If someone had been in this room, they'd gotten out somehow. Gingerly lifting snake bones, he peered down and tried to spot footprints to ***track***.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

After quite some peering, Dorainen started to be able to make out footprints. They'd come and go somewhat, the rats had disturbed them, but they all seemed to be from the same person, or at least from people with the same sized feet and type of boot. For all the unreadable lacunae and too-ing and fro-ing, there was a clear path to the wall furthest from their hole. Following them, there were two clear markings that could not have been feet. A walking stick? If so, why did it only mark twice, about shoulder width apart?

Then, it struck him: they could be the two legs of a ladder. He looked up, and asked Frithwynne to direct her torch (funny that it could be directed, a strange flame that didn't just go straight up!). Sure enough: a trap door was just about visible. Even with his long reach, Dorainen couldn't quite reach it, but the ceiling wasn't notably high: anyone sitting on his or Jetse's shoulders could get to it easily.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"A trap door?" said Frithwynne. Things were getting more puzzling. Let alone the twin puzzle that the magic torch's flame went in whatever direction she pointed it, and that whatever fueled it didn't drip out of the bowl. And even more puzzling:

"These drawings, or whatever they are, on the walls. Can you see? Some are older than others. The newer ones-- the newer ones feel like they were done by someone frustrated or worried. But why would that be? And what was this room used for? A prisoner, explaining the worry? But then whence the older ones? Maybe this room was used for magic, somehow using the snakes? Sacrificing the snakes, maybe that's how they came to be down here in such numbers, but didn't slither away. And the rats have gnawed them down to the bones.

"Lady Gunriana, can you read what is pictured here? Or," (and she turned towards the dwarves) "is this dwarf-drawing here beneath the earth?" The dwarves seemed to shudder and draw together at her final speculation.

"Can we reach the trap door somehow? I think Guardian Jetse could lift us all up, one by one, but then how will we bring him out? If we can open it, that is."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana runs her hand over some of the carvings, searching for recognition and meaning. As the bones splinter under her feet she bends down cautiously, looking to see if there are any serpent's teeth strong and intact enough to pierce her boots.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne asked Dorainen how he had known the trapdoor would be there. Dorainen explained to the group about the footprints and the ladder marks.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Before we try to climb out, I wonder if there's anything else to be found here." Frithwynne began walking around the room sun-wise, running her left hand lightly along the wall while shining the magic torch now at the roof, now at the floor, now at the wall, wondering if she would ***find anything hidden***.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana jolts upright away from the snake bones on the floor. Her face is white and she is trembling violently. She backs cautiously away from the wall, each step cracking more bones and making her body shudder. With forced calmness, she peels off her silk glove, dreading what she will find on her hand, wanting to rip the silk away but just managing to maintain the composure to work slowly, lest it bite.

There is nothing - at least, nothing visible. As she turns her hand over, the rune shape on her palm is dark and swollen, and her fingers feel numb and fat, yet slick with sweat as if she were already fighting poison within.

Her breath is catching in her chest, and she takes a step towards the doorway, the way back to the tunnels, and away from this. Her eyes light on the runes above the door - her rune is still there. Though there are serpents all around her, she had cut that rune because it was written that this is where she was meant to be. She wrenches her head away. She will not flee, but she does not mean to stay in this dreadful place any longer.

"They are alive!" she hisses to the others. "Something terrible has happened here. There are snakes, and even the dead ones are watching. Please, please, we need to leave."

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

Overland, feline Er slunk round corners, through gutters, evaded the occasional grasping hungry hand - he slipped through the mansion gates without attracting attention. He had got as far as the hallway when he heard a scuffling, snuffling growlish enquiry. A quick glance behind - a terrier ! The chase. Skidding, sliding, a blur of rooms, a rapid turn down some stairs - long stairs - then bolting behind some boxes. The wait. The certainty pursuit had passed.

As he got back his breath, Er realised that if he did not Wereshift soon, he would lose himself.

A time of disorientation, he could not know how long - and back. Back.

A scuffling, wary, he tried to place the sound, by the dim light of night rocks Er saw a trapdoor a few feet away - the noise seemed to become, faintly, from beneath.

[ 27. September 2014, 20:08: Message edited by: Doublethink ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne broke off her circuit at Gunriana's cries. She wasn't finding out anything they hadn't already found out about the room, anyway. The dwarves, already huddled together at Frithwynne's question about dwarf-drawing, now backed nervously towards where they had come in.

"We'll guard the way in here, just outside in the tunnel, while you go on ahead. We'll be waiting for when you come back." Half of them were now out in the tunnel, and the half remaining in the room formed a thin wall at the entry.

"Mmmmm," said Frithwynne absently. She was watching Gunriana closely. Frightened sheep responded well to others pressing close to them, but although Frithwynne had seen this work for frightened people too, she wasn't at all sure how Gunriana would react.

"Jetse, Dorainen, we must get out of here. Can one of you lift me, and I can try to find the catch for the trapdoor as I did for the door into here? Then I can climb through. If there's a ladder up top, I'll let it down. Otherwise, you'll have to lift the Lady Gunriana through too."

She hoped she'd find a ladder; she couldn't imagine the reserved Gunriana, and especially not this fearful Gunriana, permitting herself to be grabbed and bundled through a hole in the ceiling.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"Certainly, Miss Frithwynne," said Dorainen, as he squatted down to allow her to climb on his back. Elven height in a human world was usually an inconvenience (not fitting well into beds, etc.), but now it was advantageous. Frithwynne shouldn't have to stretch too much to reach the door and try to open it. His sense of curiosity as to what this room was was getting increasingly dwarfed by his growing desire to just get out of there.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne climbed up and tried to ***find a hidden*** catch for the trapdoor.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne felt carefully, but could find no catch at all. Maybe there wasn't one. She tried pushing it, but there was no give. She placed the magic torch in the top of her kirtle so she could push with both hands, and this time she felt a little give, but that was all she could manage.

She climbed back down.

"Thank you, Dorainen, but I think there's no catch, and I'm not strong enough to push it open. Jetse, do you think you could reach up with one of your weapons to push it open? Or if Dorainen can support you, climb up and try to push it?"

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana has edged roughly into the centre of the room, and despite folding her arms tightly across her chest to keep them still, is visibly shaking.

She is moving the snake bones away from her with little sweeps of her foot, wincing every time she pushes her boot out, as if she is terrified of disturbing something venomous, but unable to bear the thought of the bones under her feet, piling around her legs, the skeletal crawl of needle-sharp rib bones and ghostly scales against her skin...

"Please hurry, please, they're getting closer. We have to get out of here, please..."

[ 28. September 2014, 18:40: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne took the magic torch back out of her kirtle top and tried to keep it shining on the trapdoor while she approached Gunriana cautiously.

"We're getting out of here. We just need Jetse to push the door open and then we can all get out.

"Who is getting closer? What is the danger here?"

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

"The snakes, Frithwynne. They are still here. They look dead, but they're still here. I can feel them. On my skin, under my clothes, dry and cold and watchful. They're getting closer, all the time, and we have to leave. Tell Jetse to hurry. Please. We can't stay here."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Stand back."

Jetse found a large rock loose on the ground of the cellar, the size and shape of a baby's head. A good hard throw, and the trapdoor buckled; two more, and the hinge broke.

"Quickly. Up."

Gunriana needed no prompting to be very hastily lifted—almost tossed—up and out of the cellar. The others followed with slightly more dignity, before Jetse jumped up, caught the ledge in his hand, and dragged himself up into the upper room.

"Ah. Er. Good."

Jetse seemed much less surprised at finding Er waiting for them than Er did to see the party and their companions coming up from the depths.

"Of course you made it. You said you would."

[ 29. September 2014, 00:16: Message edited by: Ariston ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne could see the moon rocks glowing beyond the edges of the flame from the magic torch, and thought maybe that would be enough to see by. The torch seemed so small, she didn't want it to run out of whatever it was burning. She tried dowsing it against the tile floor by holding it upside down, but even though she counted as high as a medium flock of sheep, it was still burning when she turned it upright.

"Guardian Jetse? Do you know how to quench the torch?"

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"No."

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen looked around. They appeared to be in a cellar. So, their entrance must be another level below the cellar, a clever way to hide something you really didn't want people messing with. Was this a cellar that got much use, Dorainen wondered? Bending down, he looked for footprints in the dust, trying to use ***tracking*** to get a sense of how the space was used.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Ferrets!" Frithwynne cursed silently to herself. So Dr. Goode had handed over the magic torch to Jetse without revealing the magic secret to using it? She was afraid the torch's magically bright light would catch attention through the hatch at the far side of the wine cellar.

Dorainen was tracking again. Frithwynne wanted to search the wine cellar but didn't want to step on any tracks he might be about to find. Instead:

"Lady Gunriana, might you know how to quench this torch?

"And, are the snakes still a danger? Should we pull one of these crates over the hole, to keep them from coming up after us? Or will they stay down there and not bother us up here?"

She was puzzled about the snake danger. Something seemed off in Gunriana's warning, but she couldn't put her finger on it. The danger must be bad to have the witch so frightened. What if it was something runes couldn't protect against? Frithwynne shuddered; she had killed snakes before, but only one at a time -- she didn't know how one would fend off a horde of them.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne wondered if she could ***intuit*** whether there was any other use for this room besides being a wine cellar, and whether there was anything special about it being lit by moonrocks.

[ 29. September 2014, 20:00: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

There wasn't enough dust on the floor for any useful tracks to have been left, Dorainen concluded. The smell and barrel shape gave it away as a wine cellar, and as he explored he noticed a flight of stairs he hadn't previously seen, which was nice to know (no searching for strange trap doors needed here!). He also noted an apparently complete lack of snakes, which was also very much appreciated.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne watched Dorainen proceed around the cellar.

"Have you found anything?"

[ 30. September 2014, 01:58: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"The only thing I've found in this wine cellar is this stairway here. Why don't we have a little more of a nose around before we try ascending it?" replied Dorainen.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne was itching to try the stairs, but she could see that there could be wisdom in Dorainen's suggestion also. First she looked through the crates near the trapdoor. Then she looked along and between the racks of wine bottles and behind the casks. Then she walked around the room, tapping on the wall gently whenever it wasn't blocked by a cask, looking up and down, pointing the magic torch every which way.

She was trying to ***find anything hidden*** which would reveal something about what they had come to find out.

[ 30. September 2014, 19:38: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Nothing. Nothing but a wine cellar."

Frithwynne crossed the cellar and tiptoed up the stairs. At the top was an iron-reinforced door. She put her ear to it, listening for what might be beyond it.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne heard the sound of pots and plates being washed and dried by several people.

One voice, female, "Hurry up, we still have the clothes washing to do this morning. Mavis, Jan go to the wash house and get the water heated. Ivy collect the linen and don't forget to check and mend the holes before washing and check again after this time. The mistress was quite upset to put her foot through a hole last week."

The sounds died down.

Frithwynne tiptoed back down the stairs.

"Kitchen at the top of the stairs. At least four women, but they seem to be headed to the wash house. However long it takes them to do the laundry, that's how much time we have. Come on."

She went back up the stairs, hoping the others would follow her, and tried the door handle.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The handle turned. Frithwynne cracked the door and peeked through.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne saw part of a well-kept large kitchen with wood-burning stove, sinks, drying rack, and preparation table. Early morning light washed in through large windows. The room was apparently L shaped: she couldn't see the part around the corner and she couldn't see a door.

She didn't want to go too far without the others, but she thought she could at least check what was around the corner. She moved softly across the kitchen and peeked around the corner, carefully in case any of the women was still there.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

There didn't seem to be any reason to stay in the wine cellar. Dorainen followed Frithwynne into the kitchen, and peered round the corner, looking for a door to take them further into the mansion.

Posted by Doublethink (# 1984) on :

The rest of the party followed, "watch out for the dog" whispered Er

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Around the corner, another long table and more racks and, at the end of the ell, a door. No yappy dog. Yet.

"We may not have much time," Frithwynne whispered to the others. "I think we should go through the whole house and then come back and search the most likely spots. Unless we find something very likely first."

She went to the door and listened.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"I don't hear anything," Frithwynne told the others.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana follows the group nervously. Every shadow on the wall, the fall of a drape, the carving of a chair leg, suggests the lithe body of a serpent. Behind every door, every piece of furniture, she can imagine soft hissing. It was a mistake to come here. Death is in the walls of this place.

She struggles to regain some composure. She is a daughter of the fates. She is not afraid of the dark.

"We must find Mistress Yaris's private rooms. Her office or library or ledger room - wherever she would keep her secrets. This is the working part of the house. She will not leave anything valuable within reach of the servants.

We should find stairs and try the upper floors. Move quickly and quietly. If we meet a servant, I will talk to them and hold their attention, but I cannot stop them from being suspicious. While I am talking, whoever is able to should silence them. Without killing if we can, but at all costs prevent them giving the alarm."

Gunriana moves quickly and stealthily to the door and darts through it - like a snake, she smiles to herself - looking for the stairs.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

She glides rapidly along a short passage and opens a plain-looking wooden door into a larger room. On the other side, the door is ornately panelled, painted carvings showing the fleets of the peninsula bringing the riches of the world to the rejoicing harbour of Cimenster. Better days.

Gunriana smiles grimly. Better days indeed. Those were days of fire and iron - the ship's beak hitting the shingle, the sentry's cry coming too late, the slam of shield rims locking together and frightened eyes peering over the boards, burning thatch, the pyres of the fallen, the caravels at anchor, lightened of their gold and ablaze.

Gunriana glances back at the others. Jetse is a shield wall all of his own, Dorainen a wave on the shore, Frithwynne the hand on the steering oar. A war band from the old days. A war band to shake this house and watch its embers rise to the stars.

"Your kind was ever our prey, Mistress Yaris" she whispers. "All that you have is but yours to give us sport in the taking of it. Now where do you hide your secrets?"

She glances around the doors - a ship loading its cargo in a foreign port - a storm on the sea - a trader carefully weighing out spices - and the sun setting over the ocean, painting the waves with a sheen of gold. That one! She strides forward and tries the centre door, hungry for plunder and revenge.

[ 03. October 2014, 22:35: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen followed as Jetse rushed up the stairs, fixing his fingers around his knife as he went. As Jetse came to a stop, they all looked around and saw that the landing was empty, except for a door on the left. Dorainen took out his knife and placed his hand on the door handle as he listened through the door.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

He couldn't hear anything, but it was a thick looking door. Before bursting through, he thought he'd see if Frithwynne could hear anything.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne was gripping the magic torch hard, in case she had to use it as a weapon. She shifted her grip on it, and the light vanished. She blinked and stared at it, but no time to try to figure out what had happened because Dorainen was gesturing for her to try listening at the door.

She stepped forwards and calmed her mind to hear.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Listening. Not seeing. Might have been heard. Move fast. Be ready. Open. Breech the lock. Secure room. Be ready.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne: "I've heard nothing, except one small thump. I don't know what that means. Maybe there's a snake inside making the thump? I think we need to go in anyway. Jetse, will you lead the way?"

[ 06. October 2014, 04:44: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"A thump?" exclaimed Dorainen. "A thump never stopped a water elf!" His adrenalin was pumping and he was in the mood for action. People easily forgot how young he still was for a water elf, and his impulsiveness seemed to be dominating. Right hand on his knife's handle, his left hand tried the door. It opened. He gulped, having half hoped that it would be locked, but the impulsive angel on one shoulder beat out the frightened angel on the other and he slammed the door open to find...

A cat. A small, blue eyed black cat. Looking to his right, he spied another one, sleeping on top of some laundry. There were two doors on his right. The corridor continued ahead and bent left.

"You can all come in, it's quite safe," he whispered back to the rest of the party (although, why was he whispering... afraid of waking a cat?). "If no-one has any better ideas, I vote we take a peak behind those two doors."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne went to each of the two doors in turn in the right and listened.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

"You heard nothing, Frithwynne? Then, I'm going to try this one," Dorainen said, readying his knife with his right hand and trying the handle of the first door with his left.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

The door opened easily enough and there was nothing living in the room to cause a threat. Nothing, except the cat that had just entered, sneaking around Dorainen's feet. The room was septagonal, something he had never seen in a human house. He knew that the number seven had an importance in some human forms of magic. Maybe Gunriana knew something about this? The room faced out, having three windows.

There was a rectangular table in the center, surrounded by chairs. Around the walls were sideboards with expensive-looking dishes. There were two doors, both closed, on the left.

Dorainen looked at the cat. It had seemed very keen to enter into this room. Maybe it had a sense of direction that was worth paying attention to, given the seemingly ever multiplying array of door choices they had. Would the cat walk to either of the two doors, or out of this room and back into the corridor?

[ 08. October 2014, 13:20: Message edited by: Hart ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne went to each of the two doors in turn on the left and listened.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"I hear nothing from either of these," Frithwynne said. "I'll try the first one -- I wonder if it matches up with that second door from the hallway. Someone else try the other one."

Frithwynne tried the handle of the first door on the left.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

Dorainen turned the handle of the other door and discovered...

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Bad kitties. Er skinchanges. Cats? False felines? Spies? Don't trust. Don't touch. Ready to kill.

Doors opening. Cover.

Jetse took his bow off his back, arrows at his belt. He watched the party opening doors, ready to dispatch any threats that might surprise them.

Be the arrow. Concentrate. Aim. Let fly. Automatic. Smooth. Act now. Think later.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

...not much. There was a table against one side of the room with nothing on it. The few chairs by it had dust covers on. On the other side of the room were paintings. There were two doors, on the right and on the left.

The cat appeared to be following him. It seemed that his desire to follow the cat wouldn't be possible, it was impossible to follow someone intent on following you, and time may not be on their side. He did worry though, that the cat may not be what it seemed. He decided to see where bluster would get.

Turning to the cat, knife still in hand, he said in clear voice: "I know who you are. Don't think you're going to get away with this."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

The cat twined around Dorainen's legs purring.

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :

In a pique of frustration, Dorainen kicked the cat away.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne finds herself in a room without furniture, the walls are hung with maps, some annotated. There is a door to the left, that probably leads back to the hallway and a door to the right.

She tries the door on the right; she figures it probably leads to the same room as the second door from the previous room, but she's not sure if something else has been squeezed in thanks to the heptagonal walls.

[ 09. October 2014, 21:26: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Werecat. Don't trust. Evil.

Jetse slunk over (clattered, really) towards the cat Dorainen had shooed away. With the bow still in his good hand, he instinctually tried to use his other, missing one to grab the cat…but ended up smacking the moggie into the far wall of the room.

"MRROWWWWWWWTHUD!"

The cat lay insensate in the corner, somehow looking even less threatening than before.

Jetse shook his stump, his nerves ringing with the force of the strange magics that had bound with them. Perhaps this incident might be best omitted from the Book of Keeper Ræven's Glorious Deeds.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Just before she opens the door, Frithwynne hears a SCREECH and a THUD, but it seems to be from somewhere else, and besides even if it were from behind this door it's too late, she's already pulling it open.

She is engulfed in a wave of white crystals. As she staggers and recovers she is standing in a drift up to her knees looking into an 8 sided room. There is a door on the sloping wall on the left and the right. Curtains are drawn across on the opposite wall.

She stands dumbfounded. Then she calls out. "Hoi! There's something here!"

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen heard Frithwynne cry out and quickly went back on himself to the room she had gone to. He found her surrounded by a huge pile of very beautiful crystals, which seemed to have just fallen out of the room in front of her. 8-sided he noticed, but couldn't deduce anything from this yet. He attempted to clamber over the crystals to get to the curtained wall on the other side.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne followed Dorainen in scrambling onto, or into, the crystals and began to sift through them to see if there was anything ***hidden to be found***.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Sifting the crystals, Frithwynne first came upon something pointy. Feeling further, a thin streamer and then a broad panel. She started scooping aside crystals. Three upright sticks with pennants at the top appeared. More scooping. Broad square panels appeared, bellied as if in a high wind. More scooping, more panels, spars and rigging. Frithwynne suddenly realized: these were the masts of a ship in full sail, and the thin streamers at the too of each mast were pennants.

She scooped faster, and the whole ship was revealed. It was slightly less than half an armspan in length. It was made entirely of gold. Mostly yellow gold, but white gold for the sails, and red gold picking out details in delicate rose accents. Two seahorses framed the prow. On the stern, white gold script ran across a red gold panel. Frithwynne recognized the letter "K" in the old-style script at the beginning, but she had never learned the new-style script that followed the "K".

Frithwynne ran her fingers over the whole ship. Up and down the masts, around the sails, across the deck and over the deck housing, and around the great wheel, which, amazingly, turned. The ship in rock salt. It was real.

She touched one of the crystals gingerly to her tongue.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Salt. A sense of wind rushing, foam blowing from cresting whitecaps, a raw sting in the air, sun beating down but clouds gathering from the horizon. Frithwynne blinked back unexpected tears.

She got the ***chalice*** from her pack and gazed into it. The gold of the ship reflected in the bowl of the chalice. With one hand on the ship and one hand holding the chalice, she wondered if her ***intuition*** could tell her anything about this. Why the salt? Why the ship? Why an entire room full of salt?

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen took in a full breath of the salt-smelling air and briefly closed his eyes and imagined himself in the sea. He opened them as he threw the curtains opening, seeing that behind them were bay windows opening onto the courtyard. He realized he was by now thoroughly disoriented. Frithwynne had earlier spoken of her skill in navigating mazes. Maybe she should make some of the future decisions about which turns to take. He turned to her to suggest this and noticed something very peculiar in her hands. She had found the golden ship from the prophecy!

"But what does it mean?" he wondered outloud.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne looked up.

"There's a storm, perhaps more than one, approaching. We can't avoid it. No where is safe but perhaps a way or part of a way can be found against the gnashing of that storm, not here in this room but near and up.

"Also -- this isn't related to the storm but I hear a woman singing. I can't get the tune quite right, but here's her song," and Frithwynne sang softly in her salt-stained contralto:

"Shall not his worth a poem fill,
Who never thought, nor uttered ill;
Who by his manner when caressed
Warmly his gratitude expressed;
And never failed his thanks to purr
Whene'er he stroked his sable fur?"

"The cats, do you think? Or at least one of them. I hope that wasn't a cat getting kicked I heard screech when I came in here.

"Get the others. And get the cats. Tell them what I said, and the song. We have to find the place 'near and up.'"

Frithwynne stood, cradling the ship. Normally she would have left it, regretfully, as not being hers. But with the ominous intuition, she felt that somehow they might need the ship.

"And may the gods forgive me if I'm wrong and stealing something that's not mine to take," she murmured. No use making the sign of penitence; instead she made the sign of resolve against her breast.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

"A cat? Oh, that was Jetse. Totally Jetse." Dorainen looked as sheepish as an elf could, and went to see if the cat would come back to him. He hoped that while he herded cats (something told him that might be easier said than done...) someone else would find some stairs!

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

While waiting for the others, Frithwynne thought to test her idea about how the rooms fit together. She waded across the crystals and tried the door on the right.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

When he found it, the cat seemed ominously still. But, once he felt through mounds a fur, he found a pulse. The cat was out cold, but not dead yet. He picked it up and went back out into the L-shaped corridor, and went to see what they had not yet found around the bend.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen saw the three new doors. Finding the stairs was the priority, so he decided to open each door in turn and, if there was no obvious stairway to open the next door and then, if all three drew a blank, continue around the corridor. He'd keep doing this till he got to a dead end or back where he started (could do corridor be a loop?). If none of this turned up any stairway, it would be time to search each room in more detail.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne enters a large room. The floor is tiled with what looks like marble. Against a short sloping wall to her left stand two copper buckets. Further to her left there is a short straight wall, against which is a wooden water closet.

There is a long wooden side board against the opposite wall, and a door toward the end of the wall. In the middle of the sideboard is a large inset copper bowl with a copper pitcher standing next to it. There is also a mirror standing on the side board.

As she walks into the room she notices a fire place in the wall to her right. There are fire irons on one side of it and a large kettle, to hang over it, on the other.

There are wooden valet stands a safe distance from the fire place, and two bales of towels stacked nearby. In the centre there is a magnificent, large, free standing copper bathtub - that has been polished to a high sheen

Frithwynne stands in the middle of the room and faces the opposite way from the water closet. She can see a door in the far wall.

All the doors have copper bolts fitted to them, but none are currently drawn closed.

Over all, the room is rectangular in shape, with just a dented corner from the two sloping walls of the ship room.

Frithwynne takes one of the towels to wrap around the ship and make it a bit less spiky to carry. The she opens the door across from the water closet, expecting it to lead her back into the dining room.

[ 13. October 2014, 15:24: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne found herself back in the dining room, having emerged through the second door on the left. Er was there, looking confused.

"Come on," said Frithwynne, and went back into the map room by the first door on the left. No-one was there. She looked in the ship room. No-one there either.

"Now what? I thought Dorainen was going to bring them in here," she said to Er. "It doesn't look like they came through all this salt, but let me check the other door." She waded into the ship room and tried the untried door, the door on the left.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Through the door, Frithwynne found a good size bedroom. Simple, lived in, with a good quality rug in red wool. There was a painting of a gaunt and smudged woman over the dresser. As Frithwynne crossed the room, the painting moved. Frithwynne shrieked. The painting's mouth opened.

"Oh, a mirror," said Frithwynne, glancing sidelong at Er to see if he had registered her folly. No, Er still looked the same confused as before.

It was a fine mirror, and an elegantly carved dresser. Combs and jewelry on the dresser suggested that this was a woman's bedroom. She looked in the mirror. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she murmured, but gazing at her gaunt self led her to no answers.

"Yaris' room, do you think?" she asked Er. She felt uncomfortable at the thought, although she wasn't sure if it was in fear of the redoubtable Yaris, or in confusion that the redoubtable Yaris lived in such a typical gentlewoman's room.

Another door on the far side was slightly ajar. There was the sound of someone kicking a door.

"That must be them. At least, I hope it's them and not someone else breaking in." Frithwynne went through the door.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Jetse took aim at the door, but almost tripped over a crack in the floorboards, misdirecting his force and just failing to break the lock. Dorainen gave it a sharp kick. "You loosened it for me," he said, trying to sound grateful and not patronising.

Opening the door, he saw the staircase he'd been hoping for. It was spiral. Jetse and Gunriana were with him (as was the, still comatose, cat), but where had Frithwynne and Er gotten too. For a brief moment he worried about shouting out, but then remembered that they'd just kicked a door in.

"Frithwynne? Er? We've found stairs!" he cried out.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

As Frithwynne emerged into the corridor (and she wasn't sure if she was surprised to be in the corridor or not), she heard Dorainen shouting.

"This way," and she turned right and went around the bend to the left. She found Dorainen, Jetse and Gunriana standing at the end of the corridor. A door hung open, with a splintered lock, revealing a spiral staircase.

"Near and up. Who'll go first?"

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen's legs were ahead of his head (as impossible as that might sound). While it may well be sensible to stop and consider what could be at the top of the staircase, and who might be best equipped to deal with that, the party was together, there was a staircase and a storm was coming and he was nearest the door, having finished the job of breaking the lock, so he started ascending, hoping all the others would follow him.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne followed Dorainen.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

At the top of the stairs was an ornate door. Trying the handle proved it to be locked. Frithwynne stuck her head under Dorainen's elbow and listened intently. She felt a miasma of evil, and while she had gotten used to the other doors and rooms all being unoccupied, the feeling of evil made her cautious again.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

As Frithwynne was listening, Dorainen got out his knife and tried to use it to force the door open. He almost thought he had it, but it resisted him. "Anyone else got something to try?" he asked.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"I hear -- it's like a piece of cloth flapping. It reminds me of the sails on the -- on the -- well, then, when the ship would come around. What could it be? A window open, and something loose? Dorainen, do you think a hairpin would work on the lock? There must be some in the bedroom."

Frithwynne set the ship down on the top step, reached awkwardly past Dorainen and began running her hands over the door and the walls on either side, hoping to ***find a hidden*** catch or panel.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Whispering, as of silk against wool, and the great green snake slid between Frithwynne's feet and began to insinuate itself into the carvings on the door. The snake's gold and jeweled markings added to the ornate pattern. It flicked its silver tongue and regarded the companions through slitted garnet eyes.

A faint click sounded.

Posted by Doublethink. (# 1984) on :

Foret, being without the ability to sense evil and excited to see what secrets might lie beyond, darted forward to push open the door.

A flash of scale and he was on the floor, with two pin pricks of blood on his neck.

As the snake struck, the cat stirred, twisting its head, ears back, yowling low and menacing.

The holes in Foret's neck began to smoke.

[ 18. October 2014, 22:10: Message edited by: Doublethink. ]

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen was shocked to see what had just happened to poor Foret. He couldn't help thinking that if he'd never had healed him in the first place, he'd never have gotten dragged into this strange adventure. He looked beyond his power to heal, and later would be the time for the singing of dirges, that is if there was to be a later for him and his companions. He put the cat down, whispering to the others to watch it, and wrapped himself in his protective cloak, leaving only a small slit open to see through, his knife edge peaking out from the folds. He took aim and went to stab the snake.

Posted by Doublethink. (# 1984) on :

The elf lashed swiftly with the knife, but the snake was faster, evadeding like scaled lightened and rearing up hissing. He drew back from the unequal contest.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

The snake was too fast. Dorainen certainly didn't want to end up with smoking fang marks in him. What could have fast enough reactions to avenge Foret? He looked down at his feet. What about that cat? Not at full strength right now, of course, but that he could do something about.

He laid his hand on it, and started to chant, slowly working his way back to the steady flow of healing that would be their only hope.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen had barely sprinkled the cat with the healing flow when it almost leapt up. I suppose cats really don't like water, even when it's just the closest physical term for a magical reality...

It (she? he?) touched a paw to Dorainen's shoulder, almost a pat of thanks, and then turned to face the snake.

Posted by Doublethink. (# 1984) on :

The cat made to pounce, the snake reared and flared its hood, a momemt of stillness, a blurr of movement - that cat flips backward its jaws fastened on the snake's headed - the thrashing furry, scaled, tangled ball of fury rolls across the floor.

There are twitches, and they become still. The cat rights itself and trots forward, shouldering the door ajar and dragging the limp snake triumphantly.

[ 19. October 2014, 21:36: Message edited by: Doublethink. ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

All sense of salt was gone. Frithwynne smelled smoke, flames, blood.

"Dorainen, can't you heal him? Gunriana, a rune?"

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen looked down at Foret. He didn't want to admit that he was beyond healing. Didn't want to admit to Frithwynne, certainly, but not to himself either, really. The cat seemed able to walk unaided now. "Our first priority should be to get to safety. There's a storm coming," was all he could say as he picked up the boy's body and walked through the door.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne felt stupid and trivial picking up the ship, when Dorainen was carrying Foret, much more significant. But what else could she so? She picked up the ship and followed Dorainen through the door, trying to ignore the little voice reminding her of the golden chain and what had happened the last time she grasped for something shiny.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen walked through the door and found himself outside. The cool night air was bracing. There was enough light from the moon to get a pretty good look at everything, all of which appeared to be made of white marble. They were at the top of a tower. It was about three times his height in diameter. In the center was a slightly raised platform, less than a foot off the ground, but clearly of a different material and color from the rest of the paving. He would have to curl up to lie on it, but for most humans, the diameter would fit them. Flags were flying by the gatehouse they'd just come out of, which was flanked by large boxes decorated with silver work. There seemed to be a block on the other side, but he couldn't see it clearly yet.

Before he could do anything, he'd have to put Foret down, which he did, on the platform. As he arranged his body in what he hoped was a respectful position, he noticed that the platform almost seemed designed for this. For whatever reason, his mind went to those horrid public dissections of elves that were carried out for human entertainment. This was just the kind of platform that would be used.

Foret placed, he decided it would be worth chanting over him. The flow would tell him if moving healing over him would do his body any good, but even if it didn't, it could never harm a soul, and may help him in some way unknown to the best elven minds.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

The healing flow skirted around Foret, like water flowing away from a magnet. He was gone. Tevamim mela'ge' he sang: there is no healing from death.

He then turned to investigate the two boxes they had passed on their way in, starting with the one on the right.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen couldn't get the boxes open. He thought about asking Jetse to force them, but he seemed to be keenly examining the flags. He wondered whether Er would be able to use his tinkering skills to get them open, and went to ask him to try.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne waited, but Foret still lay limp. Dorainen changed his song, and Frithwynne felt worn and tired, as if she had fought with a waterfall and lost. When the elf moved away from the platform, Frithwynne moved forward. She looked at Foret's face for some moments, then laid the ship on the pavement at his feet and went to examine the block across from the door.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne called out to the others: "Grooves. And a spout. And tremendous evil. There's some botchy pattern on the alabaster center, white metal. Silver? Something else?"

And softer, but still pitched to carry to the others: "Sacrifices on this block? The grooves to channel and the spout to feed to a vessel to catch the blood?"

She walked around the edge of the platform to see if she could ***find anything hidden*** either around the edge or on or within the pavement.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Er listened to Dorainen's request and nodded though he was still shaken by earlier experiences. The left chest first, the lock looked straightforward but his eye was caught by the white enamel work with its sinuous knotwork of white on white. So intricate, he began following the pattern with his fingers, yes! this felt right (though the back of his mind began screaming stop), right, right. Blood started coming out of the fingers that were tracing the pattern, but, he couldn't stop. He heard the cat hiss, but, he couldn't stop. His fingers reached the lock and he stopped, forever.

The others see Er slump to the ground by the white chest. Within a minute the chest absorbs the blood that Er had left on it and is back to white.

[ 22. October 2014, 17:29: Message edited by: Doublethink. ]

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

What strange magic was this! Dorainen looked away in a moment of disgust. He knew he would have to return and investigate, but just at that moment, the flags that he had previously overlooked caught his eye. Could it be that they were... Yes, yes they were.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

... the flags: they were snake skins; and the streamers were not streamers at all, but tails.

Who knew about this place? Did Trepik's dwarves know what they were talking about when they mentioned the 'ceremony'?

I seemed Yaris needed the snake to access this tower, so it is possible this place of sacrifice had never been used by her. Or maybe a new snake was needed each time? Is there anything they could take from here that would conclusively turn the town against her at the hearing?

He blurted out all of these questions out loud, and then remembered he was standing by Er's body. Lament was needed, but so were answers.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Snakes, yes. Under the overhang of the platform it's carved all around in a pattern of scales, and here it has a carving of a snake's head grasping its tail.

"What do you think this blotchy pattern on the platform is?"

Frithwynne turned towards Dorainen as she spoke, and saw Er's body. She darted forward to touch his neck, but she already knew, after Foret, that it was hopeless.

"What happened?" A stupid, useless, question, but better than giving into grief and crying "Oh no!"

[ 22. October 2014, 21:49: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen explained what had happened to Er as best he could. "Does anyone have any better understanding of this magic than I do?" he asked.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"I can try."

Frithwynne removed the ***chalice*** from the knapsack, tilted it towards the moon to catch the silver light, and gazed into it. She closed her eyes and envisioned everything they had seen since the snake had entwined itself on the door, and waited to see if she any ***intuition*** came to her.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne emerged from her reverie, and blinked to find that the moon had not moved at all.

"So... Er died running his hands over the carvings, trying to interfere with the lock.

"Yaris makes powerful magic here, and subtle traps. But maybe she has overlooked something.

"These chests -- the size of a large sheep each. What if we could tip the chests over the edge without touching them ? And then... run downstairs and outside to look at them? Maybe they would burst open in the fall. We would have to be fast; the servants must be coming back soon.

"Do we have everything we want from here? I think we should all go down together after the chests, I mean down the stairs to look at them, not go down after them over the parapet.

"And how could we tip the chests?"

Frithwynne looked with a gulp at the bodies of Foret and Er. "We could push the chests with the bodies as a shield," she thought, but hoped someone else would come up with a different idea, or that someone else would be the one to give voice to this idea.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen moved back to Foret's body, trying to decide whether the marks in his neck would be enough to convince anyone of anything. While he was thinking, he noticed something. The blotches... he knew that pattern!

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

He got out his copy of Studia Humana and let it flip open to the center insert: a map of the known (to humans...) world. He walked round to match up the orientation, and pulled Foret to one side (his excitement somewhat eclipsing his respect for the boy's corpse).

"Look, everyone! They're not random splodges, it's a map of the world! And here we are: Cimenster," he said, jabbing at the spot, half wondering if something was about to happen.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The cat had retreated to the spot furthest from all the strange items, people, elves, and bodies, which on a circular tower was a neat trick of trigonometry. Frithwynne knelt down and averted her eyes, scratching a finger towards the cat in an unpredictable pattern.

"Pssst, pssst, here kitty kitty," she murmured, but knowing that her words would make no difference. It would depend on how curious the cat got about the moving finger. "Pssst, pssst, here's a little mouse, come investigate."

She didn't have any idea what the map might mean, but figured it meant more evilness. She waited to hear if any of the others would suggest what the map might be for. In the meantime, retreating into cat-taming helped her block out the pervasive sense of evil on the tower.

[ 25. October 2014, 02:41: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne thought she'd see if her ***animal command*** could bring the cat to her. "Here, sweet kitty," she murmured. "Wouldn't you like to come over here and have a nice petting?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The cat blinked its blue eyes disdainfully at Frithwynne and started to wash its face and ears with its paws.

Frithwynne gave up. There would be no asking the kitty if it could show her something helpful. Back to the task at hand.

"Anything else useful to be done up here? Any ideas for how to push these boxes over? Do you think we could take one of the flagpoles down and use it as a lever? Dorainen, what do you think the map means? Guardian Jetse, what can you use from up here to perhaps use against Yaris? Lady Gunriana, you've been very quiet -- what do you make of all this?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne looked over the parapet. She was hoping to see a ledge just below the edge.

"Dorainen or Jetse or Gunriana, do you think we could use my very long chain in some way to pull these boxes over?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne saw nothing helpful.

She went to Er's crumpled body and pulled it a bit away from the boxes, then arranged it neatly in the traditional manner with one hand across his chest and the other at his side. She walked over to the alabaster dais and traced the outlines of the map, as much as she could without touching Foret.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen had been staring, almost transfixed, at the splotchy map on the platform, reminiscing about all the places he'd been on that map, places he'd never have dreamed of while growing up on the teyv. But, then, he shook himself and remembered the time constraints they were under. Frithwynne's idea about pushing the chests off the parapet was the best they'd had so far, so he decided to try. Wrapping his cloak around his arms to shield him from whatever had killed Er, he wedged his foot against the platform and pushed with all his might.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

The chest started tottering and then tipped and fell off the edge. As satisfying as it was to watch it tumble, buoyed by his success, Dorainen quickly went and tossed the other one over its side. Worried that this commotion would attract attention if they didn't get to the crash sites quickly, he headed for the stairs, hoping Frithwynne would help supply directions as needed.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne ran to get the ship, cast a regretful glance to the cat, nodded her head quickly in respect to the bodies of Foret and Er (mourning and funeral rites, lost in battle, she thought), and rushed pell mell after Dorainen.

Down the spiral stairs, pounding around the bends in the corridor, onto the landing and down the main stairs, back into the panelled reception room.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen remembered that door in the off-axis wall. He walked through and, as he hoped, found a door to the outside. Going through it, he could easily see the tower. Distance obscuring its menace, it looked rather attractive. He wondered it its architect could ever have anticipated the lethal use to which it would be put.

Running towards it, he went to see what had become of their tossed chests.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Rounding the corner, Dorainen discovered the remains of the chest. There were various remnants of plants, bones, minerals... ingredients for a potion? There was a lot of shattered glass, hard to tell what it had been from, maybe jars. Most intriguing was a large black leather bound book and three smaller journals. There was no time for detailed reading now. There was room for the books in his cloak. Now, they had to skedaddle, and sharpish.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne eyed the remnants. She didn't know what the group might need, but she didn't want to risk bringing possibly evil magic-materials with them. She'd let Gunriana decide if the plants, bones and minerals were safe to handle and carry with them, or not.

She set off through the city streets at a determined trot, using her maze skills to navigate back to the dwarves' house.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Meanwhile back at the Hawser house, the teeth collecting had lasted the whole day and into the night. Fortunately Mary's bag could hold them all. In the middle of the night, after the waning moon had risen, Mary, Gunni, and the several guild members returned to the dwarves' house with teeth. Amfi and Mawd remained behind to guard and guide the rest of the household.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana stepped away from the wall and out of the shadows, looking down at Foret and Er as if in a dream. "It was written" she tells herself, insistently, "It was written long ago, before any of us were born." She knows it is true, but cannot shake the feeling of guilt. She had chosen the door, and two of her friends, sworn companions, had gone to their deaths.

There are no words to comfort them, and no way of knowing whether Foret and Er would forgive her from whatever world they had gone to. She whispers quietly.

"I am sorry, dear friends. I failed you. If you are angry with me, all I ask is that you turn your anger on our enemies first. Then, as you wish."

She kneels by each body and fumbles for the wolf's tooth at her neck. With long, deliberate strokes she marks each on the breast with Yr, the deep-rooted one, the over-shadower, the bearer of the bright fruits of death.

"No spells, no prayers, no gods shall hinder you, my friends. Go where you are fated to go. Bring to the bright halls your love and your hate. Do not mourn your fate, for you were true friends, and died with your face to your foes, and you are remembered with honour. None in the grave can wish for more than that. Farewell, until the tides carry we who are left to the same shore."

She stands up and walks slowly down the stairs.

[ 31. October 2014, 21:09: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Reaching the smashed chests, Gunriana hesitates. Time is short, yet there was something amongst this debris that Yaris had guarded with a powerful, and costly, death-rite.

There is no time to examine everything - and only one way she knows to find what they need. Her mothers had taken from her with dark delight. It was possible that they were now in the mood to be generous.

Gunriana snatches the worn silk glove from her left hand, flexes her fingers, and, fixing her eyes away from the floor, searching out the darkest shadows in the chamber, she blindly scratches Fe, the gift-rune, the bringer of fortune, into the polished floor.

"Mothers - show me what I will need!" she implores the Fates, and then snatches up as many of the scattered objects as catch her eyes.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana's hands move quickly, seizing object after object - a box of sharp-scented herbs, a crack crystal lens, a knife with an awkwardly twisted marble handle, two fused bones from some unidentifiable creature, a twist of parchment stained with crimson powder - none of them known to her craft, and none of them, even as she gathers them, seems significant.

One stroke of the Fe rune was cut deeper than the others, and as she snatches up one of the parchment twists, it spills, the red powder spilling out and sending up a thin wisp of greenish-brown smoke as it settles into the line of the rune. Gunriana's eyes follow the pattern of the cut, and she knows instantly that she has found what she seeks.

A small flask, made from thick crystal, has rolled away from the wreckage of the smashed chests, rests against the wall. She steps quickly to the side, and takes it. Inside is a viscous dark fluid almost filling the vessel, which might be blood, or some preparation made from blood. This was something the enemy valued, and therefore something the Mothers had placed in her hand.

There is no time to search the rest of the scattered objects. Gunriana straightens up and runs after the others.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne reached Ironfoot's. She hoped the others had followed her through the mazelike city streets. She kicked the door and dwarves opened it. They gazed at the ship and reached hands to touch, although Frithwynne wasn't letting go of it.

"The others. Other dwarves. In the tunnel. Lake. Waiting for us. Go bring them back; we came back overland." She told them the turns to take and collapsed on a bench in the dining hall.

Not too long after, she heard cries through the floorboards. "A cave-in!" "Bring shovels!" "Take it in turns!" and then a work chant.

Some time later, and she couldn't tell if it was a long time or a short time, dwarves tumbled into the dining hall. They were all in various stages of smudge and dampness. The dwarves that had accompanied the party in the tunnel were among them.

Ironfoot approached and took off his cap. "Your friend, the grower, the benevolent mistress Clawdine." He paused, as if trying to gauge what to say next. "We found her in the cave-in. We've laid her out downstairs."

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Another death, thought Dorainen. It was a grim wind that had brought them to Cimenster. Some words came to him from Studia Humana:

"'She would have died hereafter. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...'

"Tomorrow is the time for morning. We have Lady Yaris's supplies, books and ship, all of which she went to some effort to hide. Dwarves know gold: do you know anything of this ship?"

He laid the books out on the table and started flicking through them, gesturing to others to do the same.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Jetse drew his sword as the party left the house of Yaris. No doubt the city would be rioting. Without his Hand, he'd have to hold off any threats himself.

Foret? Would have made a fine operator. Impetuous, though. So common to the brave. Don't fear harm, get bit. Pity.

"Stay low. Out of sight. Back ways. Avoid noise."

The group snuck through back alleys, running quickly across the open streets, listening to the sounds of the revolt nearby, their path twisting and turning to avoid the city guards and the rioters. Best not to be confused for either.

Parts of the city had already been burned and looted in the revolt. The stench of a former slaughterhouse greeted the group; while the animals had long been killed for food during the siege, the smell of hot and burning bones, hair, and dung hung in the air. A party of Palatine exiles quickly appeared from the ruin, axes at the ready.

"Hej, venner. Beskytter Ræven, går til Jernfod huset."

The dwarves nodded, and one of them—the least well-equipped one, Jetse noted—lead the party away from the ruin and back to Ironfoot's Lodge.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana hurries through the streets back the Ironfoot's house. The mood in the streets is ugly, and she has to stop several times to blend into the shadows as rowdy groups of men pass, hunting for trouble or drink.

Eventually she reaches the house, and, some time later, sees Clawdine's body laid out. Clawdine, like her, was a daughters of the fates and would not have feared being reunited with their mothers. She does, however, gently score the rune Ar on Clawdine's cheek with her wolf's tooth. To the dwarves, she was the grower, the provider, and the rune of fruitfulness and the turn of years will guard her rest.

Gunriana steps back from her fallen sister and bows deeply. Then she goes to find Dorainen and the enemy's books.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen first looked at the large book. It was entirely written in a runic script (or scripts?) he didn't know at all, so he put that to one side for Gunriana. Or maybe it was Dwarven? Does Jetse read Dwarven as well as he speaks it?

Anyway... he open the journals. Yaris's handwriting was very hard for him to make out. His eyes were trained to read flow and her staccato short hand might as well have been Goblin as far as Dorainen was concerned. Even when he could identify letters, he could rarely get whole words, and most 'words' either seemed to be code or abbreviations.

There was one passage, near the end, when the writing got a little more fluid and, hence, legible. He could still only make out bits and pieces, but could make good guesses at the letters he couldn't read:

quote:

Fe(e)ling trapd (sic.)! Cant griev(e) T(repi?)k open(l)y!

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne ran her hands over the ship. Perhaps there was some ***hidden*** catch or hold or something-or-other about it?

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana takes the book, and studies it carefully. It doesn't not appear to have been written for other eyes than that of its mistress. She smiles. It's obscurity, once penetrated, should for that very reason offer a clear insight into their enemy's mind.

She closes her left eye, and turns the small finger of her right hand sideways, cutting the skin of her eyelid with Bjarken, the dreamer's rune, and links deliberately. A single spot of blood falls on her cheek. She blinks again, and more blood stains the open page of the journal. Fully prepared, she begins to read.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana looks up from the grimoire, trembling violently.

“This is . . . this is powerful magic. I cannot begin to guess how much gold and how many lives she paid to prepare this.”

She holds up the crystal vial.

“Jormungandur’s blood! I don’t mean that as a curse. That is what this is, at least according to this rite. The blood of the world-serpent. This is what the death rite was meant to protect. This is what Clawdine, Foret and Er died for. I doubt not that the price Yaris paid for it was as high. Whether she brought it up from the depths, or used some rite to transmute the blood of a sacrifice with its virtue, I do not know, but this is as rare and precious a thing as you will ever see.”

She can already feel the serpent’s fire in her veins, and cannot remain still. Springing to her feet, she paces around the room, clutching the vial with whitened fingers. If there is any voice at the back of her mind suggesting that this is a temptation to be resisted, she pays it no heed.

“The rite is . . . well, the rite is difficult, as hard as any charm I know of . . . but within my power. I know it is. And it will break him. This is ancient lore, depths of the sea, bowels of the earth, runes written before the birth of gods POWERFUL! There is no countercharm, no ward, that could work against it. This is ruin and revenge! This is the liberation of cities, the despair of oppressors, darkness and blood and boiling rivers of poison!”

She hesitates, perhaps dimly aware that the company are looking at her in confusion. It takes a moment to stem her excitement and collect her thoughts.

“With this, with this, and the snake scales, and the shark’s teeth, we, I, can drag the sharklord’s throne to the depths. His power over Cimenster, his influence over his minions, the curses he has laid on the guild and the nobles, everything that he has defiantly stretched his jaw to take, I can break it. He will sink to his right place, thrashing and raging, but helpless, helpless over all but the sharks of his bloodline. The siege will be ended. Cimenster will have a new dawn.”

A shadow of doubt crosses her face.

“I do not know why Yaris learned this rite if she were not to use it, or why, having learned it, she has not already worked the magic. Perhaps she was afraid to try it. Perhaps it is her weapon of last resort to ensure the sharklord does her bidding. It matters not. The power has gone from her and is in our hands, by right of stealth and daring and the death of friends. Is there any reason to wait? Why should we not break our enemy this very day?”

If anyone gives a reason, Gunriana does not hear them. Since she began to read the sketchiest details of how the spell might be worked, there has been no question in her mind but that she must do it. The serpent’s blood draws her, like a moth to a flame. But what a flame!

“I will need earth, much earth – freshly dug, and flint, and steel forged in the dark. I will need salt water, and heavy stones. I will need coal, enough for a fire, coal straight from the mine. This is a rite of darkness – I will use as little as possible that has ever seen the sun. Quickly! Cover the teeth and the scales and the blood – cover them and bring them as far from the light as we can. We work magic with the world-serpent today! The light may wake him!”

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne watches Gunriana dully. Her examination of the ship had shown it to be damaged, pounded as if with a staff or stick end, made not of gold alone, but lesser metals, silver and copper too. The silver has not yet begun to tarnish so -- Yaris'? -- fury had only recently been wreaked on it. Her heart is sick at the damage, and she wants to curl up and cry.

Then she shakes herself. Her greed for a perfect and beautiful ship is seeking to drown her in despair. She pushes it aside, resolves to be content in a plain world in a plain role.

"There's a snake grasping its tail etched around this ship, which looks so much like ours. More proof of Yaris' snake-magic?"

She wonders if there's any way to heal the ship, and if it matters. No, best let Gunriana heal Cimenster, with the dangerous magic. The real ship is long gone, all of its crew and now even half of its initial survivors. The rest of them will heal as best they can if and when Cimenster is freed.

Still, she stills her mind, lays her hands lightly on the ship, and wonders. Is there any more use for the ship? Or is it just a pretty bauble, and has already served any purpose it might have had, by bearing witness to Yaris' anger and evil against the real ship and its survivors?

But why? Because we knew about the bringing up of the chest her common sense tells her. But what was the importance of the chest?. Common sense is silent here for Frithwynne, and she lets her mind wander, to see if any ***intuitive*** ideas come to her.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana strides back and forth in Ironfoot's house, gesticulating in frenzied excitement as she directs the dwarves to make preparations, stooping ever so often, sometimes in the middle of a sentence, to stare intently at Yaris's grimoire. The ritual is taking shape in her mind, and she can think of nothing else as she makes ready.

“I need the right place for the ritual. Underground, yes, we can use part of the tunnels. It has to be dark – utterly dark. I will be calling to the deep places of the earth and sea, sunlight, even starlight, would be fatal. If I need light I will make it myself – from dark-forged sttel and flint, and coal, owing nothing to daylight. The place needs to be sealed, packed with earth, as close to a hollow ball inside as you can make it. I don't need a large space – if I can stand straight, and stretch out my arms to touch the walls on either side, that will serve.”

The spherical room for the ritual has yet to be dug out of an alcove in the tunnels, but Gunriana's imagination is already stocking it with all that she needs.

“I will need seawater – perhaps a foot deep at the lowest point of the room. Which means I need stones, unworked stones, but heavy and flat piled more than a foot high. One pile for the coals, one on which to place the shark's teetth, and one on which I can work. I will cut the runes with sharp flint, that I will shape myself once the room is sealed. The scales and the blood can start on the work stone. The stones must be stable – if I misplace the components it will make the rite harder.”

Her mind is racing ahead of her words – she emphasises the most important part again.

“The room has to be sealed, cut off from light and air. I must go into the deep darkness to call the great worm. The way in must be as narrow as possible to start with, and as soon as I enter the chamber it must be sealed from the outside with packed earth. Completely sealed. None of you can enter until the rite is completed. I don't know how long that will be, but you risk everything if you break through the wall too soon.”

She had almost forgotten to mention the most important task for the others...

“While I am working, the rest of you must make an offering to Jormangandur. The proper sacrifice is an ox – killed by severing the head. Best if you can do it with a single blow, - a taks for Jetse - but even if you must saw through the neck with a blunt knife, it is the head that matters. The rest of the beast you can burn, bury, sell for meat, but the head must go to the sea. If the serpent wakes and is angered, the offering may calm him. Gods help us if it does not – but I think the ox head will be enough. Do that as I work the spell. I don't know what you will see, perhaps nothing, perhaps some sign of our enemy's impotent rage, but whatever happens, when you judge the time to be right, return here and break the wall to reach me.”

It is important that the others know that this depends on them.

“I trust Frithwynne's instincts to know when – that's a shepherd's role – but do not act at all unless you are all in agreement that the time is right. I am depending on you for this. I do not expect that I will be able to break out myself. I will spend all my strength in working the magic. Ideally, you should break through the wall at the last possible moment – when my air is gone and I am at the point of death. That would be the strongest magic – if the rite ends on the very threshold of the underworld.”

Gunriana is smiling broadly at the thought of it, of working the spell so close to the edge of life and death. She realises, however, that such perfect timing may not be possible.

“But don't worry. We cannot count on that, and I will not risk everything on the gamble that we get that timing right. The spell ought still to work if you break the wall after I am dead.”

Gunriana's eyes close and her hands grow still. She lets the dwarves begin constructing the chamber and gathering her materials, while her mind is lost in planning patterns of teeth and blood and runes.

[ 09. November 2014, 00:44: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary had watched from the side as Gunriana laid out her plans. "We may have more seawater than we want. If I haven't lost my sailor's skill at reading weather, a storm is coming, a big one, already the wind is picking up and the clouds coming in."

Boetius next to her added, "The apprentices when gathering the teeth noticed that the cats have moved away from the dock area which I have never seen them do. The Tyche cares for them even if no longer for us humans so I think the storm will be the worst to hit in my lifetime. I can send some men to get seawater. How many buckets and does it matter whether it is gulf side, ocean side, or harbor? If either of the first two, we can't send anyone until daylight even if the gates can be opened; they won't return; those from the water will eat them body and soul."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

“If there is a storm, all the better. It will not touch Jormungandur, but it will be less likely that we will be disturbed. Are the sharklord's minions more active during a storm? Let them come! The greater his power the greater will be his ruin!

Where the water comes from does not matter. All oceans meet – the virtue of all the nine seas can be drawn from a single drop. I would rather use water taken at night, so use the harbour. I think I will need at least a barrel, perhaps two. Some of the water will drain away, and there must be at least enough left to cover my feet for the whole of the charm.

And – this is important – if there are cats in the street, if they come to the house, even if they bring enemies to us, you must let them come and go freely. Not just to honour our brother Er, but because the cat is kin to the serpent – when Jormungandur once threw one of his coils across the floor of a giant's hall, it seemed by enchantment to be the arched back of a cat. If the worm does stir from his slumber, the cats may be his eyes. It is no wisdom to poke the eye of a dragon. While this rite lasts – indeed, if you are wise, while your lives last – cats and serpents are sacred to you. Do you all understand?”

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

This magic was mysterious, far beyond the normal course of Elven magic, but it made some sense.

"Dwarves, do any of you know of a family in Cimenster who may be hiding an ox? I am sure there is a blackmarket for such things.

"As soon as the head is cast into the sea, I will hurry back. I cannot help further with this spell, but I would hope to able to heal Gunriana after it is done. The exhaustion that comes from intense magical work and deprivation of air is one that the stream of healing is especially suited for."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

The chamber for the ritual is ready, a closed circular pit, which only a narrow space to crawl inside. Salt water fills the base, the surface broken with three short pillars of rough stone on which sit the materials for the ritual. Only the rune-shaper is missing.

Gunriana turns to her friends. Her hands are shaking with anticipation at the thought of the power she will soon wield, but as she looks into their eyes she the thought strikes her that this may be a final farewell. Even if it is not, the Gunriana de Vanés who enters the chamber will not be the same person as the one who leaves it. Magic of this sort changes everything. One way or another, when this spell is done, she will be a new person stepping into a different world.

It is time to take her leave.

“Our paths were written, dear brothers and sisters, long before the world's boards were nailed fast, but even if I could have chosen, I would have had no life above this one, and no companions above the ones who stand here. I have a parting gift for each of you.”

She unhooks the skull from her belt and steps towards Dorainen, touches his chin gently and kisses him. She turns the skull to him and lets the light catch the glittering silver rune etched into the bone.

“You would know humanity, Dorainen. My sister will teach you. This is what we are. Dry bones, and filth, and greed. And sworn words, and love, and hope. Learn, and live, my brother.”

She presses the skull into his hands and takes the book, Demoslant's Principles, from its pouch. Her gloved hand brushes Frithwynne's lips.

“A shepherd must have a clear voice as well as a good heart, Frithwynne. And you have such a voice, but this book may help you when you most need the right words. Walk safe, my sister.”

Next she unhooks the pendant with the wolf's tooth. She takes Jetse's hand and deftly wraps the leather thong around his wrist, then forces the tooth against the base of his thumb.

“My great-aunt had this tooth from her grandmother, who had it from the mount of one of Choosers. It will mark the fallen and hold them fast in death's embrace. Use it when you kill, and, when your time comes, let it taste your blood. It will bring you peace at the last. Fight well, my brother.”

That is the last of the warband – the last except for the leader, the mistress of the Kavetseki. There is enchantment in each of the gifts she has given, but to the warchief, a witch must give more than her magic. She unsheaths her scramasax, reaches behind her head with her left hand, and gathers as much of her tangled hair as she can, then pulls and hacks through it with the heavy blade. She kneels before Mary, placing the cut hair on the ground and offering the scramasax's hilt.

“To replace the knife I took from you, Mary. For my people, the scramasax is more than a tool, and more than a weapon. As long as we carry it, we are free. With blades like this, we take fodder, flax and fire, all that we need to live. And when spears shatter, and axes grow blunt, and swords break, the scramasax is the last blade drawn to guard the home and defend those we love. There is life in the iron, as there is iron in your soul, to have brought us here. With this gift I give my last defence. Bring our companions to harbour, my sister, my captain.”

Gunriana rises and walks slowly to the way in to the chamber.

“Everything else that was mine, you may take at your need, and the rest burn or give to the sea. Even my glove. I need it no longer.”

She begins to strip off her old clothing, worn and tattered as it is, discarding all that she has without further thought. She pauses only to look at the bruises and scabbed blood on her exposed body, the relics of the struggles of the last few days and the lost years of the past. She cannot remember how most of these small injuries were sustained, but they are marked on her skin like runes, if her eye had the skill to read them. Only once does Gunriana feel conscious of her nakedness – as she removes her hose, and looks at her bare feet on the stone floor, she sees that the toenails are grown long and uneven with lack of care. The exposure of that neglect makes her blush with sudden shame.

“If I do not live through this, then trim my nails, that Naglfar may be long in the making. You owe me nothing beyond that, my friends.”

Last of all, Gunriana peels off the gray silk glove from her left arm, and lets it flutter to the ground behind her. She stoops and squeezes her body through the small gap, feeling her skin shrink as it touches the cold salt water. She breathes deeply, taking in as much air as she can, and clearing her mind for the work ahead, as the room is sealed behind her.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen bit his lip, and then realized that he had just performed a characteristically human tick. He didn't know what had brought this new feeling of life -- surely not the dead skull in his hand! But... he had a new vigor, a new awareness of what life with humans could be, of what life could be. These thoughts were racing as he suddenly remember, and cried out: "We need an ox!"

The town was rioting still, that he was sure of. If anyone was hiding an ox, it may well have gotten loose. Had the rains started yet? Hopefully; that would quiet the people, but leave oxen roaming the city. Attaching the skull to his belt, he fastened his cloak and ran into the city, hoping the others would follow.

The city was chaotic, the noise almost deafening, the rain hardly seeming to dampen their mood. The streets were turning to mud. He tried to keep his head down, and his hood round his ears. Amongst the muddy footprints, were there are cloven hoofs to be spotted, he wondered, employing ***tracking***.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Alone, in the dark, all fear and apprehension is gone. Gunriana feels only a thrill of anticipation and with trembling hands she lifts the vial and breaks the seal. It seems as if the liquid inside the glass is singing to her, almost sreaming, calling her on towards the moment for which she was born.

The stopper lifts with no effort, and with her ring finger, the heart's finger, of her left hand she touches the blood and feels the heat of the serpent. She shrieks in delight, and touches the blood to her tongue. Jormungandur is of the giant-kin, and with his blood she makes the rune of giants, and the bane of giants, Þurs, the mighty, the proud one, inside her teeth. She is inside the flame now, and it burns, but does not consume. The heat passes through her body, as if she had swallowed a scalding draught, it burns past her heart, across her ribs, deep into her groin and then shakes her legs as it calls to the fires deep within the earth. Her flesh overwhelmed, and for a moment she is lost in the ecstacy of strength.

Collecting her thoughts with some effort she strikes flint and steel together and in the shower of sparks makes Kaun, seeing the coal dust catch alight. Soon the earth's fire is ablaze. Smoke begins to swirl up to the top of the chamber and slowly roll down the walls, a dark and choking fire to call the dark and choking breath of the Great Worm.

Next to make her tools. An unbroken flint, placed on the edge of the work-stone, is struck with a heavy rock. One side splinters away, leaving a straight, smooth face, and a second blow shears away another curve, with only a thin band of dull stone between the two planes. More knocks chip that band away, until Gunriana looks with satisfaction at a new edge, untouched by the sun. With the serpent's blood still stinging her, she takes the blade and makes the first cut of the first rune into the roof of the chamber...

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

No further understanding had come to Frithwynne. She had barely emerged, disappointed, from her attempt to fathom something of their situation, when suddenly all was awhirl, Gunriana pacing up and down, giving long instructions (Frithwynne must decide but only if all agree, now there was a confusing and frightening directive), and then thrusting gifts into people's hands, she found herself holding Gunriana's book, and wanted to say but I can't read but there was no time, Gunriana was whirling on and chopping off her hair and vanishing into the crevice left in the wall.

Frithwynne belatedly remembered her manners. Thank you, she tried to say, but it was too late, the dwarves had sealed up the wall, and she barely had time to stash the book in her pack and run after Dorainen, just barely keeping him in sight around several corners as he rushed off in search of an ox.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen came to a halt. The mud was useless! Print got covered by print, there was no way to discern boot from hoof. Was it all lost? Would the witch die because he couldn't track a stupid hulking ox?

As he stood, he noticed someone catch up with him and stop. "Frithwynne! Any ideas?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"The Duke. He'd be the most likely to still have an ox. Yaris has power, but her house had no grounds to hold an ox. I can see the Duke's tower that way. This way."

Frithwynne felt her way through the city streets. She didn't want to get quite to the tower, but to the work yards that would lie below it.

As they drew near, the streets became confused. "It's a muddle here because he wants an imposing entrance from below for petitioners, but he also wants all the working areas downhill from him," she explained (while wondering how did I know that?. Part of solving the maze, she guessed, and she didn't know how she did that either.)

She led on, muttering. Maze of twisty little passages all alike. Twisty little maze of passages all different. Maze of twisty little passages all alike. Twisty maze of little passages all different.

"Here." They had arrived at an unguarded gate. Unlocked too, by fortuitous oversight. Frithwynne pushed it gently ajar. "Watch for anyone. We need some excuse to be here, if someone comes."

She drew the chalice from her pack, and cradled it in both hands. She stroked the bent stem. Be an ox's sharp horn. Ran a finger around the base. Be an ox's strong hoof. Rubbed her thumbs across the bowl, angling it to glint in the moonlight. Be an ox's broad face.. Stared into the glint. Be an ox's fiery eye.. She touched the edge of the chalice to her chin, her forehead, her lips. Commmmmme and drew the word into a long hum, soft, warm, inviting like fresh straw, like sweet hay, like cool water. Commmmmme.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Logr, the deep, the water of creation, is first. All else comes from the waters. Even before the earth first floated, the waters swirled with power. The spell has begun...

Reið, the rider, placed above the first rune. The rider on the waves. The horse of the sea. Kavetseki. The next runes are easy to find.

Is, ice, is placed next, for Dorainen, Sol, the Sun, for Jetse, Fe, wealth, for Frithwynne, and Hagall, hail, Gunriana's own rune. She places the flint against the mouth of the vial and lets the blood touch it, and the witch's rune glows with fierce fire as she makes it, the first that she cuts with the left hand.

The living company of Kavetseki, one rune placed at each corner of the growing design. And above them all...

Maðr, the Folk, the faithful. Bound by oath and fate, the company is represented. And their shadows...

Yr, the yew tree, the grave-tree. The shades of fallen friends will know that they are remembered, and, she trusts, will lend their strength. At the base of the pattern, the deathly shape forms a dark symmetry with the rune of the living. Death and life are reflections, and Kavetseki and her fellowship ride the waters between them.

Gunriana has cut eight of sixteen, and half the story is now cut into the earth. She lifts the vial once more, not daring to touch more of the liquid, but inhaling it's deep, cloying fumes and feeling the fire within her rise once more...

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Ar, fruitfulness, is placed lower still. The lost years, the relentless march of time, was their curse and is now their weapon. The trap, once broken, is laid again, this time for sharklord. There is but one rune left to make to complete the company's symbols. The rune of the captain.

Gunriana switches the flint to her left hand, and calls to mind the image of Mary Drake. Jormungandur will hear that name. Mare, in the ancient language of the South, signifies the sea, and Drakkar, in the tongue of Gunriana's people, is the dragon, the serpent-ship. The ocean's serpent will hear his own name in her's. Again, she touches the flint with blood and makes...

Tyr, the Warrior. Mary's rune. The sign of courage, of the one who stays true in the face of crippling loss. She cuts it above the others and bows her head in the darkness. She was right to pledge her word to such a chieftain.

The runes of inspiration and passion follow, Kaun, wild fire, Bjarken, the birch tree, and As, for the great powers, expand the pattern up and out, reaching out to her companions in the world above. And next, completing the pattern and drawing the power down, the runes of darkness...

Nauðr, the needful, for once not cut as part of the healer's art, but as the grim binder, the catching thread, the noose at the throat.

Ur, the ox, the iron-thewed beast, is next, to drag chains of lead around the designs of the enemy. And last of all, and strongest of all...

Þurs, the giant, the line from which the world serpent was born. Gunriana lets another drop of blood fall on the flint, and cuts the last rune with her left hand. The serpent's eyes are on her now. The sharklord will have felt the chill of fear in his icy heart. All the runes look down on her, and their power, which has always marked her path, fills the dense air of this place between worlds.

Gunriana throws her hands out to her sides and screams, a wild and savage call to her mothers to come to her aid.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana takes the flint in one hand and the first shark tooth in the other. Working quickly, she digs the edge of the flint twice into the wall, to make Nauðr, and sinks the tooth in where the lines join, the rune binding it to the earth. She repeats the action, again, and again, taking up a handful of teeth and finding a place for each of them in the chamber walls.

The line of teeth grows, extending around the spherical room until they form a widely spaced circle. She begins another line, intersecting the first, and when that ring of teeth is finished, makes a third, and a fourth. As the pattern grows, as each ring threads through each ring, the number of circles it is possible to trace multiplies over and over, every tooth linking to every other, every tooth forming part of dozens of ghostly mouths.

The Sharklord's power, sent out to enthrall a city is bound in tightening chains in this one place, with Gunriana at it's centre. She feels the bloody fury and cold malice of the Shark all around her, but she does not fear. She is the shaper here. She has set the bounds of his rage, and his bite cannot touch her.

“Come closer, child of the deep!” she commands. “You came freely to this city – now I draw your strength here, at my will, as it is written, as it is written in teeth and blood, in earth and water, in salt and in hate. Come Sharklord! Come and feast on your own ruin!”

The teeth gleam in the firelight. The enemy's attention is fixed on her, and, through the webs of magic woven between the sharks' teeth, Gunriana can feel him stir. There are yet tokens of his power undiscovered in Cimenster, and vast reserves of mage-craft in the dark places of the ocean, and she feels the city in her fingertips and the unsearchable deep beneath her feet as she calls him. His hate will draw him in – but he is old, and cunning, and she feels the air move as his mind circles her, probing for the snare.

She had expected this, and smiles. The shark has not been spawned that can resist what she will do next.

Slowly she tips the vial and lets a single drop of Jormungandur's blood fall into the sea water around her feet. All oceans meet. All the virtue of the nine seas is here – and from all places washed by water she calls the Shark to feast.

The smoke swirls with the sudden rush of raw strength, the water seems to boil, the smouldering coals shake as the fire gutters and is almost extinguished. Gunriana staggers, nearly falling, but the serpent's might holds her long enough for her to thrust a desperate hand at the Tyr rune above her, and keep her focus.

The fury around her is relentless – but she has stood the test. Now to close the trap...

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The great ebony ox emerged like smoke from the gate. Its silver muzzle gleamed like moonlight; its sinuous horns carried the warmth of cream and the bite of ivory; its eyes caught fire like dark diamonds. Its hoofs beat a deep drumbeat across the cobbles, rumbling in Frithwynne's feet.

"This is a king's ox! How has the Duke been hiding him?"

A dwarf had followed them from Ironfoot's. "Find Jetse and have him meet us at the harbor, at the end of the pier near the shrine where he met us before." The dwarf nodded and scrambled away.

Frithwynne reached a hand on the ox's side and began guiding it down the road. "Straight downhill to the harbor, and then left a ways to the pier; stay close but don't get behind him," she advised Dorainen.

The ox snorted. Frithwynne returned to her humming and molded her hand to the ox's warm hide, walking comfortably next to it.

...

Always taking the steepest way, they quickly found themselves at the harbor. Frithwynne placed a hand lightly on one horn to turn the ox's head left, and they curved around the harbor. When they reached the pier, she pressed with her hand, and the ox turned again.

At the end of the pier, the ox stopped, baffled. Whitecaps frothed and blew spume in their faces. Frithwynne inched in front of the ox and rested her hands on the horns, almost touching the silver muzzle with her nose.

"May Jetse come soon. I can keep our king's ox still for some time, but the restless water weakens the touch, and I don't know how long he'll hold here."

[ 13. November 2014, 00:45: Message edited by: Autenrieth Road ]

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

The storm was getting worst; the wind screaming through the nearby taunt lines was music from a hell. A rook watched the party from a nearby wall. On the wall was some graffiti that looked like a rabbit, but was probably meant to be a dwarf, wielding a large axe. Dawn should be soon though the sky would lighten only a tiny bit. No one else was visible down by the shore front.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

A form emerged from the shadows, something solid from the gloaming. The Keeper's face was barely discernible between the last flickers of evening twilight filtering in between the gathering clouds and the illumination of Gunriana's runes.

"A dark one. Good. We are ready?"

The dwarves had already made the trench, and the wizened loremaster Jetse had met in the temple was waiting.

"You are ready, Keeper? You remember the Rites?"

"Almost, Herren. The light still shines in the darkness. It has not been overcome."

"Always the memory of light with you men. Even a child of darkness like you holds it. Nevermind. The time draws near enough."

As the last blues of the evening sky faded into the gathering storm, Jetse drew his sword, then drove it into the soft ground.

"A light shines in the darkness, but the dark will not be overcome
Though it shines brighter, the shadows grow sharper
Light fades; darkness is eternal

Darkness, hide us from evil eyes
Darkness, shield us from prying minds
Darkness, protect us from gleaming blades

Darkness, source of what may be
Darkness, protector of all
Darkness, keeper of truth

We cling to you
We live in you
We ask from you"

Jetse drew Mary's scramasax from his belt; she thought it wise that he have the knife for the ritual. As he held it, he felt the magical energy coursing through its blade, drawn from Gunriana's work, the ritual he was conducting, and the world around him. Once again, he made a cut on his wounded stump, and rubbed the blood against his own blade. The runes on the sword glowed fiercely in the night.

"May the darkness take us
May the darkness hold us"

The rain came in fast on the wind, blocking Gunriana and her runes from view. The storm was more than naturally fierce; no doubt the dark magics on the beach were taking effect.

"May the darkness take back what we have borrowed
From the darkness we emerge
To the darkness we return"

The old loremaster croaked these last words, and placed Jetse's hand on the haft of his sword. The Keeper pulled it out of the now muddy ground, then, without hesitation, cut the throat of the restless bull in one stroke. The blood gushed over Jetse and the loremaster, onto the wet ground, and into the trench, mingling with the pouring rain.

"May the black earth take what is its own"

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

The walls of the chamber shake as they are lashed with the Sharklord’s rage. Thick smoke and the spray of water swirl up and around, hammering at the witch's body like fists, and stabbing like knives. A flurry of dirt and small stones falls from above as the earth is shaken loose, but the sharks’ teeth hold firm.

Gunriana sways wildly, and her mind reaches out to that night, twenty momentary years ago, when she stood on Kavetseki’s deck, fighting the storm. She had stood, her clothes drenched by the rain, with Aethelreda and Clawdine beside her, helpless against an unknown power. But she had stood! The storm could not break her. And that was as a mortal! Now that the serpent’s immortal blood flows through her she is unbreakable!

She feels the presence of Clawdine and Aethelreda with her again, and all the company of Kavetseki, as with the angry water pouring over her bare skin, she forms rune after rune to help her endure, and call, and bind.

“Bring your storms to me, Sharklord! Howl and rant and rage, but come! I call you! I defy you! Let loose your power!”

She is laughing as she challenges him. Every magic he puts forth, every incantation of his mages and minions, everything he has sent out from the deep to terrorise and control, she calls by the Worm’s blood, and holds by the power of the runes. At last she is sure that all his might is focussed on her, and closes the trap.

Taking the lengths of snakeskin, she applies the faintest smear of blood to each, and as she does, she makes the runes, Hagall, the cursing-rune, Kaun for frenzy and insatiable greed, Ur for the strength of iron, and Þurs, for the giantkin. Each piece of skin steams and writhes as the blood touches it, knitting together into a lengthening rope, pulsing with blood as Jormungandur’s coils draw in. She lashes the walls and the water with the snakeskin as with a whip, and the skin twists and stretches, taking in more and more of the Sharklord’s power. The teeth begin to fall from the walls – falling by the same will as hers who bound them there - and they are devoured before they reach the salt.

There is one drop of blood left in the vial, and Gunriana lets it touch her tongue – to revive her after the struggle with the storm, her eyes, to seek out the last remnants of the Sharklord’s power, and the snakeskin whip, to feed its hunger.

“The upper jaw scrapes the heavens, the lower scours the earth, and he would gape still wider, if there were room…” she mutters, and lets the World Serpent seek its prey. The snakeskin touches the water and the coils move out and around, finding and consuming the teeth still fixed to the wall, curling around Gunriana’s legs and body, almost a part of her, feeding her and drawing from her, caressing her with cold, dead scales. As the coils glide through the water it bubbles with caustic venom, making the stones hiss and steam, but Gunriana feels only the Serpent's embrace.

At last the water is silent. The room is now almost dark and the snakeskin hangs bloated and heavy in Gunriana’s hand. She kisses it tenderly and whispers her thanks, then, with regret, she dismisses the presence she had called.

“Return, Trickster’s son, to places still deeper than this, and await the doom of all the powers. We will meet again on that grim day, when there will be no peace in any of the nine worlds, but peace be with you until then.”.

She kisses the snakeskin once more, more passionately this time, as the coils move softly around her chest, arms and throat, then, with firm gentleness, prises the snakeskin from her mouth and neck, and calmly feeds one end to the fire. The light is almost gone, only a thin, struggling, pale flame survives in the centre of the wet coals, but the dry scales catch instantly with a crimson flare. Within seconds, the snakeskin is gone, and with it, the last of the light.

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

Loremaster Roundeye picked up Mary's knife, and opened the dead bull down the middle. The two acolytes who had been standing at the edge of the circle pulled the animal's ribs apart, exposing it to the rain and spray.

"Go, bloody soldier. Take it. Give it."

Jetse took his sword, and thrust it into the bull's heart. The blood spurted out; Jetse took his hand, dipped it in the heart's blood, then covered his forehead and cheeks with it.

"Styrke, Jetse!"

He took the head by the horn, then, buffeted by the storm, plowed into the waves. Even over the roar of the sea and the pouring rain, Gunriana's incantations could still be heard; for the third time, Jetse faced the storm to the sounds of a sea-witch. This time, at least, he wasn't fighting one.

The waves washed over his bloodied head, throwing off his sodden hat. Still he plunged on, even as something started to slither around his legs.

"Devilry. Tricks of the current. I DEFY YOU ALL!" Jetse yelled into the storm, lifting the severed head above his own. Waves broke over him, and yet he stood firm, a grim soldier in battered armor, resisting the forces of sea and sorcery.

As Gunriana's incantations reached a final crescendo, he hurled the head into the waves, instinctively using both arms. He felt the sharp ring of the magic in his limb as the head flew against the wind, a last flicker of light from the shore catching in its golden eyes, and saw it foam when it landed, consumed in the many flowing enchantments.

Suddenly, the wind stopped. Jetse stood in the sea, a few final waves rolling gently above his waist, brine and blood dripping from his hair. Exhausted, he waded back towards shore, picked up his soaked and muddy hat on the beach, and collapsed with his back against a rock next to Roundeye.

Take. Eat.

Jetse took the piece of raw meat gratefully. Tough, chewy; the heart, no doubt. His tongue tingled when he bit into it. Some of the night's magic had come to rest in the sacrifice. Useful.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

The room is thick with smoke, and the stench of ashes, blood and poison, but each breath that Gunriana takes seems thinner than the last. The exhilaration of the rite has not left her, but she is wasted with fatigue, and gasps for air that is no longer able to sustain life.

Most of the sea water has seeped into the floor and walls, and what is left is a thin and noxious sludge that clings to her bruised feet. She slumps against the earth wall, thinking of the runes and charms she might yet work, but knowing that she has no strength left to do more than she has already done.

She had told the others to open the chamber when she was on the point of death. That, surely, cannot be far away. Had the serpent’s blood sustained her for longer than she might otherwise have lived? Or had the rite drained her more quickly than the others might expect? She cannot tell, nor, with her heart still singing with the joy of her craft, does the question trouble her unduly.

She is lying on the floor now, without any real awareness of having fallen from her slouch against the curved wall. It is the sharp sting of the poisonous dregs against her broken skin that tells her that she has sunk to the base of the chamber. With effort, she lifts a hand to touch her thigh, where the pain is most intense. Her fingers come away slick with blood. Wherever the snakeskin caressed her it has torn her flesh, and the touch of venom burns in the cuts like fire.

Death cannot be far now. When it comes, as it is written, she will be ready. She has tasted the blood of the World Serpent. Even as its strength fades, she shudders with the unspeakable delight of such potency.

She moves her hand back and it bumps against one of the stone pillars. The vial must be just within her reach – was there any …? No, she remembered using the last of it. One drop, had she held it back, might save her now. She smiles at the thought. This was not a rite for which anything could be held back. That was why she had entered naked, all her possessions given away or left to be burned.

She closes her eyes, perhaps for the last time, and in her mind she is a little girl once more, learning the craft…

”But, Auntie, what if you don’t have any ravens’ blood…”

“Gunri, a shaper is never without resource. Find something. Use something. Is there anything, anything at all, that is not subject to what is written? No. The world is your weapon. There is always something you can use…”

With incredible effort she raises her body to sit up. The movement exposes fresh cuts to the poison, but the pain helps her to concentrate. Her fingers, probing in the dark, find the vial, unstoppered, and quite empty. And next to it, the heavy stone with which she broke the flint. There is always something she can use.

Gunriana lifts the stone and brings it down hard on the crystal. There is a sharp crack, and a second blow, then a third, breaks it in pieces. She screws the stone down, grinding the fragments into splinters. The last of Jormungandur’s blood is there, the thinnest film on the inside of the vial, and Gunriana sweeps the precious handful of shards into her palm.

She sinks back, with so little strength left that every movement feels like she is dragging a ship onto shore. Slowly she presses the crystal splinters to her wounds. Each piece is wickedly sharp, and they tear dozens of fresh cuts, but none of them is deep, and all have been touched by the World Serpent’s blood. “Blood-sister to the Serpent…” she murmurs with satisfaction, as her body draws fresh strength even as it bleeds.

She lays her head back, lost to everything but the fire in her veins. She no longer cares if it will be enough. She has done all she could, and the rite, the greatest rite of her life, has ended well.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen felt it. The ritual with the ox had fascinated him intellectually, and scared him somewhat, but nothing seemed to happen to the flow during it. But, as the head hit the waves, suddenly everything changed. It took him at least a minute to realize that the storm had abated, for the more truly substantial change was grand enough that that faded into insignificance.

There was something new flowing past him, beckoning him irresistibly, not compelling him, but so longingly inviting him. The flow was moving him to return to Gunriana. It was what they had decided anyway, but now that which is above and below nature bid it, invited him.

Obediently, he followed. He had no need of a guide, he knew he would be drawn.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The air shivered against Frithwynne's cheek. The call of a ewe lost, or a lamb born, or both.

"It's time. Come," she called to Jetse. Dorainen was already moving.

"We must open the wall; do you agree? We must all agree; Gunriana said so. Hurry, it's almost too late.

"Dwarves, call your mates. A feast with the ox. Cook it in salt water, to honor its sacrifice to the sea. Find use for all its parts; such a noble ox deserves to be fully used."

She ran after Dorainen, hoping Jetse would follow.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

The storm has suddenly stopped. The clouds part and the first rays of the low morning sun strike Cimenster with a new light. The wind drops to the lightest breeze, but great waves still crash into the harbour wall, as if there has been some vast disturbance of the sea.

[…]

In the alley-way near Ironfoot's house, a group of young toughs clustering around a sheltering archway, cast bored looks at the stranger who hired them. The robed man had led them through the streets with apparent confidence but with a speed that suggested a certain desperation. A few minutes ago he had stopped, and the thugs, having now grown bored of testing the edges of their blades and the weight of their clubs, were shifting impatiently. One of them approaches their patron.

“So what now, boss?”

“The power...”he groans, with deep anguish, “... the power is gone ...”

The stranger vomits suddenly and sinks to his knees. The thugs step away, and, when he shows no sign of recovering, begin to drift away. One of the more astute pokes the man roughly, and, getting no response, bends down and steals his purse. The remaning youths wander away, squabbling over the division of the spoils, leaving him alone.

[…]

A pack of selkies, watching the Barvik road and enjoying the heavy rain, shifts uneasily. One of the greediest has just split a long horse-bone for the marrow, and is fending off the demands of the younger ones with harsh barks. The largest of them looks across the land, and the pieces of bone and hide that remain from their last meal, and sees no reason to stay. Without words, and without dissent, the pack abandon their post and glide into the water, heading for the open sea.

[…]

A lord of the mer-folk swims back and forth outside the sea cave. His concubine emerges from the dark with news. The sudden affliction that had overtaken the wizard has run its course, and one of his most valuable bondsfolk is now dead. The lord's tail swishes in irritation. Even the most insensitive of his people had felt deep struggle with deep, and had been drawn to pools and shallows while the conflict raged. His wizard had clearly joined on the wrong side.

He watches the lithe shark moving through his people's caves, a constant watchful presence amongst them now. At first, the sharks had led them to war and plunder, and the lord's scales, and caves, and mer-maids carried the trinkets won in the fighting, but it did not, on reflection, seem a very adequate recompense for the two brothers and three sons he had seen die to the humans' spears. And lately, the beleaguered landsfolk had suffered in their city without even providing the sport and riches of open war.

Enough of this. His tail snaps, and with all his weight behind the three tines, he plunges his trident at the shark. The beast thrashes in anger, and throws the weapon to one side, but before it can bite, his squires have darted in, fending off the great maw with their own long harpoons. Blood floats out in a thin mist, as the shark dies.

The lord gives orders for the meat to be dressed, wondering to himself why he had not done that months ago.

[…]

In the cool rooms of the villa, Konrielen Poratis, Konrielen de Vanés as was, tenderly strokes her sleeping husband's arm. Bortacles had returned late, and woken her, and with the storm she had not been able to return to sleep. The storm, and her concern about what Bortacles had told her of the woman with the rune-marked hand. Gunriana. It had to be. She did not remember her lost cousin – in every generation the sea takes its tithe – but she knew the stories.

She walks to the window, covering her body with a silk nightdress. The storm is gone and it seems that the sky is smiling on Cimenster. The sea, though, visible from the tall window, is churning violently, and it seems to her eyes that the foam is flecked with blood. The derelict ships in the harbour sway wildly, though there is no wind. Konri knows, in her blood and bones, that her cousin is at work in this. Something has changed.

She makes her decision quickly. She is a Poratis now, but she was a de Vanés before that. She throws a gown over her nightdress and summons a servant to wake the Duke's chamberlain.

“Tell him that if he would please, His Grace, then today would be a good day to purchase property. The prices for dockland sites have been low for some time, I'm told. Wharf-space, warehouses, shipwrights' yards – and yes, I think the old ropewalks, that have been quiet for a year or more. Sound investments, all of them.”

She hesitates, wondering exactly what loyalty requires, then decides.

“And when you have delivered that message, break your fast, but take no more than half the hourglass about it, and run to my father's agent. Give him the same message. Leave out the part about the ropewalks – although if the price is higher than I expect, my father's house might well lend on such an investment. Understand?”

The servant leaves, and Konrielen returns to a warm bed, thinking of her lost cousin.

[…]

Beneath the earth, Gunriana dreams of serpents, as her life slowly fades.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

The flow was driving Dorainen. No, not driving, but drawing, almost dragging. He felt like its cargo, but he was very willing cargo. This was a feeling like nothing before. Not just all nature, but that which lay behind the natural wanted part of this magic. It would be too much to say the flow was jealous, that wasn't the feeling at all. It was more like it was ringing like a tuning fork, excited to exuberance by the magic that had been caught up in it.

For his part, Dorainen didn't notice how fast he was running, didn't notice the bewildered Cimenstrians he was running past, didn't notice the tree root in the path, and face-palmed into the mud. As he got up, his frustration at the delay quickly faded. Lying next to him was an unconscious man, covered in his own vomit. The hood of his cloak was no longer obscuring his face. He looked strangely familiar. There was an eddy in the flow right here. He couldn't tell what it meant.

A knot turned in his stomach. Was this who the flow was dragging him to heal? He look at his surroundings, he was only a few turns from Ironfoot's house, he knew it. He had been so sure that it was Gunriana he was being driven to heal. But, then he caught himself... had he only been so sure of that because it was what he wanted? What was stirring in his soul?

Instinctively, he started chanting:

Yininach'b meShah...

It was faint, but it reechoed. The flow caught the ah of its own name and it boomeranged, veering towards the man quickly spinning, and drawing him to Ironfoot's.

As Dorainen had stood there chanting, some of the others had caught up with him. He recognized the dwarves and cursed that he couldn't remember their names. "I need to get to the Lady Gunriana," he said. "But, keep an eye on that man. I may be back for him."

He continued, more soberly now. On entering the house, all eyes were on him. "It is time. Grant me access to the witch's cell."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Inside Mary sat braiding a shank of hair. By her chair lay several shovels and pick axes and elsewhere in the room dwarves and men occupied themselves with preparing weapons. Except for Gunni who was writing in a book with a tri-colored cat (copper-red, silver-white, and golden-yellow) trying to interfere.

Mary looked at Dorainen, "The storm has died down which bodes well but it may only be the eye. Even so I say it is time. You feel it is time. Does Jetse? Did he feed the serpent? And most potent what does Frithwynne say. Gunriana appointed her judge in this matter."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"It's time. The ox has been sacrificed. And I felt the time turn. Where is Jetse? We need his voice, to say yes. Then we dig, as fast as we can."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

"Dig."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Mary reached for the shovels, to hand them out, but Frithwynne touched her arm, to stop her.

"No, hands only. The Lady Gunriana was strong when she went in, and so she could be sealed in with tools. But now she must be weak, and who knows what bond she has formed with the earth. Hands only. But fast. And someone, bring a torch."

Frithwynne set to, digging into the wall with bare hands. Others joined her. She thought for a moment that maybe only survivors of the ship should be digging, but then realized that they were all bound as comrades now, all equally bonded to Gunriana by whatever magic the witch had worked.

The earth was of a strange consistency, as if soaked by water, or by blood. Sometimes the digging proceeded by scrapes only, and then a great hunk would be dislodged, and squash its way to the floor. Frithwynne suddenly fell forwards. Her hand had punched through into open space.

"Here! We're almost there!" She extracted herself and let others carry on enlarging the crack. Soon it was wide enough for a slim elf. Not tall enough, but -- "Dorainen, can you duck through? Do you need the torch? We'll keep widening, so you can bring her back.

"Ah, more fool me! I forgot making ready: Do you have what you need? Can we prepare anything here to receive you and her?"

The air coming from the hole had an odd tang to it, like a difficult birth where one wasn't quite sure if one smelled health or illness in the delivery.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Life needed to be taken to this place of death. Dorainen took up an armful of Clawdine's mushrooms and crouched down to enter. Mushrooms found a will to live in the midst of earth and darkness. They'd cooperate.

As he entered, before his eyes adjusted to the lack of light he felt why he had been drawn here: it was a vacuum. He had expected a turbulent, hard to control flow, stirred into a frenzy by this powerful magic, but that was wrong, he realized. This was a place of death, and death was still.

Mi' miy'afr umuqay akudoy

He chanted instinctively: "will the shadows flow to buoy you?" It was the chantless chant, a flat monotone by which an elf recognized the lack of anything to connect with. But, it was never quite true. They say nature has no true vacuums, and that which is above and below nature does not either.

As he chanted, he noticed Gunriana for the first time: the burns, the palor, the blood. His chant had no motion, but somehow the blood seemed to shudder at it. Blood knew its importance for life. Blood was proud, too proud to flow like water, seemed to rejoice when it exited its captivity and showed forth its captor's demise. But, this blood shuddered. This blood knew something of the magic it had supported. This blood had at least grudging respect for the body that had constituted its whole world.

Dorainen tried to pick up a fitting chant, one that flowed bloodily. It was the only hope.

Yim'd aketocka' miyqe`ozt

"Your sister's blood is crying," he repeated and repeated, and it became truer and truer. The blood trembled, it trembled with shame, and it started to weep. Dorainen laid his hands on the witch, whose body was quaking with the weeping. Briefly, he lifted up his hands and tasted what they were coated in: salty tears were drenching his hands! Every wound on her body was weeping. He could barely look as the drip drop flow took on a life of its own, (no! a life of Gunriana's own), but he thought he could even see eyes gazing from each abrazion.

His chanting changed, it was caught up in what was happening, it took on the staccato of a rain storm of tears, the heavens were drip-dropping life into this place of death. Nature and what lay beyond was meeting and weeping watered the desert. In Dorainen's soul's eye, he now saw himself and Gunriana back on that beach, less than a week ago, the first time he had healed her. Or was it the first time? What had happened over those twenty years? Had he healed her daily?

Just then, there was a crash, a wave he thought, but no: they earth was caving in around them, not earth but mud. The reverie was over, he looked down, trying to see humane signs of life. The witch spat at him. He smiled, stopped his chanting and carried her through the tunnel, up to the house.

The dwarves and their companions were amazed. She had no scars. They were both saturated and smelled of salt.

"Get her robes!" he cried. "And something to drink, she's terribly dehydrated. She will live, but she's weak, and I fear she will awake to much sadness. Let her weep. It will heal."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana is only dimly aware of the sudden rush of light and air as her spirit, on the brink of final departure, is hurled back to the world. What is feels most is pain, nagging pain, biting pain, stabbing pain, pain that seems to wrap around the chest and makes every breath agony, paralysing pain that punishes every slight movement with waves of nausea.

She has always tried to train herself to endure pain. To endure discomfort without cowardice or complaint is something her family has always taught as a point of pride. But alongside the pain there she feels also a shattering fatigue, and she has no strength left for pride or endurance. Her shoulders shake as she sucks the air desperately into dry lungs, and can only let it out again in great choking sobs.

She cries because she can do nothing else. She cries because of the sheer unfairness of being attacked with pain while the tiredness robs her of the power to resist. She cries for the shame of being found so helpless and vulnerable. She cries because the act of crying is hurting her, and she cries because if she stops crying it will hurt more.

And, somewhere deep inside her, she cries because the serpent's blood is in her, and because she has given up some part of her soul to it, because there is now a part of her which is made of darkness and poison, and the mark is on her tongue, and the power of it lurks behind her teeth ready to bend wills and break hearts and end lives.

She cries, because there is part of her that is still human, and that part is afraid.

[ 18. November 2014, 20:14: Message edited by: Eliab ]

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana comes to her senses some time later, lying awkwardly on one of the dwarf's bunks. She shifts uneasily in her borrowed clothes, and cautiously extends her arm. The elf had said there were no scars. He was wrong. His healing touch had left her skin unmarked, but she could still feel the smooth lines on her tongue. The serpent's blood has scarred her more deeply than Dorainen could have guessed.

After the deep ache in her bones has lessened a little she seeks out Frithwynne to confide in her.

"Jormungandur is, not just dark, Frithwynne. He is evil. Born of the spite of gods and the schemes of giants. He is the destroyer. On the last day, he will be against life and light and hope. He is poison and hate..."

she pauses, breathing deeply to keep from crying again.

"...and I let him inside me. His blood is my blood now. I can taste his malice on my tongue, and his rune is there. And there's power in that - you know how you have the gift of speaking to beasts, it is like that, but to command the will of men and women. The serpent is watching my words, to give them force, and if I let that happen I draw closer to him. And I know I will. Who would be able to resist it? I will see the need for it, or the good I could do by it, and I will speak those words with his horrible strength, and draw his coils around me...

...it might have been better if you had been an hour later and taken out my corpse. I knew there would be a price, Frithwynne, and I thought I could pay it. What if I was wrong?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne wondered how to find words to reach Gunriana.

"And your Fates, Lady? Did they write this?

"If they have, then what is there of concern? We will play our fated part, whether to success or ruin.

"And if they haven't written this path? You chose to cast the runes to free the city, at great danger to yourself. You gave it to me to know when to bring you out.

"Those choices were meant for good; we can only hold to that, no matter what comes next.

"I don't know about the world serpent, but I know that men can be quite evil enough without the help of any magical serpent's blood.

"When we came into the city, Mary and I went to the Guildmaster's Hall and although things were quite changed to a cold meanness, she told me that the old Guildmaster had been generous and open in hearing disputes and welcoming traders. Hold to that when the serpent's blood tempts you. Not to a generosity that thinks to wield power by having men beholden to you for riches, but to a generosity given just for the sake of kindness.

"Wait here."

Frithwynne went and got the golden ship.

"See, it's the ship that we sailed on. That must mean something, that we have Mary's ship again, even though it is damaged. And -- look --" Frithwynne peered closer. "The serpent was etched around it, but the etching seems faded now. Barely there. I think you have broken some power, by taking it inside yourself. The serpent may change you, giving you the power to command men the way I can command animals. But I think you will also change it."

Frithwynne fell silent. A guilt twisted at her heart; she hated to face it, but felt it contained something that might help Gunriana.

"I called the ox that we sacrificed. It was a noble ox, a king's ox, more beautiful than any I have ever seen. I used my chalice to give me power, and calling it was easier than brushing aside a spiderweb. It came docilely, like a calf, and followed me all the way to the waterside.

"And I gave it to Jetse to kill.

"Perhaps that was no different than what awaited it anyway, where it would have been slaughtered for the Duke's plate. Perhaps our need for its head was greater than its need for its life. I can't think I would choose any differently. But I am not entirely at peace, either.

"So when you find a need to command men's will, there may be guilt and some broken part of it. But if you hold to the Guildmaster's generosity, I think you will know when it is right to use your command anyway."

Frithwynne sat silent for awhile more. Her mind turned to practical matters.

"These borrowed dwarfs' clothes are honestly woven. But I think you should have something more soothing against your skin. Take my silk shift from my pack, that came from the stores wagon by gift, and wear that underneath the other clothes. I think it will fit you, although it will be rather too short."

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana changes her clothes as suggested, grateful both for the help and for the distraction from her thoughts. Frithwynne had spoken of freeing the city, of generosity, and of kindness. But while it was true that she had thought, briefly, of Cimenster as she had prepared the rite, she had taken the risk because a de Vanés has a duty to seek revenge for dead companions, and because she had longed to feel the World Serpent's power.

She touches the model of the ship, stroking the long line of the hull. There were very few of the company left. That made it all the more necessary to finish the voyage. Gunriana might not have Frithwynne's generosity and kindness, but they would stand together.

“Thank you...” she whispers, and throws her arms around her friend, holding her tightly. She feels the warmth of Frithwynne’s body through the thin silk and shudders. What her skin yearns for is the dry, silent brush of cold scales.

Gunriana breaks off the embrace. Would the day come when kindness meant nothing and only the Serpent could sway her heart?

“Frithwynne, please give me your hand. Place it here.”

Gunriana raises Frithwynne's hand so that the fingertips delicately brush her neck. She presses them into the soft flesh below the jaw.

“You do not know how evil he is, my sister. If he prevails, and if I am lost, as I fear I will be, then it is in your hands to stop me from doing his work...

...here – this place here under the chin. The blade should be broad and sharp, but need not be over long. Drive it up, to sever the tongue at the root. When the time comes, do it with no warning, no farewells, and certainly no last words. The tongue first. After that, cut my throat at your leisure, but strike at the tongue first. I trust you to know when he has enough of a hold on me, and to do what must be done. Do you understand?”

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

A young out of breath young man entered the room and spoke to Boetius. Boetius rose and addressed the room, "It seems Mistress Yaris is vastly upset over the thieves who broke into her house last night and stole a gold ship; she has posted a 500 guilder reward for them and for that which they stole."

He paused then continued, "She has also had the bodies of those who were found dead in her house impaled on the stakes at the causeway gate."

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

"500 guilders... that's a pretty price set upon our head! Interesting she mentioned the ship, but not the contents of her chest. May I see it?"

Taking hold of the ship, Dorainen felt oddly emboldened. This object had some power, that was clear. "Would that we had never sailed on the Kavetseki!" he cried. "Then our companions wouldn't be impaled on spikes right now!"

At his cry, the room had gone quiet. What he had said reverberated to him and he shared the shock. Giving the ship back to Frithwynne, he sat down.

"None of us have heard that word in twenty years, have we? K..." as he tongue approached his velum, his throat suddenly contracted. His hand instinctively went to his knife, but his mind knew there was no assailant, the curse remained. As soon as his mind stopped trying to form that word, the feeling passed.

"People must know the truth. We must be able to tell our story. It's the ship, I know it.

"We must tell our story at the petitioners' hearing. As much as I want revenge, as much as I want favor in the eyes of the Cimenstrians, and comfortable life among them, all this only has value if it's a consequence of being able to speak the truth freely.

"Boetius, how can we get on the docket? Could the Duke raise the matter of his lost ox and call us as witnesses?"

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

"Our friends are beyond Yaris's power to hurt them. We made sure of that. The abuse of their bodies is more than spite - it is a deliberate attempt to provoke us. To draw us our to kill or be killed."

Gunriana's eyes blaze with anger.

"So let us give her what she asks. She should know better than to provoke the Serpent's hate. Any door into the guild hall is as good as another. Poratis may petition for whatever he chooses, we can petition for Cimenster to honour our dead, whatever it takes to win a hearing. Then we confront Yaris and destroy her."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Boetius considered the words. "Any can petition, noble, guild master, freeman, servant, or visitor, though few are heard in these days when the time allowed for petitioning is short unless they have the favor of the doorkeeper who decides the order of petitioners. Janu loves his power whether gold or the favor of those with greater power. I can try to do what I can but Janu knows my guild is little regarded by those on the mount."

Mary Drake looked at the ship, "And to be seen carrying the ship openly would allow Yaris to strike immediately before we have a chance to petition. What heed would be given to thieves and thieves we are even if in a good cause?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Can we carry the ship in your bag of holding?" asked Frithwynne.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Good idea," said Mary, and slipped the ship into the bag. The bag remained flat as the ship vanished into it.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

"Then we can make our way to the Guilds without appearing to be thieves. And, truly, captain, that is one thing we are not. We broke the wards to our enemy's house by force, left our runes on the stone, and slew the guardian of her secrets. This is open war.

I would be surprised if the Duke's petition is not heard, if we can persuade him to bring it. If not, I imagine that Jetse can deal with this doorkeeper."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Ironfoot, a word with you, please. Can you lay Mistress Clawdine to rest again in the tunnel? We'll join you there for whoever has words to say."

Ironfoot nodded to a few dwarves, and they headed down to the cellar.

"Healing words, even in death, for Clawdine," Frithwynne invited the group, and followed the dwarves.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary rose and went to Clawdine's body and laid upon it a narrow bracelet of braided hair, "Clawdine, I'm sad that you are not here but this I made from King's tail hair for memory's sake".

She turned to Frithwynne and handed her another bracelet of braided hair. "Here, I made one for each of us while I waited this past day and night." She then gave bracelets to Gunriana, Jetse, and Dorainen. "Keep these for the sake of those here and those no longer here. I have one more which I made for Er."

Posted by Ariston (# 10894) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Eliab:
"I would be surprised if the Duke's petition is not heard, if we can persuade him to bring it. If not, I imagine that Jetse can deal with this doorkeeper."

"And all others who oppose us.

"The people are with us. They will stay with us. Yaris promises gold. What will it buy? With her, nothing. Put it in your grave. We promise more. Food. Freedom. Life.

"Our proofs of Yaris' treachery will condemn us. True. But her first. We must bend the mob to us. Her head on the gates. Not ours."

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

A small earthquake causes the group to shake slightly

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

"Jormungandur, my brother, stirs. Time to end the game - while he is still restless, before he is fully awake.

I will go to Bortacles and induce the Duke to bring his petition today. If all goes well, I will return here, but if I am delayed for any reason, I will meet you at the guild hall. My mothers will watch over you until we meet again."

Gunriana smiles as she leaves. Her words of farewell are not necessarily a blessing, but what is written is written, and what matters now is to see this war through to the end.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana makes her way through the streets as Cimenster begins to awake. There are militiamen and liveried thugs on the streets, most of them bored, but some who appear dangerously alert. The word has gone out to watch the streets, but as Gunriana hurries past a group of guardsmen scuffling with a growing mob of bully-boy apprentices, the authorities clearly do not know exactly who they are watching for.

The poorer areas present little challenge. There are enough drunks, vagrants and known malcontents that the guild officers scarcely note one shabbily dressed woman going about her business, but as Gunriana approaches the Poratis villa, and the people on the streets grow more respectable, she feels increasingly conspicuous.

Stooping down she prises up a loose cobble-stone and wraps the comforting weight in a fold of her sleeve. If she is seen, the thieves' flail could crack a skull, if she can take her victim by surprise, but it would be better not to be seen.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

The villa is just ahead. Opposite is a smaller town-house, abandoned months before when the owner could no longer afford the upkeep, with a small porter's shelter at the front. Gunriana staps carefully over the broken door, careful not to disturb the sleeping drunk, and watches the guards outside.

Two of them. Both young. The experienced soldiers must be out on the streets. Gunriana pauses. Approaching them openly may get her taken to Bortacles, but if they lack the confidence to question orders, might just as easily result in an hour or two under guard which she can ill afford.

A wagon creaks up the road, delivering fresh laundry to the household. The guards begin what must surely be an unusually thorough search, and Gunriana decides that no better chance is likely to present itself. She steps cautiously into the street.

“Stop! Hold where you are in the Duke's name!”

Gunsrians freezes, ready to bluff or fight, but as she turns one of the guards is running away from her, up the road, where a cloaked woman spins towards the guardsman, and flicks back her cape to show the hilt of a sabre. The second guard moves quickly to support his companion.

“State your name and business, woman.”

“Guild business. You'd be a smart boy not to interfere.”

“The villa was robbed last night. We have orders from Duke Poratis to question all suspicious characters. And detain them at our discretion, madam. Do not cross us. What's your business?”

“Poratis wasn't the only one robbed last night. My mistress has the same thought as your master – there may be thieves watching this villa, and you, fool, are hindering me in keeping your walls safe. Get back to your doorkeeping.”

“If you have a guild warrant show it, or give up your blade and come with us.”

“It''d take more of a man than you, boy, to take Aliara Vas's blade, but I'll humour you...”

The woman steps back as she offers a sheaf of papers, keeping her sword-hand clear for action. Gunriana steps up to one of the washerwomen.

“Is this normal?”

“Not likely. But these are strange times. Like last night – big storm, which blew itself out, but at dawn the sea was heaving like there were a tempest, and never a gust of wind. Everyone's restless, I reckon”

The older washerwoman turns back from the doorway, laden with washing. “Get a move on, Klarfa! 'Fore those pawing pervs come back.”

Klarfa shrugs, and picks up her burden. Gunriana takes the last bundle and follows her through the door.

Inside, the women see the linens delivered, and collect backets of soiled garments. Gunriana passes the basket she has been given to Klarfa.

“This is where I leave you, sister. I have business here.”

Klarfa hesitates. “You shouldn't be here, should you? I should … “

“You should raise the alarm. Yes, you probably should. But you see, either I'm quite innocent, in which case, you need not, or I'm very dangerous indeed, in which case ...”

Gunriana lets the cobblestone in her sleeve fall, and it hits the floor with a hollow crash. Klarfa jerks sharply, and the witch laughs.

“Be at peace, sister. I am dangerous, but my purpose here is quite innocent.” She spins around and walks confidntly from the servants' quarters, looking for someone who can direct her to Bortacles.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

A few minutes later, Gunriana stands in the villa's hall, facing her slightly surprised former betrothed. She gratefully accepts a cup of mixed wine from the Duke's steward, though as she gulps it down she cannot help but notice how weak the taste is compared to the memory of the fire entering her veins. Her ragged appearance, from her hair in short clumps down to the borrowed boots that hang loosely on her feet, is glaring out of place in the ducal villa, but she seems not to notice.

“The spell is breaking. Bortacles. The deep was stirred last night, and the foe beneath the waves is bound and broken. The ships of Cimenster could sail on the next tide after they are repaired, and face no more than the usual perils of the sea. This we have done already. With your aid. The enemy within the walls was distracted, and we won the first victory, though good friends died to do it.

But now I need your aid again, to free your father, your house, your city, from one who would bleed you a man bleeds a pig for puddings. Last night, your father's stud bull was taken from its stall, and slaughtered. I'm told it was a rare beast, and valuable. He is, I do not doubt, angered by the theft, and will want an explanation of why it was taken. If he brings a petition to the guild council today, as a public petitioner, he will get one – and with it, honour to your house, a story to tell your sons and your sons' sons of the part the House of Poratis played in the liberation of this city, and the wealth that the tides of years will bring to your harbour.

Bring the petition, and publish the fact as widely as you can. Many will come to hear – some hoping to have their support for your father taken note of, others in anticipation of seeing a great man caught in folly. That matters not. What matters is that the eyes of the city are present to see, and the ears of the masses to hear, when the story is told. Crowd the hall with friends, or with enemies – with the interested and the curious, with the bored and the malevolent – but crowd the hall. History is made today, and we cannot have too many witnesses.

And a last thing – I do not know how many of the guild militia are accustomed to be present on petition days, but I would think it a thankless, and a somewhat dry, task. If your father is accompanies by his household guards, as I am sure he will be, it would be a kindness to invite the militia officers to let your men take the burden of keeping order, and to allow the worthy militiamen to take some refreshment – the cost of which would be as sound an investment as your house ever made. All I ask of your men, once they secure the hall, is that they give time for all witnesses to speak, and all evidence to be considered, before force is used. Once you have the story, act at your discretion. I ask no more than that.”

Gunriana plants a chaste, sisterly kiss on Bortacles' cheek, and feels the serpent's blood warm her as she prepares for the final confrontation. She looks around at the opulence that she had once thought would be her future lost to her through the chance that caught her up in Kavetseki's curse. She thinks of the ruin and despair that she has brought and yet hopes to bring to her enemies as a consequence, and the joy of that power thrills her once more. What is written is written, but had she been given the choice, there is no question which fate she would have chosen.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen was pacing nervously. He was worried for the witch. But, he had to trust her, or at least, trust those eyes he'd seen gazing back at him from her wounds to keep her safe. The more pressing need was to get to the guildhall without being caught as thieves. But how to do that? They had little chance of all being lucky. Strangers in a strange city, they'd give themselves away as new and hence suspicious. Everyone would know the thieves were among their number!

Just then, a plot began to hatch in his mind. Calling the others round, he explained. "Who's the only thief that no-one would ever try to arrest?"

Blank looks.

"One who's already been arrested of course!

"Wherever I go as an elf, people assume I'm a guard for someone or another. I've never been asked, 'are you a guard?' only 'why are you not in uniform?'

"If you come to the guildhall as my prisoners, arrested on Poratis' orders, I don't see anyone trying to stop us. The only difficulty might be some of the Duke's own men asking me for my bone fides. If pushed, I'll have to say that Bortacles himself retained me and gave me this order. If we get brought to him, he'll recognize us and we should get brought to under his charge. Either way, we'll get there.

"Who's in?"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne slips the horsehair bracelet on her wrist. It itches, a reminder not to forget the sacrifices of all those who died to get the group this far.

There are still some dwarves moving through the cellar, but no-one paying attention to her. A bucket of water stands in the corner. In the dim light coming down the stairs Frithwynne can't tell how clean it is, but it's better than no water. She strips off her clothes and uses her dampened shift to sponge herself off. She wrings the shift out and pulls it on again. Cold, but it will dry against her skin, if it doesn't freeze her first. She brushes off her kirtle as best she can. Its original clarion blue has been grimed to storm blue, which she can't fix, but she can at least free it of the most obvious chunks of mud. She laces it up, fingercombs her hair, and pushes some dents out of Jack's tricorn hat.

Upstairs in the dining hall, the dwarves tell her that Gunriana has gone out. Frithwynne pulls the gift book from her pack and opens it, leafing loosely through it, to try to see what's in it. Leaves and vines curl around the lettering, occasional pictures of things she doesn't understand appear, most in ink, but some touched with gold and one having a deep watercolor wash over it, in colors that make her heart hurt.

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

After a while Dorainen starts hatching a plan. Frithwynne tries to concentrate. Pose as prisoners? It hurts her heart, in a different way from the watercolor.

"Why as prisoners? Why can't we go openly as ourselves?"

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

"Because I fear we will then be arrested and languish in some gaol while the petitioners' hearing occurs. Gunriana has risked much to ensure a large audience for this truth-telling. We need to get you there, you and that ship."

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

"Me? I'm hardly important. But the ship, yes. All right, I'm in. Wait a bit, I have to get something."

Frithwynne has remembered that she has one horrible, but important, responsibility. She doesn't know how she'll find the resolve to do it, and hopes that it will never become necessary, but she needs to be prepared.

She finds Ironfoot again.

"Could I trade you this knife for one with a wider blade? It need not be any longer, but about yea wide." She shows with her fingers what she needs.

"Eh, that's a wee bitty knife you have. I'm not sure what a dwarf might use it for. But I'll trade you; there's something strange that you're here for, but better than worse, I think."

The knives swapped, Frithwynne returns to the dining hall and tucks her new wide blade in her kirtle top. Prisoners wouldn't be left carrying a knife openly, but if Dorianen's plan works, any guards they meet will likely assume that the prisoners have already been searched.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary listened to Dorainen's plan. "Sounds good but you'll need a badge to mark you as one of the Duke's people or at least something that looks like his badge at a distance."

Gunni from the side piped up, "Blue and white, the same colors as my shawl. Give me a few minutes and I shall make something up." She pulled her waist bag open and pulled out a pair of scissors, a needle and some thread and started cutting up her shawl.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary had spent some time talking to the guilders and to the the dwarves while Gunni worked on making the badge or to be exact two badges since it was likely better for Jetse to pass as a guard than a prisoner. Just as Gunni finished two journeymen returned carrying a large hamper. Mary opened it and pulled out a clean white apron and a bonnet, "These should make me respectable for the petitioning. Frithwynne, look and see if there is something that fits you. They've also brought hair brush and comb so I can do your hair and you mine and a clothes brush to get the dirt off." She looked at Dorainen and Jetse when she said the last.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

It was only then that Dorainen looked down at himself and noticed all of the dust. So dry. So un-watery! He gratefully brushed it off, and felt more himself. Jetse demurred. He looked like he'd been through the wars, which, Dorainen supposed, actually made some sense on more levels than one.

He and Jetse attached the Duke's colors to themselves and helped the 'prisoners' to put on light arm restraints. He had Jetse, who had a much better sense of direction, lead them along the streets, while he took the rear.

Everything was still dripping from the storm. More poorly made buildings had suffered quite serious damage. Most people looked in curiosity at the band, but often looked away once they saw the elf.

The journey was messy, but was going reasonably smoothly. As they turned what Dorainen was sure was one of the last corners, past the market place where the traders conducted the legal facade of their businesses, a small wild-eyed boy ran towards them from the left, seemingly oblivious to the context. In the pup's hand was a loaf of bread. They would all have been fine if Dorainen hadn't slowed to get a better look at him. Their trajectories weren't meant to hit, but, though the boy swerved, he still tripped over the elf's leg and face-planted into the mud.

"He looked so like Foret," Dorainen whispered to Mary.

"He's a thief," she whispered back. "Who was he running from is the question now."

It wasn't a question that waited long to be answered. A genuine duke's guard huffed and puffed as he arrived on the scene. He looked down at the boy and then up at Dorainen. The boy wasn't moving, maybe he'd broken an ankle?

"Thank you for you assistance... sir, in capturing this dangerous criminal."

Dorainen was slightly puzzled by his deference, but then realized: this man didn't know his name and was embarrassed by it! He clearly couldn't tell elves apart by face and assumed they knew each other. This made him wonder, was the duke's company so small that he'd expect to know Jetse too? He thought it best to try to avoid that by bluster.

"Yes, well, somewhat disappointed to have to do your work for you. That's not how I remember your performance from when we've served together before." Let's try to milk this guilt for all it's worth.

"Well, sir, the pups can be quite fast. But, let me just cuff 'im, and we'll be on our way."

As he bent down to tie the poor boy's arms, the guard suddenly recoiled.

"May look easy pickings but we've got some bite!" cried the boy, almost giggling. Blast, even his voice was reminiscent of Foret's! Dorainen could hardly just leave him...

By now quite a crowd had gathered around, and the line got quite a laugh. This made it even more unlikely the guard would just leave with his prisoner and not stay to redeem his reputation.

"Well, I think I can leave you to it now, good soldier. I must get these prisoners to the guildhall."

"I'll come with you, they have jail cells there as good as the duke's, and this vermin seems to need as much guard as we can muster. Who are your charges anyway?"

"Oh, these were arrested on a personal warrant issued by the duke. I was especially instructed not to discuss the matter."

"Not talking... sounds like a good order," the guard said, as he planted his boot over the boy's mouth, bent down and tightly tied his once-flailing arms.

"There, what do you think of that binding, sir? No getting out of that, and no comfort while he's in it! That'll show him for his disrespect!"

Dorainen saw no way to do anything about this without breaking cover. He kept repeating to himself that they had a higher calling here, as the guard roughly dragged the boy to his feet, one clearly was injured.

"Sir," he said. Dorainen turned to face him, trying not to show a tear. "Sir, would you permit me to repay you your favor to me? I couldn't help noticing the bindings on your prisoners are awful weak. I'd be happy to re-tie them."

"No, that won't be at all necessary. Please, just walk behind us if you must come. We have very important orders from the duke and we can't be delayed!" Dorainen was getting desperate now.

"Sir, it won't take a moment." He was walking up behind Frithwynne. "I think this one has loosened her bindings, sir. What's your name, my lovely?

"Don't answer that!" Dorainen barked. More calmly, he continued, "we must be on our way, good soldier."

It seemed that the 'good' soldier had only just noticed Jetse. Or, at least, only just noticed that he didn't know him.

"I don't think, I've had the pleasure. Briggs, sergeant-at-arms. You?"

Jetse remained stoically silent, so Dorainen tried to take over.

"You don't know him, Briggs? He's one of the duke's most trusted men, having served him well on many a foreign expedition. Come here."

Briggs approached, and Dorainen whispered: "the last one was very hush hush; I think you know what that would be about," he said conspiratorily. "If you must come with, follow, and don't delay our mission if you value your honor in the eyes of the duke."

"Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"If it's brief!"

Briggs whispered: "There are dangerous travelers in this city now, sir, we were warned of it. I don't know what credentials this man has, but I want to know why someone on foreign detail is leading a party and leaving the elf at the back. Sir... better men than you and I have been taken recently. I think you're... I think you're being taken hostage by these people."

Dorainen could barely contain himself to a whisper: "Why I should have you flogged for your insolence! I should..."

Briggs interrupted. He seemed, most inconveniently, to have found the rare dose of courage that men who think the defining moment of their lives is upon them summon from somewhere. "Sir, I will pay for it if I am wrong, but for the love of the duke's name, let me lead this party to the guildhall."

Dorainen thought for a moment. This wasn't an entirely bad arrangement.

"Have it your way, but leave your prisoner here, he'll only slow us down."

Briggs nodded, but didn't untie him, Dorainen noticed. He could only hope some of the crowd would have pity on the pup.

As he had thought, it was only a short distance now to the guildhall. They were there, at the door. It was a grand building, a wonder to behold in a city so crumbling. The crowd was a strange mix, longterm poor and only recently poor was the main mix, but there were more than a few functionaries, scribes he guessed, but Mary would know better, decked out for the occasion. He scanned the crowd to see if he could see Gunriana.

Posted by Doublethink. (# 1984) on :

Briggs shouldered through the mute and sullen crowd at the door and hammered for admittance.

The doorkeeper made no trouble and as they entered the main corridor Bortacles strode toward them - he took in the situation at a glance - "thank you Briggs, you may go". Reluctant, consumed by curiosity, Briggs turned and walked back toward the outer door.

Bortacles drew the small party off into a side chamber, once out of general view, the party shed their badges and bindings. Just at that moment Gunriana entered.

Posted by Adam. (# 4991) on :

Dorainen looked around his companions. Gunriana had been right, it was written that they would be here, that they would be the ones to confront Yaris on behalf of the whole crew of that ill-fated ship. Part of him wanted to sit and plot and scheme, but that part could barely whisper when his elven blood was shouting, screeching at him, to act. He looked at Gunriana and in his mind's eye saw those eyes flashing at him from beneath her scars again.

He walked up to the doors. There was still half an instinct to have Frithwynne listen at them, but he swept that aside. He thought about asking Jetse to break them down, but that was probably overkill. There was enough rationality left in him to just try the handle first.

The door opened to simple room. Everything in it was put together with great care but it entirely lacked ostentation. Yaris was shorter than he'd imagined. Wrinkled, her hair was greying. She sighed as the party filed in, but she didn't display the shock he might have expected. It was almost as if she had always known this was coming. He felt as if he almost detected relief that they had at last come.

Her stillness only unsettled him further. It ended up being Yaris who broken what felt like days of silence: "Speak, then."

"You know who we are. You know we have vanquished your lover, your snake and robbed you of... this ship."

Frithwynne produced the ship and Dorainen took it and held it aloft.

"You know there is more coming, that we shall never cease to we have taken all your power from you, we the crew of the Kavetseki. The only power you have left is to make our victory less painful for you. So, no, I shall speak no longer. Dorainen has spoken all the words you merit to hear from him. You speak, Yaris, you. Just tell us why."

The silence grew to a deafening crescendo. Yaris was looking back and forth at each member of the crew, eyeing them up and down. Was she admiring her handiwork? Waiting for them to speak? This silence was her last weapon to use against them, but Dorainen knew she had not the strength to wield it long.

Posted by Net Spinster (# 16058) on :

Mary stepped up beside Dorainen and looked sadly at Yaris but did not break the silence yet.

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :

Gunriana makes a shallow bow to her adversary as she takes her place beside the others.

"I do not know by what arts you obtained the Great One's blood, my enemy, but it was and is and has always been written that it would come to me..."

she shapes Ar slowly, unthreateningly, as she advances, the rune of plenty and of good endings, calling her mothers attention to this hall. But the snake's mind within her weaves the double meaning – may the rune of time give the time needed to work this poison on her.

"...it would have been poison to you. Even I, fated to be his blood-sister, struggle to keep his might and his hate coiled tight within me. I would know the truth before I let loose the venom that slays gods, for you are mortal, and you will not match the Thunderer's last nine steps before death overtakes you."

A shudder passes through Gunriana's body as she speaks, coming up from her feet to shake her head so that her teeth clatter. She gasps and makes Nauðr, the Binder, to keep the Worm still. Again, beneath that meaning, the serpent is also binding his foe.

Steadying herself, she places a hand of the ship.

“Did you know that there was a shaper in Kavetseki's company? Was it by design or by fate that you stole those years from me? Yet as between us, I declare the debt paid – I am reborn of darkness and salt and fire, and what I have taken is greater than the years I lost.”

Smiling, she traces Bjarken, for new life, a symbol of her goodwill, and, for her dark nature, a blessing on her eloquence.

“But I lost more than years. I lost friends. And for their lives, there must be a reckoning. You cast us into the sea, placed us in the maw of the Shark, but when the sea has taken its tithe, and the Shark's hunger is sated, there is still the Serpent, an ancient malice that none can control but she who joins herself to it with heart and mind and flesh.

I am she. In me you face the Serpent, Jormungandur, before whom earth and sea will boil, and in his name and mine you will answer us.”

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

Frithwynne paused to braid her red ribbon into her hair. She wrapped the gold and garnet chain around her waist, with the ends hanging nearly to her feet. Then she followed the others into the great hall.

She shuddered to hear Gunriana speak of Jormungandur. But Gunriana seemed to be sane still, and speaking for the company, not yet drawn into the serpent's evil. Frithwynne touched her bodice where the small knife was hidden, but did not draw it.

She advanced to stand even with the others, on the other side of Dorainen from Gunriana, and placed a hand on the ship.

She intoned the list of those who had died.

"Answer us, Mistress Yaris!

"You have killed all these companions. Why?

"You have stolen from the Shark Lord. Why?

"You have smuggled diamonds and salt. Why?

"You have stored evil and death at the top of your tower. Why?

"You have held a city in destitution for twenty years. Why?

"You have ruled with the terror of arbitrary executions. Why?

"Answer us, Mistress Yaris!"

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :

The suspicious guard smacked himself on the forehead. He had been right to be suspicious! He sidled around the room until he reached the leader of the elf-archers, and tried to convey to her that if Yaris so much as crooked her finger, the archers should fill the strangers full of arrows. The elf-leader seemed to not be paying him any attention. She was instead staring at the fake elf-guard, murmuring "Could it be...?"

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