Whom the gods would destroy...

[Murometz]

"The bandits have been rounded up, ser knight", the Hooded One answered grimly, not taking to Kyrian's light-hearted tone. "Margrave Ashe has them all in detention, three hundred souls if a one, killers and rapists all. The Men-of-the-Wood, the hunters of Theubold's long trail. Detained in his bailey's cold, dank dungeon, soon to be hanged. The woods are cleared of evil-doers"

"Does this estate belong to you?" the man asked Kyrian before departing, "Do you wish to offer alms to thirteen penitent souls?"

The whole time their leader spoke, the dozen shirtless men continued to flog themsleves, oblivious to the conversation. A few drops of blood sprayed Adan's shirt as he neared the group.

[Wulfhere]

Puzzled by the sound of unexpected visitors, Vorodon shambled outside, only to be dumbfounded by the odd display of the approaching penitents.  Were they madmen?  Hill folk displaying such bizarre behavior would be locked into the smokehouse until hunger and thirst drove the destructive spirits from them.  Unnerved by the unfamiliar sight, the massive warrior dropped the polishing rag he had been using and clapped his battered helm onto his head.

Standing well back in case the strange folk turned hostile, the half-ogre examined them carefully.  "Who for be you feifle? Why to do harming you?  Is be firit attack: Friend have smokehut!" He gestured to the lodge's decrepit woodshed for emphasis.

[Siren no Orakio]

"Be at ease, friend Vorodon. They do this of guilt and sorrow, and not of the spirits." Stepping past Vorodon, Adan made his appearance outside at last, his expression half one of sorrow, and half one of the deep compassion of one who knows dearly the reasons that a man can be so driven.

The holy symbol of Trigu, speckled with flakes of tarnish, hung from Adan's chest, resting over a surcoat bearing the sun-and-sword of Hellschwert. "Good morrow, brother in Trigu. The Erzherzog is master of this estate, but, this penitent may speak for him at the moment. " For a moment, he looked over the battered group, and his eyes closed a moment, his face contorted in a strange expression, for there, but for the grace of Trigu, went he.

Fingering the holy symbol at his chest, he continued, "I fear that there is little we can grant to you at the moment, but we shall spare what we can. You shall at least be fed, though, I have a thing to ask of you in return. The hand of L'hruk is at play in the Feud, and in the name of our mighty Lord Trigu, I tell you, then, to aid in healing the wounds that he has inflicted. Take your alms, and go unto those injured, and those in need of shelter. Dress their wounds, and build for them shelter. Therein shall lie the light of Trigu, Who shows mercy to those who show mercy to others. The pain of healing, the weariness of building, and to see the shattered lives of those injured by ska shall be thy new penance. You shall hunger, but it shall be because you have given your bread to another, rather than thrown it from yourself. You shall suffer, but it shall be in the stead of another, rather than because you have scourged yourself. This shall soften your hearts, and allow Him to enter within. This, I ask of you in the name of Trigu." 

[Murometz]

“Lord-brother, you honor us to speak so—“, the hooded man said cocking his hooded head. At the mention of L’hruk, the man etched the symbol of Trigu in the air with his hand, and even the flagellants ceased their mortification.

“Just so, Lord-brother, just so. Demons walk your lands, the Von Hellens, possessed by these demons, siege your castles,” the man paused, casting an eye toward Kyrian, “The people look to Trigu, but He is yet to shine His light. Many suffer; it is true, for we are all drowned in sin, brother, and our skas never far behind us. Your shadow too is near I fear.”

“We can offer you what we can in return for your hospitality, and offer freely to do what you ask. It is heartening to know piety and devotion still exist here, and your words hold wisdom and truth. We will do as you ask”, he repeated for emphasis "But not at the expense of our penitence. Do not look in fright upon our bodies, the bodies are weak, our spirits, Lord-brotehr, are strong. Yet we will do what you ask, for your words hold wisdom and humble us."

“If you wish, Lord-brother, before we partake in your offerings, we can read from the Letter of the Angel together (a chapter in Trigu’s Book, which the flagellants focus their particular beliefs on), and then you can don the cuirasse of coals, Lord-brother, until such time as you deem you have endured enough suffering. I can see the pain in your face, Lord-brother. Sometimes it is better to inflict upon the body, that which plagues the mind.”

The twelve flagellants stared at Vorodon. The Hellschwerts were now allied with ogres. What would be next, they thought

[Siren no Orakio]

[blockquote]Charisma:  1d20 : 18, total 18[/blockquote]

"My days where I wield the whip upon myself are over, brother. The Lord has commanded me to heal these riven lands, and to deliver the guardians of his relic here from their plight. That devils will try to scourge my flesh as I do so is of no meaning to me, and when it is done, I shall know His peace." Still, he smiled then, letting his own confidence and peace wash over the penitants. "

"I will listen to your reading, brothers, and read as well, though I would offer that we should do so beneath the light of Trigu's sun. Death and darkness have visited this keep of late, and though our steel has vanquished it's fell servant, taint may remain within. Let me arrange for you to break your fast. "

Stepping away, then, to where Erund stared dumbstruck at the penetants, and towards the nervous Vorodon, his face once more level and calm, and soothing. "Friend Vorodon, these men seek to satisfy the guilt that wracks their mind with the pain of their bodies. It is our way to be kind to them, for they are harsh enough upon themselves. Will you and Erund go down to the storehouse, and bring up a barrel each of bread and cheese, to slake their hunger?" 

[Wulfhere]

The hill warrior gladly followed Erund through the lodge's cramped hallway to the storeroom, where awaited nothing stranger than aging cheese.  What hideous guilt tormented those men, driving them to punish themselves?  Clearly, this land's haunted forests held cruel and subtle spirits, the unseen ghosts of ancient foes.  A pang of homesickness struck the burly half-breed as he hefted a wax-sealed cheese.  Such uncanny things were not seen in Vorodon's native hills, where the dead were properly eaten before their spirits could rise to plague the living. 

The youth next led Vorodon to the brew room, where covered wooden casks held fresh, foamy ales and ciders.  He waited patiently while Erund ladled golden brew into a ceramic pitcher, but while the lad filled the next, an inspiration struck him.  Rifling through a rack of spices on one side of the room, he found what he sought: a large jar of salt.  Pulling out a handful, the half-ogre sprinkled a pinch of salt across the threshold.  Once each of the thresholds were sealed with salt, the spirits of the dead wouldn't dare disturb this place's tenants!

Erund looked puzzled at Vorodon's wasteful behavior, but chose not to question the huge warrior's oddities. 

[Murometz]

Breakfast with the flagellants was a stolid affair, the men eating silently.

For two hours prior, Adan had prayed with the men, and read aloud from the Letter of the Angel, as the penitents whipped themselves into bloody morning frenzy, outside the dilapidated hunting lodge.

During the meal, one of the men sitting next to the half-ogre, the wounds and welts on his body distracting Vorodon from his generous portion of oatmeal, cheese, and wine decided finally to speak.

“Ogre, what gods dost thou prayeth to? Surely you have felt the warmth of Trigu’s light, by now. Or thou wouldst be eating us instead of the cheese.”

A few smiles passed along the lips of the group, this passing as idle talk and humor among them. Flagellants, as Adan knew, possessed questionable social skills, and spoke plainly at all times.

“Lord-brother, we thank you for the meal and libation. If you travel on to Ashe Keep, know that our sect has a chapter house not far away, a small, humble abode of stone. Know you, that a fair welcome will await you there, should you need respite”, spoke the leader of the men to Adan.

[EchoMirage]

Kyrian merrily ignored the flagellants, strolling outside, enjoying the wind in his hair and the sun's race that seemed so tentatively and hesitantly descend into this land.

While had attended the religious services of more than two dozen different faiths and participated with enthusiasm, and certanly would not tell anyone whom and how to worship, the knight cared little for the flagellants' conception of faith. He was less enthusiastic about the faith of the dagger-and-bloodstained-altar type, true.

Faith had to elevate the spirit, get the vis vitae flowing, to brighten one's day and give meaning. These men did not enjoy their faith, they suffered it.

A ladybug landed on Kyrian's nose as he lay in the grass. He observed it for a while, then it took off.

[Siren no Orakio]

"I thank you, sir.  May forgiveness and mercy find you along your path, brothers." He would see them on their way, and watching them go, Adan shook his head. They were broken men, desperately in need of healing, and he had not the time to tend to them personally. Perhaps in the future he could, starting with the chapter at the March Lord Ashe's, but there would be priorities, and perhaps setting these ones to healing the people of his land in addition to whipping themselves would be the boon they required. Or perhaps a disaster upon the people. It was hard to tell.

Turning then to his equipment, he finished the storage of it within his packs, and donning his steel suit, he hefted the whole weight onto his shoulders. Perhaps this journey would reshape his body as it had been his soul.

[Murometz]

Indeed, no fat remained on Adan's gaunt yet muscular form. The endless travel and hair-raising battles had done the job over the lasy few months.

-----

Several hours later, the group gathered outside the lodge. Kadarin was the last out, still reading his magical texts, Mouse following behind to keep up, stuffing parchments and inks into a satchel. Everyone noticed, though no one spoke about it. The young mage had a new air of confidence about him these last few days. Even Mouse seemed less timid.

Vorodon, several wheels of cheese in tow, was ready as well. He was throwing Erund high in the air and catching the boy, much to the delight of the youth, who had taken a liking to the likable half-ogre.

Kyrian had been ready for hours, urging the foursome to depart. As soon as he saw the others emerge, he patted Herald's neck, and began a trot, riding ahead, along another wooded path he had found earlier that morning, while exercising his mount.

Adan, looked back at the family hunting lodge one last time, then turned away and began walking, his packs heavy with supplies.

-----

For six hours they travelled, along the forested trails of Landeel, until they at last paused to eat and rest. While munching on yet more cheese, Erund could not keep silent any longer, and turned to Vorodon. "Ser Vorodon?" Erund had taken to addresing the Volgottoi as 'Ser', "Why did you sprinkle salt in the doorways of the hunting lodge before we left?"

Adan told them it would be some time before they reached the true borderland and his liegeman's keep, as they ate, yet they were making good time this day, and no demons or perytons were around to impede them.

------

As Kyrian neared the pool, Herald suddenly snorted. Glancing at the water, Kyrian could now see that the pool seemed brackish and foul-smelling, which made little sense to him. An odor, not unlike pungent urine, eminated from the still pond.

At that moment, Kyrian spied a wretched creature on the opposite bank thirty feet across the water. Lying there, seemingly too weak to move, was what appeared to be a fey-woman, he noticed, having the eye to spot and recognize such creatures. But this fey was like no other he had seen before. She seemed a starved, ill-looking creature, emaciated, jaundiced and warty. As she spied the mounted rider, the malnourished fey raised a gaunt arm toward Kyrian. She may have been trying to speak, but Kyrian could not hear her half-whispers. Riding around the pond seemed impossible, the woods were overgrown in this spot, the pond a hidden oasis amidst bracken, thorns, and ancient, gnarled trees.

Back at camp, Vorodon was about to answer young Erund, when he noticed something lying in the ground next to his pack. It seemed to be a large wooden spoon, broken in half. The spoon was carved just so, and easily recognizable to the half-ogre. Volgottoi had passed here recently, Vorodon realized!

[Wulfhere]

Vorodon hesitated to answer his new friend's questions.  The spirits of his home seemed so distant in this hostile land… he didn’t want the youth to scoff as the flagellants had.  Despite the zealots’ curiosity about his beliefs, they seemed uneasy and hostile when he tried to explain the ways of the Volgottoi. When he described Gora’am, the Purifier, they acted as if the mighty protector of the Volgottoi were just some regional spirit, nothing compared to Trigu.  The hill warrior wasn’t sure what to make of their terrifying deity, who drove his worshippers to torture themselves.  Perhaps he was too demanding a god for a simple warrior.

“Erund, the sfirit for you land being strange and unfriend.  Salt make sfirit fear!  Drive ghost sfirit away from friend lodge! Throw on path behind and keep sfirit far.”  The massive ogre mimicked tossing salt over his shoulder, then made Erund laugh with his clumsy impression of a fear-crazed ghost trying to flee from the salt. 

Then he stepped on the spoon.  At first, Vorodon thought he’d broken some item of Adan’s, but when he picked it up from among the dead leaves, he noticed it was much larger than anything his friends carried.  More ominously, the spoon’s bowl bore the crudely-scratched image of Gora’am devouring the souls of the weak, an image that only one of the Volgotoi would carry, and something used only when honoring the souls of one’s fallen foes by devouring their remains.

Looking around with sudden concern, the hill warrior instinctively dropped into a fighting crouch, his hand drawing forth one of his darts as he scanned the surroundings for further clues.  The local folk would have spoken of other “ogres” in the area, if any had met the creatures and lived.

“Friend Erund, walk quiet.  Some things in woods not so friends, Vorodon think. We find Adan and cat elf for to warn now.”

[EchoMirage]

"If you shift your gaze yonder" Kyrian pointed to the pool to get Vorodon's attention, "there the discerning eye may discover aless-than-classic case of damsel in distress, but a damsel none-the-less."

Wading ito the pool appeared to be wise to avoid, especially given the fact that he'd feel dirty and distressed for days to come. Some might deem it amusing, to Kyrian cleanliness was a matter of grave import.

Jumping down from the saddle, he called out: "I am coming for you ... soon. Fear not!" Rubbing his chin, he looked for a way over dry land.

[Siren no Orakio]

"Poor timing, but we are on a mission to heal the land. We would be remiss if we overlooked this."  For a moment, Adan, too, paused, looking over the wasted lake, then back at his friends, and the oversized ladle held between them. He'd vaguely recalled Vorodon calling one of those crazy things a 'small spoon' once.

"Hnn." The ogrekin were not native to these lands - other humanoids infested the forests from time to time. If there were ogres here, then someone else had brought them there. The question, then, to answer, would be who?

[Murometz]

[ooc]http://miriadna.com/desctopwalls/forest/max/Magic%20pond.jpg[/ooc]

[valadaar]

Kadarin looked carefully at the strange woman, and a feeling of dread began to tug at him.  A trap?

But perhaps the smell was simply that a large number of ogres had availed themselves of the pool, and then did their part to refill it, caring naught for others.

"Take care, the pool may very well harbour something worse then a bad smell."

[Murometz]

As they looked around the pond, it was clear that getting across without getting wet would prove difficult.

Eventually, heeding Kadarin’s words of warning, Kyrian carefully but gracefully scraped his way through, under, and over the overgrowth in a semi-circle, and deftly leapt onto a floating log in the pond, but touched the log with his booted toe for a less than a second, leaping again, agile as a cat even in armor, to finally land on the far end of the giant puddle, beside the figure of the fey.

As he neared the forest-woman looked up and smiled, ugly and wrinkled as she was, clad in a gossamer, transparent shawl and naught else.

“Ser Knight, for surely you could be no less; you have come to rescue me? I beg you; undo the horrors that have been done, blighting my home! I die before your eyes, a drying husk, where once I was beautiful. Help me….”

She was a naiad, bound to her hidden pool, of this Kyrian could be sure, but in her current state the fey-woman resembled a creature from the grave.

“Help me” she pleaded, unable even to raise herself, her sickly voice but a whisper. She spoke in accented elvish. “I will reward you richly, with gifts and favors, if you but save me. They have destroyed my home---“

As she whispered she looked up and noticed Vorodon across the pond. For a moment her tiny eyes opened wide, and then she opened her wrinkled, lipless mouth to scream, but lacked the strength for sound. She began crawling, almost slithering, back into the foul-smelling pond on her belly, apparently terrified by the sight of the half-ogre.

[Murometz]

Aerex Matare

At his question, Thea Hellschwert thinly smiled. “You have a good soul, Aerex Matare. Perhaps not all Jantirians are as bad, as Lord Quorridge tells me they are--” she cast an eye toward her advisor, then Melitus, who managed to feign a look of innocence. My brother—“she began, and then paused.

“My brother Adan was once a legionnaire in your Empire” she said quietly in a melancholy tone. The rowdy demon-slayers were not paying attention however, busy discussing some past deed of daring among themselves in a boorish manner. Lord Otto Quorridge continued eating his hard-boiled eggs, hearing everything, but saying nothing.

“Well Aerex Matare, we do have a killer on the loose here in Thonrecht. You can put those investigative skills to good use. I have few men to spare to hunt down a wanton, mad murderer just now, if you can believe that. Every available man is on the wall, or heading north to Brightblade Keep. My birth-land is besieged, Matare, your ever-spreading empire to the west and south, and the Von Hellens and their demons to the north. Even my loyal advisor and protector, the good Lord Quorridge here, soon leaves my side to go fight and defend Brightblade, against the armies of Hell itself, as I'm told by Melitus' borrowed terns.”

She paused and took a sip of wine. Lord Quorridge cocked an eyebrow in Aerex' direction.

"So then, out of nowhere comes Seg' here," Bex the dwarf was saying loudly, in between his own raucous bouts of laughter, "Wolf-helm of the never-ending frown! Swinging his sword at the farmer's children, convinced they were truly Hezrou, he was!" more laughter, "and then and then---" apparently no one present, aside from the demon-slayers, would ever know what happened next. Bex doubled over laughing his face turning crimson from the exertion.

Thea ignored the outburst--let them reminisce. Tomorrow they go to kill demons---and looked at Aerex, studying him with her stone-gray eyes.

[Aerex Matare]

Aerex listened intently to the woman's story, ignoring the rowdy slayers as best he could.  "My patriotism swells to think your brother served in the Dynast's Legions," he says, half diplomatically and half sincere.  "And I must say" - he looked pointedly in Lord Quorrirde's direction - "that the Empire is wide enough to contain more than one thought.  Certainly not all Jantirians are the same, let alone all Imperials."  He looked Melitus over briefly, trying to weigh the man's politics.  Matares were known to speak their mind without regard to rank, but only when it suited them.  He wasn't about to offend the man who had the best chance of bringing word to and from the capital.  "Not everyone in Jantir would even agree that the Empire ought to sprawl the way it does," he said finally.  "More than a few parties think the Dynast ought to scale back operations, and a few wish to abandon the idea of empire altogether.  As I say, we are a diverse people of diverse thought."

Aerex put his fork down, forsaking with any semblance of appetite.  "Now you say you've a murderer on your hands?  If the topic isn't too impolite, I would like to know more about this killer.  I've dealt with a few murders in the past, mostly small-time stuff between crime syndicates.  Perhaps I could lend my expertise."

[Murometz]

Matare

At Aerex' polite rebuke Lord Quorridge scowled noticeably and looked away, concentrating on his egg as if it was a king's jewel.

"Well said, Aerex" Thea smiled warmly now, and nodded. "Well said! You and i think somewhat alike. Though there are some--" she tailed off. "I care not a fig for the politics of our lands however, I loathe them" she cast another eye at Melitus and again at Qourridge...

Zdronvus the priest of Taloc Seven Storms made the loudest burp at that moment, Aerex had ever heard. No wait, not true he thought, I have travelled with one, Vorodon of the Volgottoi.

"We don't know all that much" Thea began changing subjects, "A killer stalks the stone corridors and wharfs of our city, prowling by night. Only Hellschwerts and their kin and their liegemen serve as the assasin's targets. I am told I am in danger. I care naught for myself. Most think the killer is a madman. Some suspect the Von Hellen's touch, some even Jantir. But I don't" she paused once more throwing a duck wing into the silver platter a servant was lifting away, as another servant poured wine into emptying goblets.

[ooc]perception check Aerex. You have a good perception. Roll a 14 or lower on a d20 por favor[/ooc]

[Aerex Matare]

[blockquote]Rolled 1d20 : 16, total 16[/blockquote]

[EchoMirage]

"Oh" was Kyrian's commentary to the naiad's disappearance. Returned to his companions, he slammed a fist into his palm. "Apparently, there are vandals about - they must be found and educated on the error of their ways. That done, we must employ a - well, Kadarin, please share, do the men of the robe or men of the frock possess the power to cleanse water? I personally would prefer a tree-singer or beast-chanter, but you would not tolerate one of them in your blessed land, Adan, or am I mistaken?"

[valadaar]

"Well, by powers of enchantment, I lack the means to simply draw out the toxins, whatever they may be - I believe that power is held by the preisthood.  And to cleanse a volume of this size would be a miracle indeed.  Perhaps a great rainstorm could refresh these waters, but Time may be the best cure. I lack, for the time being perhaps", Kadarin smiled, "the ability to call down such a rainstorm.  One may come of its own or the God's accord, but likely not fast enough for this being's comfort.  Perhaps you could sooth her wounds with some waters blessed by your patron?"

"Barring that, if we could divert a stream of fresh water to here we may be able to help, or perhaps a great volume of charred wood placed within could draw out the toxins.  That of course would leave the problem of where to get the charcoal without despoiling the rest of this wood."

[ooc][blockquote]Rolled 1d20 : 4, total 4[/blockquote] - Have the Alchemy skill - perchance it would help? Urea was a substance that medieval alchemists were well aware of..  If it is organic contamination, then time is probably the simplest answer - once one has addressed the source of the problem...
[/ooc]

[EchoMirage]

"Wizards and sages do indeed come in handy! I'd wager a modest sum that the same ones who despoiled the lake also dammed up the stream feeding it!"

He leapt into saddle and promted the others: "Onwards! Before the day grows old!"

[Murometz]

[ooc]Alchemy check works out. Indeed, Kadarin can quickly tell, as he examines the pond, that the contamination is of an organic nature, urea and feces, yet also, he notices upon inspection, the water level itself seems significantly low, based on other obvious physical clues. [/ooc]

As Kyrian lept in his saddle, a sudden telepathic voice began to speak to him in earnest. It was the naiad once more, this time communicating from somewhere below the muck of her pool.

She told her tale as best she could under the circumstances, with dramatic flair aplenty, despite her withered state, befitting a naiad.

Ogres had come she said, many ogres, perhaps eight maybe ten or even twenty she could not be sure. Mathematics was not a favored pursuit of the fey, Kyrian knew.

They drank all the water their bellies could hold like parched camels, filled their skins with even more water, her very life-blood (!), and then proceeded to jump into the pool to cool off.

Not finished with their heinous habits just yet, they climbed out, the grease from their yellowed flesh floating in slicks, and proceeded to empty their bloated bladders, for what seemed like an eternity, into the water. As they pissed, she recalled, they spoke of the work they had just done in their guttural and grotesque tongue. Damming the Hidden River that snaked through the vast forest and Landeel’s country-sides (and snaking near Ashe Keep as well, Adan took note). Proud of their work, they had decided to pause here, to enjoy the remaining fresh water of this soon to be dried-out, river-fed pond, before despoiling it with their ignorance and vile natures.

This was too much for the delicate pool to bear, and as the ogres left, for I could do naught but hide in the cat-tails, she bemoaned, her pool began to die, and she, with it. Wrapping up her story, she begs Kyrian once more to take pity and save her, offering gifts and favors.

[valadaar]

"That explains much, and so the obvious answer is to eliminate the dam, but we should plan to deal with the dammers as well.  Even as few as eight ogres would have us hard pressed in battle, should they come upon us in the act of demolition. "