Whom the gods would destroy...

[Murometz]

Matare

Thea's marble skin paled further if that was possible. She looked at Aerex for what seemed a long time.

"You knew Adan Hellschwert?" She looked uncharacteristically dumbfounded. "He--he is also my brother. The Kinslayer. Tell me, what became of him? Do you know his current whereabouts?"

[Siren no Orakio]

Coming to a halt as his eyes spied the dam, Adan began to frown, as he looked at the blight upon his land. It stirred an anger deep within, from a place he had almost forgotten, mixed with the rage of his counterpart that surely would have welled within her, and he knew it as he would know his own pain. Defilers! Yet... the silence was a warning. More than just the building of the dam would be required to silence nature.

"This is all the closer we can get, if they have dogs, or other such beasts with sharp noses. But we must destroy that dam, and gain information from them. We can circle, but there is no guarantee that the wind will not shift."

[Aerex Matare]

The shock on the woman's face was clear to Aerex.  "I'm afraid not," he answered with a tone of regret.  "That last I saw him, he was with Tristan and the elven paladin Kyrian.  They had spoken to a Triguan priest and were off to speak to a friend of Kyrian's.  My other companions and I ended up on a yacht in the Regatta shortly thereafter."  He frowned.  "I'm sorry I can't be of more help.  He could still be in Jantir, for all I know.  Perhaps Melitus could send a message to the Triguan bishop in Jantir?"

[Murometz]

"I will send birds this very eve, aye--" She stared out one of the arsenal's windows. She had accompanied Aerex to the weapon's room, and waited while he choose his equipment.

"He--needs to return to Landeel. It is time. All wounds can heal." Thea seemed distant for a moment longer then turned to Aerex, "It was Lyle that caused Adan to leave us in the first place. Lyle's treachery even then, knew no bounds. Adan killed Rhys, our brother, thanks to Lyle's vile machinations." Thea trailed off, and studied the dark, stormy, night sky.

[Aerex Matare]

Aerex cast his gaze down, feeling a bit voyeuristic to hear of her family's trials.  "I'll do what it takes to bring your brother to justice ma'am," he said quietly.  "Any friend of Tristan's is a friend of mine, and any sister of a friend's friend..."  He trailed off, furrowing his brow.  "Well, what I'm saying, Thea, is that I'll do what it takes to find this killer.  I'm sure my friends in Jantir would agree with me."

[Murometz]

Matare

The next morning, near dawn, Lord Otto Quorridge and Aerex Matare, accompanied by four, mailed knights, rode out of Thonrecht and headed north toward Landeel proper, and Brightblade Keep, where currently an infernal host sieged the remaining Hellschwerts, unbeknownst to Thea and her ardent adviser. And certainly unbeknownst to Aerex.

For five hours they rode, without speaking. When they finally stopped to rest the mounts, two of the four knights, slowly turned their steeds, returning to Thonrecht. Aerex caught his breath, while eating cheese and tack, but grew confused agian, as they mounted once more, and rode several more hours, until at late afternoon, they camped beside some willows, engulfed in uneven, boggy lands.

The proud Quorridge, a peacock astride his pale and spotted mare, finally spoke to to Aerex then.

"We have discovered the killer's identity two nights prior, and the dinner was meant to lure him. Or should I say her." He pursed his lips once more, like he was wont to do, and continued, "Our plan was a ruse to get the killer to strike out at our Thea. Even now, I hope the assassin lies ensnared in our trap. Our open speaking of it, last night, was due to the killer being present at the feast. If I rode out, leaving Thea's side, the killer would be too tempted not to act. You were part of the ruse, it was my idea--"

Aerex was listening, and trying  to quickly piece it all together...

"On the morrow, you may return to Thonrecht and await your ship if you wish afterall...Or, you can come with me. I go north, to hunt the Traitor."

This man was maddening if nothing else, Aerex thought, a he sat there, in the middle of nowhere.

[Murometz]

Lord Waltor Reymar surveyed the giant dam.

The ogres had erected the humungous mountain of timber, stone, and refuse with surprising speed. Half of the ogres then left with their chieftain, returning to Ashe Keep's siege, promised further spoils and violence. Half remained behind, to gaurd the dam, under Reymar's command, until such time they received word, that the siege had been successful.

They had been well bought, well paid, Reymar thought, Lokknar had more gold than entire kingdoms it was said. And the Hellschwert traitor, and his glass-jar cultists, they surely had a hand in the recruitment, Reymar continued his internal dialogue, glancing at the nearby yellow and gray skinned behemoths who were digging a cook-pit in honor of sundown, and building a giant roasting spit. Four cows, no doubt dragged from Ashe Keepe's environs, lay eviscerated in a great heap, flies swarming about the meaty carcasses.

Yes, well paid and well fed.

Looking away from the revolting ogres, he glanced at his own men, then looked to the east, where darkness now creeped on the horizon.

It was a shame, the Green Manticore, that son-of-a-whore; Odilo Brunn, would get the glory of storming Ashe Keep soon, while he, Lord Waltor Reymar, sixth of his name, was relegated to dam construction and overseeing ogres. Reymar snorted audibly, his pride stinging, as he drank from his goblet.

Bah! When the Mad-Duke takes Brightblade, none of it would matter. Brunn’s victory would be forgotten soon enough. There would be more honors to be had. More glory.

Hopefully the siege takes not long now, he thought, polishing a smear on his breastplate, and glancing once more at the great dam and the drying river-bed to the south.

Just then one of the massive ogres rose sniffing the air, then let out a noise akin to thunder from somewhere below his snake-spine belt, the force of the expulsion making his bat-skull earring, jingle.

No glory here, Reymar sighed, and withdrew into his tent.

[ooc]The PCs are 1 mile upwind of the Lord Reymar/dam Ogre brigade encampment.[/ooc]

[valadaar]

"Vorodon - I need to know as much as you can tell me about your people's beliefs.  I will be upfront though - my intent is to cast doubt on the ogres to make them fear that they have truly offended the spirits, which as we have seen is the truth. I have a feeling that simple discussion may not suffice, and that effort would doom any others save force of arms."


[ooc]Invisibility lasts until the subject of the spell attacks someone.  Can I consider that as spells which do not attack a person - either directly or indirectly - are ok?[/ooc]

[Murometz]

[ooc]Shoud be ok, depends what you intend to do exactly...For purposes of this spell, an attack includes any spell targeting a foe or whose area or effect includes a foe. (Exactly who is a foe depends on the invisible character’s perceptions.) Actions directed at unattended objects do not break the spell. Causing harm indirectly is not an attack. Thus, an invisible being can open doors, talk, eat, climb stairs, summon monsters and have them attack, cut the ropes holding a rope bridge while enemies are on the bridge, remotely trigger traps, open a portcullis to release attack dogs, and so forth. If the subject attacks directly, however, it immediately becomes visible along with all its gear[/ooc]

[Siren no Orakio]

"You've a plan then, Kadarin?" Adan cocked his head at the wizard, a look of curiousity across his face. "Perhaps we can make ourselves appear as though we are many more than we are, in addition to any spiritual beliefs we place upon them."

[valadaar]

"The startings of one.  But let Vorodon speak - and we will need still more 'tactical' information before we can act, though speed of course is critical."

[Wulfhere]

Vorodon's rumbling tones were hushed, for who could say what strange spirits haunted this land?  After centuries of grim feuding and petty wars between local lordlings, even the remaining fey were warped from the cruel innocence natural to their kind.  His friends’ seemingly simple question was one for a hill-village taledrinker, not a simple warrior who only listened to his people’s midnight tales long enough for the hero to eat the villain and save the day.

Frequently repeating himself and rephrasing to dispel his allies’ confusion, Vorodon described the nightmare denizens of the hill-folk’s world.  He told them of the Kired’ley, scale-covered water folk strong as Volgotoi, who lived in the deepest pools. Their grim hungers claimed any foolish enough to bathe in their waters, the water-borne scents of potential prey filling them with hideous hungers. 

He whispered of the tree-hanging horrors called Dossingri, which magically lured the unwary beneath their hanging nests of sewn skins, then drew them aloft with bony tentacles.  Their victims’ bones filled additional hanging nests, each with a blasphemous dossingro waxing and swelling within it.

A dozen additional horrors haunted the hill-folk’s nightmares.  The claw-steed, which wore the guise of a beautiful, delectable horse, only to assume its horrific natural form when a hungry volgottir claimed it for his dinner; the Gar’goeis, which hid among the stones and rocky caves; haridoi, the restless souls of murdered woodland fey; and others more terrible.

He spoke of the Volgottir gods.  Dreaded Gora’am headed the list, but Zihr, the protective “Hearth Listener”, was little less ominous. Thirsty Delk’art taught the hill-folk women how to lie, earning her title: “Princess of Deceits”.  All Volgotoi dreaded the coming of Ze’thot, the “Bringer of Famine”. Naming that dreadful spirit, Vorodon felt sure he’d brought doom to his friends, whose lack of reverence was sure to draw the hill-gods’ anger.  He decided to fast the next day, hopefully placating his land’s short-tempered gods.

Better safe than sorry, Vorodon decided.

[EchoMirage]

"Your tales are colorful, Vorodon! There is plentiful substance suited to spread dread!" He thought a moment. "If the hidden river houses one fey, I believe there may be others; for our ruse, a real nature spirit would be of untold value."
Evaluating his fellows, Kyrian added: "I volunteer to recon the adversaries' position; a measure of prowling has to be in my blood."

[Wulfhere]

The hill warrior's face blanched at the idea of willingly trafficking with the fey, especially ones filled with anger toward the mortal races.  "Fey much denger us.  More easy Vorodon offer chellenge Volgotoi chief, yes?"

[Siren no Orakio]

"Perhaps, Vorodon. But there is likely a man who was sent to keep control of the Volgotoi. Without disrupting him, it will be difficult to even get their chief to accept your challenge... Kadarin is right. We need more knowledge." A moments thought, and Adan began to ruffle through his gear, drawing forth his box of herbs.

"But shadow and silence alone will not be enough to hide a man from these creatures, I think. Hold a moment, Kyrian, and I will do what can be done to help you smell like one of them." Pulling out a mortar and pestle, he began to consider the phials and leather bags, doing his best to make a concoction that smelled like, well, Vorodon.

[Aerex Matare]

Aerex's face was a look of surprise.  He felt like he should have been offended, but he wasn't: it was a d**n good ploy, better than any he could have thought of.  "I do make fine a bait, Lord Quorridge," he commented, "and I'm more than happy to serve as such.  It's a fine trap you've laid.  But I think you'll find I'm as capable a hunter as any.  I've pledged my service, and I stand by it."  He prodded his mount forward a few paces, beside Quorridge.  "What's the plan?"

[Murometz]

Matare

Quorridge eyed Aerex again, in that insufferable way that he did, for several long agonizing moments.

"As you wish." he said and mounted his mare again. "I do not have a plan. Does this surprise you? We will ride north and east for now. There have been rumors that Lyle crosses Landeel for some vile purpose or other. He has left the Brightblade Siege, we've been told. Surely he travels with horrors and allies in tow, but this may be as good a chance as any to waylay and kill him."

Quorridge spoke matter-of-factly, yet looked away then, and surveyed the landscape ahead, silent for a few minutes more.

"You ride well enough, I'll grant you that." With these words, passing as a gesture of good-will from the curmudgeonly Quorridge, he rode ahead.

The remaining pair of guards, turned around then, as the previous pair had earlier, and trotted back toward's Thonrecht.

Aerex Matare and Lord Otto Quorridge rode alone now.

A steady rain began to fall, making Aerex wish for a moment that he was back in Jantir, in some large and opulent inn room, sipping a spiced Jantiri Red...with Talia.

[valadaar]

"And when he has done his best to shield you from their noses, then I can hide you from their eyes.  You will be responsible it seems for their ears."

[EchoMirage]

"Alas, at least none will connect ths exquisite scent to me; a slight condolescece, but a condolescence none-the-less."

Evading the ogres' ears should be none-too-difficult: they were prone to make a ruckuss even while sleeping, and he was rather apt at unnoticedly disapparing from crime scenes, illegal duels and sites of interrupted adultery.

[Murometz]

Slack-Jaw

Meisingholdt was a town like any other in Landeel, mostly built of stone, in that gothic Hellschwert style, and surrounded by poor pastoral lands interspersed with impenetrable forests.  A rectangular stone keep, austere and unadorned, served as its castle.

Like most small towns here in southern Landeel, the folk could not tolerate dark sorcery or “questionable leanings” of any kind. The demons that supposedly (and currently) plagued the northern country were an affront to every citizen in Meisingholdt, yet the populace could do little about this fact, and went on with their everyday lives, despite the brutal war to the north, clutching their holy symbols tightly in their fists.

When it came to local problems however; a wandering mountebank, a child-stealing hedge-witch, or some blaspheming grave-robbing necromancer, the townsfolk acted quickly and sternly in most cases.

Such was the case with one Dujek Slack-Jaw, who was captured by a furious mob, when he innocently entered an old family mausoleum on the outskirts of town, to “examine” its contents. When the townsfolk entered the crypt, bearing torches, Dujek was in mid-conversation with one of the stone sarcophagi. At least that’s how it looked to the mob. Truly, Dujek was conversing with his lizard familiar, Koschei, but the mob was not placated with Dujek’s slack-jawed explanations.

A few days later, Dujek found himself bound and hog-tied upon the Fire-Wheel, a sinister contraption of wooden beams and spokes, resembling nothing more than a great, wagon wheel, but large enough to suspend a man upon. Tied by each wrist and ankle, Dujek was spread-eagled and gagged to boot (lest necromantic whispers escaped his lips, and dead dogs rose to howl at the moon!) Sometime soon, Dujek knew, the townsfolk would come again, and light the wheel with oil and pitch, and push it down a stony hill, watching it (and him) burn as it rolled.

After two days of no food and only rain-water for drink, Dujek was in bad shape. He was not alone however. On Dujek’s bony, nearly bloodless left wrist, sat Koschei the deathless, the miniature plumed basilisk. The lizard was vigorously chewing the thick rope with his tiny, nearly useless teeth.

“A walk through the grave-yard would not suffice. No, you had to visit the mausoleum.” The lizard chided Dujek in between bouts of frenetic chewing. “Can you cast any spell without having to wave these bony arms of yours?”

[Aerex Matare]

Aerex sighed.  Quorridge and Matare spent a good while riding silently, each to their own thoughts.  Aerex's mind wandered, from pining away at the missing Talia Bladedancer to wondering the names and usefulness of various shrubs they passed by.  At one point he even started humming the tune to "By the Old Pond Pure" until an annoyed look from Quorridge cut him off.

Most of the time, though, Aerex tried to keep his mind to their current quest.  It occurred to him that he had no idea where Landeel or Brightblade or any place in this region was, or why it was even important.  Eventually fed up with the silence, and to satisfy his curiosity, Aerex gave a loud cough.  "I'm afraid I don't know these lands well," he said casually.  "Where - and what - is Landeel, exactly?  You say Lyle has crossed it.  Is it a river, or some wide expanse?"

[Wulfhere]

Vorodon wasn't sure what the others hoped to achieve: The scent they strove to achieve seemed pleasant enough, but wasn't anything impressive by the standards of the Volgotoi.  If they'd ever smelled old, toothless Rudandof, then they'd know what a pungent scent REALLY was. Rudandof had been dead for two weeks before anyone suspected that he'd gone to Gora'am's larders, largely because the stench of the elder's legendary flatulence had mellowed somewhat.

While Adan ground and mixed his malodorous herbs, Vorodon had an idea.  Sorting through his darts, Vorodon chose one which had served him poorly in the past.  A rotting stump served as his mark as he gave the recalcitrant missile one last chance to redeem itself, a test which it failed.  Searching the underbrush, he soon recovered the wayward dart and set to work.  A few moment's scraping and the dart's vanes and shaft lost their identifying glyphs.

A filthy rag then became Vorodon's canvas, blood from a pricked finger, his ink.  With infinite care, he clumsily scrawled a strange symbol onto the rag and bound it to the dart's shaft.  The vanes each received similar signs.  Holding the missile carefully between two fingers, as if he now feared to touch it, he wrapped it to conceal its ill-omened sigils and brought it over to Kyrian. 

Vorodon's voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper.  "Ze'thot hunger bring, fear make: god spirit throw dart to frick enemy, rot disease food."  He held the bundled dart to emphasize his point. "Dart to like look here.  Maybe leave near Volgotoi food for fear make."

[valadaar]

Kadarin smiled grimly, "it is a shame that Dujek was not here - his specialty would come in most handy."

[Murometz]

Matare

“Typical Jantiri--rule half the world, don't know their geography---” Quorridge mumbled under his breath not loud enough for Aerex to hear ( ), then, “Landeel is all around”, gesturing dramatically, “Landeel is where we find ourselves now, a country so old, that when the Jantirians were still a sea-going merchant-nation, we had already crowned our third queen.”

Quorridge paused and gazed toward the horizon as they rode, his eyes squinting noticeably.

“Brightblade is the Hellschwert’s castle, until recently seat of Nial Hellschwert, Erzherzog of Landeel. Nial was killed by a Von Hellen bastard, and the castle is currently besieged by Von Hellen forces, and their Mad-Duke Lokknar. We have information that until recently Lyle the Traitor was at this siege, but has left, and heads north to the Great Escarpment. The Von Hellens cavort with demons and seek the Vault of the Blade, where St. Alys---“

Quorridge paused his barrage of information, and shifted in his saddle, his eyes still peeled on the terrain ahead.

“My eyesight is not what it used to be, but nevertheless, prepare to defend yourself” he stated flatly, in the same calm manner he had been relating the familial history a moment earlier, and loosened the strap on his gruesome, great-sword’s scabbard.

[EchoMirage]

"Inspect encmpment. Pinpoint human and ogre commander. Count the opposition. Assess the dam's stength and eventual weak points. Plant scary scary spear. Anything else?"
'Yeah' Kyrian added to himself. 'Look for local fey, and scare the hell out of the campers if possible, on my own if necessary.'
Ha! Bragging rights would be his.

Almost ready to charge off, Kyrian turned around once more: "How much time do I have, Kadarin, before the foemen can see me in all my beauty again?"