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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
 Posted - 12 Nov 2005 : 02:11:40
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"This thing," says Trahaearn, with a sarcastic tone of disgust in his voice, "purporting to be an Elven lesbian, is in fact our wizard, in disguise."
"You didn't seem to have a problem with that," shoots Nynyé [Valanwé] back suggestively. He looks down his chest, and cups his bosoms, raising them in Trahaearn's direction, continuing: "Or these..." Pausing a second, surprised, he laughs in his cheeky effeminate voice, and says: "By Corellon, these are rather impressive, aren't they!? I'll have to adjust the spell next time...." His voice tails off, pondering.
Rhiannon looks at the young girl "Oh I see," she says as she takes a sip of water to hide her grin: "So do you often change shape so you can bed young Elves?
"Well I suppose I asked for that didn't I," muses Valanwé, breaking his train of thought, and sending it outside for a nice relaxing bath. "But I think I was very clear about the fact that Nynyé - only one of my preferred eveningwears - is a lesbian, and thus, true to my own personality, and hers, I only chase girls. Much as I'm sure Trahaearn would make a good partner to a real Elf-woman, I think that I will be politely declining any further advances he might wish to make."
"Amen to that," mutters Trahaearn.
Rhiannon looked up from her drink "Don't you think that body kind of overdoes things? I mean - is it even possible for a real girl to look like that??" She takes another sip, again to hide her grin.
"Well," says Valanwé, even more coyly, and laughing "one wonders what your ability to shapechange would entail, if my only objective was to pursue young Elves!" He pauses, and considers, with a glint in his eye: "And aye, it is possible, if rare to encounter such beauties amongst the Elves, though beauty is not the only virtue, if it need be so at all. I grant you though, that the spell may be, perhaps, slightly overdone...."
Rhiannon takes another sip "I won't be able to alter my apperance for some time... err, are you going to stay like that all night?"
"No," says Valanwé, simply. "The spell will wear off in an hour or so, much to the dissappointment of the locals, and Trahaearn's libido, I'm sure."
"Already deflated, thanks," interjects Trahaearn wryly.
"Else," continues Valanwé, "I shall dispel it before we move on. I hope to sample as many of the attractions of Essembra as possible, whilst we are here." Pointing to a wine bottle behind the bar, and maintaining his concentration, Valanwé draws it to himself, and acknowledges its removal to the barmaid, who smiles back, suitably impressed by the feat. "Another drink, anyone?" he inquires, having retrieved fresh goblets in the same manner.
Watching Valanwe pour for everyone who wants it Rhiannon asks "So are we staying here tonight or moving on after eating?"
"Oh - moving on," says Valanwé with an almost camp flourish. "Accounting for the fact that this is only my third drink in as many days, I think some serious lubrication is in order - we'll not find that here. Though I suspect," he adds, with a glance to Master Daleson, "that we are free to do as we please now the accomodation is arranged. Thus, the night is young, and given to meriment and folly, though I hope that I am not the only person who will be providing the latter..."
Rhiannon glances out of the window and notices the time "If you'll excause me, I have to go to make my daily prayers"
"May I join you?" asks Valanwé politely.
Rhiannon smiles "Certainly" She says carefully moving around the table, looking uncomfordable again with the large number of people in the pup.
"Excuse us," says Valanwé, escaping his seat after Rhiannon had stood. "The needs of one's religion must come before all..." He glances at her briefly, an eyebrow raised strongly in the rest of the party's direction, though she cannot see it, "...other considerations."
Rhiannon leads Valanwé out of the pub, she strokes the horse that was tied up outside there and moves down to the south field where the other horses are grazing, after checking in on the horses she moves over to a group of trees near the feild "Your horse will want you to say hi," she says to Valanwé. She then kneels down by a tree and places her hand over the holy symbol over her heart.
Performing a certain somatic ritual, Valanwé suppresses his appearance with the same enveloping flare of near-white magic, which eveporates off of him, straight up into the sky for a fair distance, before floccinauchinihilipilificating†. He then approaches Arcanen, who himself moves toward Valanwé in recognition, and the two creatures exchange what equine-elven pleasantries are available to them, as Valanwé mutters, "if only you could speak, friend, what stories we might tell..."
Moving some suitable distance apart from Rhiannon, Valanwé kneels, and speaks in Elvish: "To almighty Corellon, Father of our fathers, friend of our brothers and protector of our sons, be praise now and always. To Meilikki, mother of the woodland, and protector of friends, be thanks for safe journey, and to Mystra, keeper of magics, and highest Lady of The Art, be gratitude for the path I have followed..." With his hands palm-to-palm, radiating white energy, he continues in a more hushed tone for several minutes.
Rhiannon speaking in Sylvan quietly thanks Meilikki for her protection, guidance and love, as she does so she feels the same rush she allways did when praying to her, a brief flash of pure ecstacy as her spirit was linked with her deity's, this time Rhiannon choses to alter the spells the Forest Queen grants her, then she stands and waits for Valanwe to finish "Ok - shall we head back?"
"If you wish," replies Valanwé, standing once more. "I'm minded to tarry a while though..." He points to the sky: "It is a clear night, but do not let me delay you from this evening's mission objective - I will rejoin you soon."
Rhiannon nods "I will stay will if you don't mind, crowded rooms bother me"
"I noticed that you raised your hood when we sat down," observes Valanwé. "Without wishing to appear forward, would you prefer a room with fewer occupants? It could be arranged, as I'm sure you're aware - though I have it in mind to find a good tree to climb - something I have not done in many weeks..."
"Thank you for the offer, but I'll sleep with the group, might help me fit in a little, where will you be sleeping tonight?"
"Ah," says Valanwé, "you misunderstood me. I had simply wished to offer the warmth of a fire for a few short moments of conversation, but it matters not. I shall also be sleeping with the party this evening - at The Watchful Eye, if my understanding is correct." He pauses to consider, and adds: "Fret not thyself, though - your presence among us is both welcome and enjoyed."
"Thank you," says Rhiannon, blushing a little. "I'm fine with the cold, it was very cold in Turlang's wood."
"Well," says Valanwé, taking one last gaze at the sky. "Shall we perhaps return to our friends?"
Offering his arm to her, and having it accepted, Valanwé and Rhiannon wlk back through the centre of the town, passing merrymakers, and other townsfolk who weren't quite as drunk as all that, on the way back. Approaching The Stag, Valanwé is amused to overhear drunken approvals of 'Nynyé' from a small group of rather overweight men leaving the restaurant, hotly pursued by a barmaid complaining that there were in fact three pages of 'bill', and not the one page they'd just paid for. Re-entering, and this time aproaching the bar, as his concentration had been broken, he retrieves one more tankard of ale, and another glass of water, before sitting down with Rhiannon to rejoin the party.
Rhiannon, meanwhile, again feeling uncomfortable with the crowd, says to the others: "Sorry for leaving you."
"Well then," says Valanwé, taking a long swig of his ale before looking up. "How many behind am I?" |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 13 Nov 2005 01:01:22 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 13 Nov 2005 : 00:59:20
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Watching Valanwé and Trahaearn's antics with a helpless shrug, smile played
across his face, Selm mutters something that sounds distinctly like 'elves'.
He then turns to face Bach, speaking up for the first time since they had
met. "I apologise for my earlier silence, please don't think me rude - I am
merely happy to let our more 'enthusiastic' friends steal the limelight. So
long as you can accept master Valanwé's boisterous foibles, and allow the
rest of us our own, I'm sure you will make a worthy companion."
The two, and a still-slightly embarrassed Trahaearn continue to talk while
Rhiannon and her new elven bosom buddy move outside.
A while later, a chorus of wolf-whistles greets their return and the trio
turn to see their companions re-enter the restaurant and before they can
move more than a couple of feet inside, a wickedly-grinning Nynyé and a
slightly-shocked Rhiannon have mugs of ale thrust upon them.
Shaking his head in disbelief for what he suspects will not be the last time
in the near future, Selm offers "His timing is almost bardic, I do believe
that were he not possessed of the Art, we have found the ideal path for
Valanwé. In fact, as an ale-quaffing, wonderfully-proportioned woman, but
for the tell-tale ears, I'd swear he actually wanted to be Storm Silverhand.
As the party reunites, Selm sets his tallglass of wine down and places a
hand on the elf maiden's shoulder. "Well, my friend, you certainly know how
to cause a scene. But tell me, whose fantasy are you fulfilling, theirs," he
says as he gestures broadly around the room, "or your own?" |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 13 Nov 2005 : 01:00:41
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"No fantasy," replies Valanwé laughing, and again attacking his ale with a
fiery desire. "The consideration is 'atmosphere'."
He pauses, and gestures around the room with an open hand: "See?" he says,
unable to contain his own amusement. "This is not for fantasy - indeed, it
would have been as easy to appear as an Orc, and scare them all to death,
but it would not have such pleasant consequences, and it would not be a
fantasy. A 'foreign' party entering a town has always, in my opinion, a risk
of being frowned upon by the local populace as outsiders, which might make
our present revelry seem inappropriate, or unpopular. All I have done, I
believe, is to shift the balance very slightly in our favour..."
Pausing for a moment, to raise an eyebrow at a passing local enjoying the
visage, he adds: "And of course, if the appearance of an rather too
attractive woman can put a whole restaurant into a high and merry mood for
an evening, and give our hosts something a little out of the ordinary to
remember us by, it is perhaps an atmosphere that we will enjoy to greater
degree than were Valanwé, the very average-looking Elf to make an
appearance, and it is an atmosphere that I am happy to provide. You must
remember Master Selmwell," he chuckles. "Everyone likes lesbians..." |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 15 Nov 2005 : 13:53:33
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Soon after the twelfth hour, with a quiet word in Trahaearn's ear, Valanwé excuses himself from the merriment of the festhall that the party had most recently frequented, and leaves, largely unnoticed through a side-entrance of the building.
Walking calmly, and quietly through the village, toward The Watchful Eye, he strolls with a spring in his step, tired, but well contented after a good evening's recouperation. Looking once again at the deep-blue sky, he gazes, from the middle of the largely unoccupied Mashalling Ground, and silently mouths to himself the names of the constellations as he counts them off in turn.
Continuing, undisturbed, he heads East-North-East along Rauthayvr's Road from whence the party had arrived, and turns to his left toward the Inn.
Entering the torchlit building, he finds it quiet, calm, and apparently deserted, and so heads into the lounge area on the lower floor, and deposits himself quietly onto a low set cushioned bench not six feet from the fire. Warming his hands from the cold of the outside world, he sits back, and ponders as best he can, his journey so far.
After a few moments, his concentration is broken by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs from the upper level of the building, and he sits up in his seat, and looks to the entranceway expectantly. Appearing into it, is a young woman, who looks moderately surprised to see him there. "Good evening?" she says.
Standing up, Valanwé replies to her in pleasant tone: "Good evening, my lady."
"May I help you?" the woman inquires.
"Indeed, I think so," replies Valanwé. "I am Valanwé, and I believe there is room for me here tonight. I travel with Master Daleson."
"Ahh yes," says the woman, thoughtfully. "The well-built adventurer who arrived with the Lady earlier this evening? Would ye be wanting to go up now?"
"Perhaps I might trouble you for a strong drink?" Valanwé asks, pleasantly. "Something to give an Elf a little extra warmth on a chilly evening, perhaps?"
"Aye, we have strong spirits," says the woman, matter-of-factly. "Would ye be wanting sweet, or dry?"
"A glass of the sweet, if it is not bothersome?"
"Not at all, I'll see to it at once."
With that, the woman dissappears to what Valanwé presumes is the bar area. Following her, he discovers that this is so, and he looks about the room as she pours the drink. Around the walls are set the usual adornments, souveneirs, hunting trophies and the like. A man sits in the corner, smoking a pipe, and gives a nod of acknowledgement as the Elf glances over at him. Reaching into his pouch, for a few silver pieces, he places them on the bar, and gladly exchanges them for the spirit, which he sips gently.
"Quiet, tonight," he observes to the woman, now attending to other jobs at the bar.
"Aye," she says. "Patrons out at eleven, only guests staying the night here now."
"Are there many?" Valanwé inquires.
"Aye, we're booked up tonight."
Nodding an acknowlegement of thanks to her, Valanwé makes his way back to the common room, only to be rushed into by a small boy wearing nightdress, who falls back from him, looking frightened.
"Hello?" he says kindly to the boy.
Hearing the commotion, the barmaid looks through the doorway to see what had happened. The boy looks up at her, and begins to sob. The barmaid, squeezing past a slightly peturbed Valanwé, rushes over to the boy, and kneels down beside him saying, not unkindly: "By the Gods lad, what are ye doing up at this late hour?" Picking him up onto his feet the boy looks again at Valanwé, and cowers behind what Valanwé assumes to be his mother.
"I had a bad dream," says the boy quietly, trying to hold back his tears. "There were monsters, and horrible things..."
The barmaid turns, and looks up at Valanwé, who speaks: "My apologies madam. I think perhaps he was in such a rush to see you that he did not see me. I hope I have not scared him."
"Ah, don't worry," she says, as the boy holds onto her, his face pressed against her shoulder. "I don't think he's ever seen an Elf before, is all. Think nothing of it."
With a nod, and a quiet "Excuse me", Valanwé returns to his seat by the fire, sits, and closes his eyes in thought. Several minutes later, he hears a voice, again that of the barmaid:
"I'm sorry to trouble you sir," she says.
Opening his eyes, Valanwé looks over to see the barmaid, with her son in front of her, her hands resting on his shoulders in reassurance. "My son would like to say 'hello' to you," she continues, "if that's not too much to ask?"
With a kindly smile on his face, looking at the barmaid, Valanwé says: "Of course." Facing the boy, Valanwé taps the seat next to him: "Come. Sit next to me child, and tell me your name. I am Valanwé."
Cautiously, the child walks over to the bench, and with some effort, raises himself up onto it, before sitting down, and turning to look at the Elf.
"I'm Frydd," he says quietly.
"It is good to meet you, Frydd," says Valanwé. "Tell me something. How old are you Frydd?"
"Four," says the boy. "I'm nearly four and a half, though," he adds, proudly.
Smiling again at the boy, who seemed to be becoming more comfortable, Valanwé watches the barmaid sit down on a chair close by, and asks: "Tell me Frydd - how old do you think I might be?"
"Twenty-five?" asks the boy curiously, after several moments hard thought that brought a smile to his mother's face. "You look old to me, you're a grown-up aren't you? You don't look old like daddy though. Daddy's old! I know how old he is! He's thirty-three!"
Stifling a laugh, the boy's mother says to him: "I think Valanwé might be older than that, Frydd. Do you remember your bedtime stories about the Elves in the Wood?"
The boy nods, enthusiastically.
"Do you remember that the Elves in the Wood lived for a very long time?" she asks.
Again, the boy nods.
"How old were the Elves in your story?" asks Valanwé.
"A hun.... a hun...?" says the boy, looking to his mother for help.
"A hundred?" asks Valanwé softly.
"A hundred!" cries the boy, happy that he knew the word after all. "And there were really old ones!" he carries on. "Old Mister Inwé was five hundred years old!" He looks to his mother, and then to Valanwé once more. "Are you five hundred, Mister?" he asks.
"No," laughs Valanwé, "not that old. I'm one hundred and twenty four."
"Wow!" says the boy brightly. "You ARE old!"
"Well," says Valanwé, glancing up to the boys mother. "I do not wish to be rude, of course, but I think I might be about one hundred years older than your mummy?"
"One hundred exactly," says the barmaid. "I'm twenty four."
"Wow!" exclaims the boy again. "How old is your mummy?"
"My mother is three hundred and eighty nine, and my father," he adds, speaking in a tone that would maintain the child's interest, "is four hundred and seventeen."
"Wow," the boy says, for the third time. "They must look like granny and grandpa - they're very old too."
"Well..." begins Valanwé.
"Elves don't get old like we do, Frydd," interjects the boy's mother, with what Valanwé suspects is the slightest hint of jealousy in her voice. "They grow up, and then they look the same forever, till they die."
"That's right," says Valanwé to the boy, desperately trying to contain the grin emerging at the memory of the evening's earlier entertainment. "My mother and my father probably look a lot like yours. My mother looks young, and beautiful, like your mother," he says, with a nod to the barmaid, "and my father is the same - he looks quite like me, though he would say that I look quite like him."
The boy giggles: "You're funny," he retorts. Then more thoughtfully: "And you have big ears..."
"That, I do," says Valanwé, remembering his drink, and taking a sip. "All of my people do."
"I need to go to sleep, mummy," the boy says, changing the subject tangentially.
"Ok," says the barmaid. "Go up to your room, and I'll come tuck you in in a minute."
The boy nods, and slides off the seat. He stands for a minute, and then turns around, and leans over, hugging Valanwé, and taking him by surprise. Placing a hand around the boy's shoulder, and then releasing him, Valanwé smiles once more, as the boy stands back to speak:
"I like the Elves," he says. "But you have big ears..."
Valanwé laughs, and replies: "I'm pleased to hear it. It was nice to meet you, Frydd."
"Good night, Mister Vally....Vala..."
"Valanwé," says the Elf.
"Valanwé," says the boy, trying to remember.
"Good night, Frydd."
With that, the boy runs off, and ascends the stairs, which creak as he rises up them.
Having watched the boy leave, Valanwé takes another sip of his drink, and turns to the boy's mother, who observes:
"You're good with him..."
"Well," remarks Valanwé, "I apologise in advance, if all you hear about for the next month is Elves."
The barmaid laughs. "If they are all like you," she says, "we should be blessed. Thank you, for speaking to him. I'm sorry he grabbed you - I know your kind don't like that."
"A pleasure, and not a problem. I am perhaps not like many Elves in that respect - I have not the hang-up about bodily contact, though I still respect those who do in that sense. It is nice however, to meet some young people, once in a while, but we cannot expect them to know adult custom."
"True. Do you have your own?"
"Children?"
"Yes."
"No - at least none that I am aware of - and I sincerely hope that that is not the case. I should wish to be there, to provide in whatever way I can, if I had."
"Well," muses the barmaid, "I don't really know what Elves do with their children, or how they're raised, or much about that really, but I'm sure you'll be a good dad to 'em if and when they come."
"Thank you."
"Would you like another drink? 'Tis on the house..."
"I thank you, no," replies Valanwé. "I believe this old big-eared Elf is now quite well pickled, and in need of a comfortable bed for the night."
"I'll get your key," says the barmaid with a smile. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 15 Nov 2005 : 14:26:45
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The rest of the companions make their way towards the inn later that night, (or more accurately early that morning).
Bach informs them that he has secured arrangements for the night, and will meet them in the morning. He bids them farewell and heads off to the stables to check on his horse. After this he bids farewell to the stablehand and walks behind the back of the stables. There out of sight of everyone he casts a spell on the rope stashed in his pack. The rope rises up and appears (had there been anyone nearby to see) to dissapear into thin air. Bach climbs up after the rope and dissapears when he reaches the top. The rest of the rope lifts up from the ground and dissapears into the same spot. Safe inside his extradimensional space, Bach rests and muses on what new adventures he might find with these companions.
The morning comes all too soon for those who imbibed a little heavily the previous night. Daleson rouses the party warmly, though looking a little red eyed himself, and before long they are all on the road again, heading to Ashabenford.
Spirits are high after their rest, and chatter flows freely by midafternoon when the sunlight does't seem quite so glaring to the party. Valanwé spends the morning sipping a wineskin which he absolutely insists is for medicinal purposes only.
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 16 Nov 2005 : 11:33:25
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Daleson enjoys his night out with his companions. They drink and carouse the night away. Despite the volume of drinks Daleson recovers quite quickly from the ordeal. His upbringing among the dwarves has inured him to much of the debilitating effects of alcohol. Of course his restoration spell takes care of any lingering effects.
Before dawn he rises, dons his ceremonial robes, and sets off to the parade grounds. He picks a spot facing the sunrise and begins to pray. His soft chanting thrums through the air, over the field. When the sun crests the horizon he basks in the light of the orb, a slight glow permeating his entire being. Daleson allows the effect to wash over him as he pray's to the Morninglord for a renewal of his spells and abilities.
With the ritual complete, Daleson walks to the picket line where the horses are resting. He approaches his steed and begins to brush her down and speak gently to her. He produces a couple of sugar cubes from one of his pockets and offers them to the horse, Sunflower, who without a second thought licks the cubes from Dales hands. They share a few more moments together, and Daleson leads her to the Watchful Eye, where he lets her linger outside as he returns to his room.
He dons his armor, packs his belongings, and then makes for the room the ladies are quartered in, down the hall from the others. He thumps lightly on the door with the edge of his shield until he hears stirring from inside the room. With a small smile he walks down to the rooms the others are staying and repeats the process until he is sure that everyone is roused.
With that done he checks out the morning fare that the eye has to offer, and then finishes preparing Sunflower for the road ahead. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 21 Nov 2005 : 19:15:35
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The first two days of travel on leaving Essembra pass uneventfully. There is no room on the road to construct a cottage, but the companions sleep well enough in the tents they had prepared.
Around midday on the 15th Mirtul, a low thrumming sound can be heard. The party halts and listens as the sound gets louder, and becomes more like a heavy beating. Just as suddenly the beating stops.
Carrying on cautiously, the group eventually spots a green mass travelling alongside them on the west side. Realising it has been spotted the creature lets out a screeching roar which sends birds fluttering from their nests. It crashes through the undergrowth, even uprooting a few young tree's on the way, and charges towards the group. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 26 Nov 2005 : 18:28:41
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Bach looks over at Caylith and gives here a half-hearted smile and says “Friend of yours,” indicating the dragon.
"Not mine...though I would avoid acid spells..." she says as Bach loses himself in the throes of spell casting.
A few heartbeats later lightning lances from his fingertips and arcs towards the dragon. After seeing the damage the creature has sustained he slides to the back of the group muttering “Next.”
With a brief look of disdain in Bach's direction hearing his words, Valanwé sighs, and begins an incantation. As it ends, he extends his arm and releases from his hand a blue-silver pea of energy which hisses as it leaves his hand, before accellerating with a screech that sounds like a thousand fingernails on a hundred blackboards and smashes into the dragon with a deafening roar leaving a trail of still burning magic along it's path. Eyeing the Dragon through the heat-haze, he mutters to no-one in particular "So we fight then..."
Rushing towards the battle fervored Daleson, Selm briskly intones a prayer to Eldath, asking for swift protection of the warrior before he charges into battle.
Wondering when he became the master tactician, Selm looks up after blessing
Daleson and shouts for the group to spread out. "I'm loathe to say this, but
if we all stand here together we are prime targets for a dragonbreath attack
and I have no wish to see anybody choke to death."
Mid-stride the dragon takes a deep breath. It's keen eyes flashing as it picks out targets, the beast lets loose a cloud of choking gas. The cloud penetrates the armour of those wearing it, and begins to corrode the equipment held by the party. Rhiannon responds quickly enough to spur her horse around and only gets caught in the gas at the edge of the cloud where it has begun to thin out. Those caught off guard begin choking as the cloud sears their lungs.The others writhe in pain as the acidic vapours sear their skin, leaving acid burns over their body and their clothing looking aged and worn.
Screaming in pain from the Dragons acid attack, Rhiannon quickly loops around moves away from the others, preventing the dragon from hitting them all in group again. Peering behind her she sees Daleson, Caylith, Selm and Traehaearn knocked to the floor as their mounts collapse and die. Sunflower took the strongest blast head on, and as Daleson leaps from the horse's saddle, he looks down briefly at the burnt corpse and bleached skeletal head of what used to be his steed and friend. The others are similarly shaken by the sudden deaths, but without such a bond with their mounts.
Traehaearn begins to loose arrows immediately at the beast. A couple catch and stick into flesh, but one glances off the dragons thick scales, leaving nothing but a scratch mark.
Seeing the slithering Wyrm race toward them, Daleson suddenly flashes back to the moments before his death at the hands of the dracolich. Fury and blood lust play across his face at the thought. With grim determination and a need for revenge on their kind, Daleson unslings his crossbow and calls..."Lathander!". The simple call goes answered, and the Paladin becomes a shining beacon for the party. In this new light he appears almost twice as strong as previously, and hefts his mace and shield easily. "No quarter for the beast, for none will be given. Blast it," he says evenly, yet loud enough for all to hear. Flexing his muscles, causing his plate armour to creak under the strain, he begins to bear down on the dragon.
Out of range of the beast's toxic breath, Rhiannon moves her hands in a circle in front of her while speaking a prayer to Meilikki. She suddenly seperates her hands in the air, and a brilliant flash of light a bolt of lighting streaks down from the sky and strikes the dragon. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 07 Dec 2005 : 17:20:43
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"I have a few tricks left up my sleeve," replies Valanwé, moving away from
the dragon as he speaks. "But aye," he says, looking for an opportunity to
attack, "I would that he'd give me ten minutes to drop a house on him."
Beginning an incantation, he prepares to strike. The spreading out of the party benefits them twofold. The dragon can no longer use it's hideous breath weapon and is forced to charge into melee combat. Secondly it allows the wizards in the party to use the more dangerous spells in their arsenal.
Taking advantage immediately, Valanwé begins to cast a spell. His eyes closed and head bowed, he stands with one arm out, palm open towards the dragon. At first it appears the spell has failed, but Rhiannon grins in Valanwés direction, giving an approving nod. The clouds above the dragon begin to swirl, and after a few seconds rain begins to fall.
Snorting derisively, the dragon looks up at the annoyance, and then back to his intended quarry. The resulting hail of ice shocks the beast, the first shard thumping into it's wing, causing it to stumble. With the storm in full swing the dragon moves to the edge of the storm, away from the worst of the danger, but still having suffered a little under the ice shards.
With the ice still forming, Bach launches another of his spells. A blazing inferno which engulfs the dragon, but is well placed enough so as not to injure any of his new companions. The searing fire temporarily evaporates the blocks of ice falling from the sky, but this is no reprieve for the dragon. It manages to flatten itself to the ground and avoid too much damage, but the heat still leaves scorch marks on the scales of the beasts left flank.
So engaged with the barrage of the elements from the spellcasters, the dragon fails to notice Selm has snuck around it's right hand side, and is offering a prayer of healing for Caylith.
"Thank you Selm" says Caylith as her wounds close up and the acid burns lessen. The dragon grunts, and then screeches, turning towards the sound of another dragonkin voice. A maniacal gleam comes into it's eyes as it recognises the half dragon for what she is. Rearing up onto it's hind legs and screeching wildly, the dragon flails it's claws in the air in a fearsome display. Then falling back on to 4 feet, it uses the momentum to pummel Caylith into the ground. Misjudging the slippery ground as the ice storm continues, the dragon slips and falls, but not before battering Caylith with it's wings and tail. The swipe of the tail through the hind legs catches Caylith in the chest, winding her, and she is then crushed under the falling wings of the dragon.
Preparing his attack, Daleson growls to the party, "Ware your eyes. Lathander is paying yon dragon a visit." He activates the blinding light right at the dragon, sidesteps to gain a better vantage point to crush the mace down on it, and, seeing the beautious light eminating from the shield, breaks into a passing rendition of an old smithy song about shaping a shield out of a dragon's breastplates. His mace swings don't penetrate the dragons hardened natural armour, but the flash of light blinds the dragon.
An arrow flys into the point exactly where Daleson's mace had just struck, loosed from Traehaearns bow. The arrow slips between the scales that the mace blow had shifted aside, and pierces the flesh, causing blood to ooze out.
Channeling her magic again, Rhiannon uses the storm Valanwé is maintaining to call forth more of her lightning. Empowered by Valanwé's magical storm, the bolt strikes hard into the downed dragon, causing Cayliths sword to shimmer in the electrical discharge and electricity to crackle across Dalesons shield. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 13 Dec 2005 : 11:23:22
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Continuing the assault, Valanwé and Bach co ordinate their attack and let fly 7 balls of pure magical energy from their outstretched hands. All the orbs strike true, and the dragon bellows in agony.
Selm takes the opportunity to heal Caylith whilst the dragon struggles to rejoin the fight, and she stands up again. He furrows his brow in thought as he realises that his healing magic actually did not close any wounds, but did indeed bring her to consciousness.
Traehaearn continues his deadly hail of arrows, and two of them land into the beasts flank as it struggles to get up.
Unable to see and wracked with pain, the dragon begins to thrash around on the floor, causing Daleson to fail to land a blow on the beast as he swings with his mace. Rhiannon soon puts an end to the creatures misery though by forcing another bolt of lightning through it's body.
Finally beaten the dragon raises it's head and cry's it's last call, before slumping heavily onto the ground. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 16 Dec 2005 : 13:58:57
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At the death of the dragon, the companions relax slightly and breath a sigh of relief. As Daleson calms down from his battle rage and moves to inspect the dragon closer, a figure appears in the centre of the party.
The male is clad in flowing black robes adorned with purple trim and silver runes of protection. Above the shoulders extends a set of bone spikes and a pair of tough leather wings adorn the cowl, giving the wearer the appearence of a dragon swooping to attack.
The figure raises both hands into the air and crys a single word. Unintelligible to most of the companions they nevertheless are stunned by the sense of a massive evil pervading the area. Valanwé is the worst afflicted, understanding the word of the draconic language, and writhes in agony at the terrible images the word conjured up, enhanced by the evil magic.
From out of the forest, black clad figures move swiftly to the helpess companions and knock them unconscious with a quick blow. They tie them up and carry them back into the shadows and dissapear as quickly as they came.
When one of the figures comes to take care of Valanwé the spellcaster calls for him to stop. Instead he drags Valanwé to the fallen dragon, and forces him to stare into the dead dragons eyes. Unable to move, all the elf can do is let the image of the fallen green dragon bore itself into his mind.
In draconic the evil figure says "Remember him at his weakest moment. All you have done is made him stronger, for that we thank you". He laughs a slow, heavy laugh and throws Valanwé to the floor. The last thing the elf hears are his captors words as he is clubbed into unconsciousness. |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 18 Dec 2005 19:39:52 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 19 Dec 2005 : 20:26:50
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Bound, gagged, blindfolded and with heads aching from the heavy blows, the companions find themselves jostled around for what could be many minutes or many months.
As they stir from their forced 'rest' and begin to be able to focus on what is going on around them, they are swiftly clubbed back into unconsciousness.
Battered and bleeding they all eventually awake in a dimly lit room. Blinking to accustom themselves to the light (or lack of it) they can eventually see the scene around them.
Laid out against the wall in a semi-circle, the group are all facing towards the centre. Held in place by what Daleson notices to be adamantium manacles, they have a few minutes to inspect each others injuries. All of the companions have been stripped of their armour and clothing, left only in their under garments. Despite their situation Daleson appears slightly ashamed of checking out Caylith and Rhiannon's conditions, but his logical protective instinct takes over and he makes note of how all his companions are feeling. Attempts at communication go amiss when, despite their best efforts, no sound can issue forth from their mouths (or that no one can hear it). Traehaearn is in the worst condition physically, blood has trickled down from the back of his head and run down his right shoulder and onto his chest. Caylith however has managed to use her force of will to adjust her body to the damage, and appears the most alert. Valanwé and Bach are both in very bad shape. Their heads loll from side to side, and their eyes appear unfocused. Bachs breathing is very quick and shallow, whereas Valanwé appears to slip into a kind of torpor.
After some time, footsteps can be heard coming towards them... |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 22 Dec 2005 00:57:39 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 27 Dec 2005 : 13:21:45
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Suddenly the lights flare up, dazzling the prisoners from the previous darkness. In the centre of the room, illuminated brightly, is the dragon that had previously been slain. Standing next to the corpse is their captive, and behind him a female drow elf in elegant armour sits and watches the display.
The dragon lord points at Traehaearn, unlocking the shackles and compelling him forwards. He hands the elf a wickedly serrated dagger and simply says, "Bleed them for me".
Unable to resist the order, Traehaearn moves forward rigidly to each companion, and slices slowly across the chest. The pain is evident in his eyes and a tear escapes as he cuts Valanwé, but Valanwé grits his teeth and nods, knowing how such magics to dominate work.
Collecting and mixing the blood in a single vial, the dragon lord leaves the prisoners to bleed whilst he attends to the dragon.
Sprinkling the blood in a circle around it, he begins to chant, and the drow nods appreciatively. A glowing green but transparent cocoon forms slowly around the dragon, piece by piece, as if an egg shell hatching in reverse. The process takes several hours, with Traehaearn standing stifly on the edge of the circle.
During the ritual the cocoon has become darker and more opaque, until before Traehaearn is a ball of ultimate blackness.
Silence follows, and is shortly shattered as a claw bursts through the shell. Crack by hideous crack the cocoon begins to burst.
The beast is still covered with scorch marks and cuts from the previous battle, yet moves with a strength and swiftness not seen in it's life. It rears up and roars violently, the rest of it's shell flying off like glass shards, but dispersing into nothingness outside the circle. The beast snorts in the air allowing great gouts of gas to erupt from it's nostrils. Landing heavily it eyes up the elf standing before him.
Standing before the monstrosity, Traehaearn can only close his eyes, waiting.
The dragon opens its mouth wide and latches it's jaws around Traehaearn, ending his life. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 27 Dec 2005 : 15:05:07
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The woman on the throne at the back of the room stands up slowly, flexing her hands. As she does so they appear to shimmer and lengthen.
Light reflects from them, and her dark hands have become shining claws.
Seemingly without any action on the elf's part, they begin to drip with acid and take on a ruddy red glow.
She strides over to Caylith and curls her claws into a fist. Then stretching out a single claw, slowly pierces her left shoulder. Wracked with pain, Caylith shudders as her powers are sapped from her, and the drow elf smiles has the half-dragon's head begins to sag.
"You have dragon blood in you and a strong mind....but," the woman sniggers, "not strong enough."
She makes to leave, but turns back, almost amused.
"We found this letter on the worshipper of Eldath," she comments whilst waving the piece of paper, "and addressed to myself no less. How charming of you all to bring it to me at such great effort, it would be rude of me not to reward you justly.
"I assume you disposed of this Andro fellow? Poor fool taking that silly artifact. An amateur in entirety, you have saved me the trouble of dealing with this upstart. Again there am I thankful.
"Indeed," she raises a hand to brush her hair away from her eyes, revealing an almost lifelike looking dracolich carved out of bone, which winds it's way from her middle finger to elbow, "Cassius has your gifts".
The party's captor strides over, holding a purple velvet pouch. From the pouch he draws an ivory ring, carved with a fledgling dragon, and inserts one over the right middle finger of each member. His own ornate adamantium ring shines in the torchlight in the same way his evil smile does, and he returns to his mistress and dragon, standing alongside them.
"Welcome fledgeling members," says the woman, "to the Cult of the Dragon!" |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 27 Dec 2005 : 15:31:13
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"And now initiates, your great journey begins....
"Sorcerors!", she calls out, and 6 robed humanoids with masks of dragons heads waver into view around her. They each approach the nearest prisoner and being to cast a spell.
Placing markings on the body and performing complex gestures, the drow woman talks whilst the spells are carried out, "It has been brought to my attention by my men in that pathetic village of Hap, that you are on a mission of some importance to the lord of new life. A pitiful goal, with even more pitiful hopes, but it intrigues me nonetheless.
She pauses as the wizards finish their spell, choosing her next words carefully.
"You are to continue on your mission to see the head of the Lathanderan church in Ashabenford. You will not speak of this meeting. Once you have done so, 4 days from now you will meet Cassius in the Velvet Veil, and tell him everything you know"
She pauses again as the last vestiges of the spell subside, then relaxes her speech again, toying with her claws which are reforming back into her hands.
"Your equipment will be returned, for they will be expecting you well equipped, but as your new friend I would suggest not using it against us." She smiles sardonically, "Oh and, try not to resist the spell too much, good initiates are so hard to find.
She laughs loudly and strides away from the prisoners and into the darkness. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 27 Dec 2005 : 15:41:17
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Cassius commads the wizards to continue spellcasting once the drow has left, and each of the prisoners is struck blind.
"The blindness will pass, for now....try to...relax", he chuckles at his amusing comment, which becomes clear when the second spell is cast, paralysing the victims.
Finally, all goes silent for the companions, and they are helpless to resist as they feel themselves being lifted and carried away.
Some time later, the spells begin to fade, and the party find themselves left on the grass at the edge of a wooded area and by a stream.
As they gather their bearings, Valanwé points out that it is around mid-morning, and Selm begins to furrow his brow. |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 27 Dec 2005 16:56:04 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 27 Dec 2005 : 16:08:51
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Caylith shakes her head fiercely...as if trying to shake foul memories... She looks at the others.
"I can only guess this is distasteful to all as it is to me? I cannot willingly help the Cult. Is there anything we can do to end this servitude?"
Wincing at the unspeakable evil of the ritual and the cuts sustained by
everyone, Selm quickly clears his head. Seeing that the surroundings appear
to be safe, he assesses the damage to the party and rummages around in his
backpack. Finding poultics and bandages, he sets to work treating the cuts
sustained by all. Finally, judging Caylith to be fairly seriously injured,
he asks Eldath for mercy to help heal the half-dragon's wounds.
Gathering the rest of his equipment, he responds to Caylith's question. "I
know not what kind of foul magic has been employed. It did not feel like the
work of a divine power to me. Valanwé, Bach - can either of you identify the
spell?"
Whilst waiting for the two practioners of the Art to respond, Selm stands up
and takes in the surroundings in more detail. After a few moments he snaps
his fingers and exclaims, "I know this place, this is Swords Creek.
Issinofil and I used to...". He sighs, repeating 'Issinofil' under his
breath and shaking his head wistfully.
Coming back to the current situation, he decides to try and sort things out.
"Is everybody okay now?" he asks. "Well, as well as can be expected given
the circumstance. So long as everybody is fit to travel, I suggest we head
west and continue to Ashabenford. Until we know more about what kind of
magic has been used, we cannot easily come up with a plan to deal with it.
Anything you know about the Cult could also prove useful," he adds, a bitter
taste in his mouth. "We can do that as we travel, I see no point in waiting
here if we do not need to." |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 23 Jan 2006 15:22:06 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 27 Dec 2005 : 21:07:58
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"Fine," replies Valanwé, tersely. "We have been geased: tasked to perform an objective whether we like it or not, and evil befalls us if we ignore it." Pausing a second, he adds, pulling a blank book and a quill pen out from his bag : "Quickly now - we must remember exactly what that blasted woman said; there may yet be ways to subvert her cursings!"
Scribbling, and crossing out furiously, in the common tongue, on a page torn from the back of a fresh spellbook, Valanwé makes note of the best recollection of the Drow's words as he group can remember.
When perfected through dialog with the group, Valanwé utters the phrase to himself, and ponders it over, before passing the scrap of paper round the group: "We will not be able to contravene any direction given herin. We must consider carefully how we might defeat this geas by circumventing the parameters of the spell. I will not have Trahaearn's fate met by the rest of us. And we need a way to remove these rings: I could prepare a spell from my books, but I have difficulty with selection at present; I suspect though, that they are integral to, or a component of the spell to which we have been subjected." |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 28 Dec 2005 : 12:07:32
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"Hmm," muses Selm out loud, studying Valanwé's text and quickly making
himself a copy. He then hands the paper on to Rhiannon. Then he suddenly
snaps his fingers and looks up from his seat on the ground. "Okay, I've got
it," he says hurriedly. "Everyone be quiet for a few moments please, this is
important, you'll have to trust me."
Frantically scribbling on to his parchment, he composes the following note:
Writing down the words suddenly made something click with me - Oghma be
praised. The wording says we may not speak of the meeting, but that
shouldn't stop us from writing of it. Once we get to Ashabenford, I will be
able to alert some friends of mine and hopefully we will be able to free
ourselves from the geas.
It is also unclear whether we should speak of the meeting even between
ourselves - strictly speaking I believe we shouldn't. My advice is not to
mention anything related to what happened out loud; it is better to play it
safe and write down any thoughts or ideas you may have concerning the matter
at hand. It may be time consuming, but I would feel safer not risking
ourselves against this powerful magic. This includes the rings, which may or
may not be part of the spell - they may simply have been part of the ritual;
the Cult itself; the spell, of course; and not forgetting poor Trahaearn,
may he find freedom and joy in Arvandor. I wish his body had been spared and
sent back with us but I fear he met a more grizzly fate.
As the others look down at him expectantly, he finishes and excitedly
thrusts the paper into Rhiannon's hand, snatching the original copy of the
transcript back off her. "Read this," he implores her, then pass it round
and think very carefully about what you say afterwards. Until such time as
you have read it, I suggest you all remain silent. I do not mean to
patronise or offend," he adds as an afterthought. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 29 Dec 2005 : 11:22:02
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Writing further, on his own scrap of paper, Valanwé scribbles, and shows his
piece of parchment to the group. It reads:
"Friends, I believe Selmwell is right. We should not attempt to speak of
this geas. To add a wilder idea to the mix, we may be able to avoid having
to meet this Cassius, if the magics have worked in a particular way. A geas
may work as a list of instructions, or as a whole. Note the phrases "You are
to continue on your mission to see the head of the Lathanderan church in
Ashabenford. You will not speak of this meeting. Once you have done so, 4
days from now...". Clearly, the implication is that "4 days from now" refers
to the clause about Ashabenford, but if we are lucky, we may be able to
exploit those words further.
"The "4 days from now" clause lies within a sentence that has inherited it's
context ambiguously - if one were to assume that the context is given by the
previous sentence, and not the one immediately preceeding that, the
interpretation should be that we will report to Cassius once we have spoken
of the meeting. Since it is not possible for us to speak of the meeting -
and I add this only because I notice it - we may have another potential
loophole. Still - let us soon take the road to Ashabenford.
"PS - Anyone fancy a game of hang-the-orc? I'll give you a clue:
C _ _ _ _ _ _ / _ _ C _ _ / _ _ C _" |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 29 Dec 2005 : 11:23:10
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Digesting Valanwé's message, Selm composes a quick response of his own:
Fair points all, and trust you to be so pernickity about it. That said,
given we already have a suitable plan for removing the spell, it is somewhat
irrelevant and I have no wish to chance the magic.
"But enough of that, we should be moving," he says, standing up and handing
the note over to the elf. "And just so you know, unless you happen to be my
mother, which I assure you you are not, or have very special permission, the
name's simply Selm."
Caylith nods. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 30 Dec 2005 : 12:55:58
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Aloud, Daleson says, "I agree with the assessment of our situation. We proceed on to our destination."
Looking at the infernal ring, Daleson appears ready to will the ring from his hand, had he the power. The attempts at removing the ring angering him because of their failure. |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 03 Jan 2006 : 19:40:49
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It is a long walk to Ashabenford, but the company finally get there late that night.
Exhausted from the ardours of their capture, they seek out accomodation.
"Well, we made it," says Selm, sounding relieved, when the group finally
arrives in Ashabenford. "I suggest we seek out accommodation as soon as
possible. The White Hart is a good inn, popular with travellers such as
ourselves. That said, I would like to make my excuses and go to the
Ashabenford Arms as I wish to meet with some friends of mine and the sooner
I do this, the better. You are of course welcome to join me, but although
comfortable with excellent service, I find it too much for my tastes, and it
is not cheap. We would also probably stick out like a drow in Suzail,
dressed as we are, in such a place. Anyway," he finishes, turning to leave,
"I bid you all a good night and will see you in the morning." |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 04 Jan 2006 01:01:48 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 04 Jan 2006 : 10:35:20
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| "It matters not where we lodge. Privacy, methinks, is in order with our current situation. I do not want to rouse trouble if trouble knocks at our door this night" responds Dalesone |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 08 Jan 2006 21:50:27 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 04 Jan 2006 : 13:01:29
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"Would magical shelter be in order," asks Valanwé of Daleson, "or will we find the privacy required in one of the more permanent establishments?"
Valanwé then curses as he realises he has no spells to hand.
The party book themselves in to The White Hart at Selm's recommendation, paying a little over the standard price to curry favour with Holfast Harpenshield the landlord.
Smiling at Selm and giving him a nod, Holfast leads the party to the end of the corridor where the rooms are kept. After a quick check that no one is about, Holfast twists the sconce of a nearby torch, and a hidden trapdoor with stairs leading downwards opens up in the floor. He briskly guides the companions down and shows them to the modest, but secure, room. |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 05 May 2006 18:56:11 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 08 Jan 2006 : 21:51:35
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Rhiannon, subconciously fiddleing with the ring, speaks without looking up
"What are we going to do about Trahæarn? We have to bring him back to life"
Just as he was adjusting his cloak and about to slip out of the door, Selm
hears Rhiannon's question and the plaintive desperation in her voice. Going
back over to her, he puts a comforting arm around her. Not really wanting to
voice his fears, but forcing himself to do so heavily, he begins, "I don't
think... I don't think there's anything we can do. I have a horrible feeling
the dragon... well, I don't think there's likely to be much of him left." He
sighs, before looking her squarely in the eye, and saying in a more
determined voice, "But that doesn't mean we won't try all in our power to do
so."
Removing his arm from her, he offers his hand. "Come, there's somebody I'd
like you to meet, Rhiannon." |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 08 Jan 2006 : 21:52:50
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With a sigh of dismay at Rhiannon's comment, and a wrenching feeling in his breast, Valanwé again finds himself arguing internally over the best course of action regarding Trahaearn. Finding his hands sparking black clouded energy, he dismisses the subject as too painful, and puts it out of mind.
Retrieving his spell books from his luggage, he sits down silently, and ponders which of his magics would be most useful to the current situation. Still experiencing some mental discomfort from the procedure endured earlier at the hands of The Cult, he makes his decision, and stands to leave. Going into the main part of the inn, he purchases himself a small bottle of strong spirits, and a glass, and returns to the secret room in silence, before sitting down, and pouring himself a large measure. Putting the rest of the bottle in his pack for another time, he sips at the drink, and maintains his quiet reflection for a while, not intending to leave the room again that night.
Daleson sits in cold silence at a small table in the inn. He is oblivious to all around him as the other patrons laugh and carouse, sing and dance, and generally have a pleasant time. He settled himself down to get drop-down drunk, but the weak spirits most humans are used to do not compare to the heavy liquor he was raised on with his dwarven family. While the liquid spirits are weak, the spirits of the dead haunt his thoughts. Leadership falls heavy on the Lathanderite tonight. |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 08 Jan 2006 21:57:02 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 08 Jan 2006 : 21:54:07
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Rhiannon nods tentatively and follows Selm.
Though she had seen death before, it had never felt so bad before. She had been helpless, totaly helpless, it could have been any of them the Dragon ate.
And she also felt extremly guilty, for deep down, there was a part of her that was glad Trahaearn had died instead of her...
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Edited by - Kaladorm on 08 Jan 2006 21:55:43 |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 08 Jan 2006 : 21:55:23
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Taking her hand, feeling his cold skin touch hers, he leads her outside,
turning back only to nod at Daleson, assuring him things will be fine. The
Lathanderite nods back respectfully.
Once outside, and having walked a short way from the inn, down to the gently
flowing river, Selm stops. Finding a quiet spot, he sits down and bids the
half-elf to do the same, looking closely at the worry written plainly on her
face, before staring wistfully at the water running by. "I wish there was
something I could say to make things better, the Gods know I do. If it's any
consolation, I feel terrible about it myself. If you talk about it, mayhaps
we can work through this together. If you don't," he adds, a look of genuine
care on his face, "that's fine, but I'm more than happy to hear anything you
might wish to say."
He is silent for a moment, before suddenly snapping round to look at her
again and uttering a curse to Beshaba, Goddess of ill fortune. "That said, I
don't even know how much is safe to say until we get this damned curse
removed. Maybe it is best we save this for another time. Still, sit with me
for a while, and tell me of your home in the High Forest." |
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Kaladorm
Master of Realmslore
United Kingdom
1176 Posts |
Posted - 08 Jan 2006 : 21:56:40
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Rhiannon goes to speak and then nods, untill the curse is removed its simply to dangerous to speak freely.
Did she really think that? Or was it an excuse to get out of telling Selm how she really thought?
"The high forest?" She said quietly "The high forest was, bliss, it was pure bliss. I loved every part of it whether I was simply picking fruit or running and hiding from the Orcs everything was exhilerating."
She pauses for a moment "I was the only child in the circle, a product of a brief liason between my mother and a wood elf, I didn't see my father much, never really got to know him.
Usually children arn't allowed to learn the Druidic arts, but my mum insisted, and Turlang vouched for me, said I had potential whatever that means, he was almost my father figure, takes him a week to get out a sentence but when he does speak everything he says is so wise"
Rhiannon smiles for a moment, the memories of good times making her feel better.
"I remember one day I saw a incident that took place between some loggers from Everlund and the Wood elves. It didn't end in violence, but then I knew my purpose, it was to try and get the forest and the cities to live together somehow. None of the druids in my circle worshiped Mielikki but since shes Silvanus's daughter I knew of her anyway, and when I asked about it Turlang introduced me to a Dryad that knew the ways of the forest queen.
And so thats how I served my circle and Turlang. Not sure of what kind of job I've done, but Mielikiki still grants my prayers and Turlang never experssed any serious complaints, so I must have done ok"
Rhiannon shivers in the cold a little and wraps her cloak around her.
Listening intently to Rhiannon's tale of her homeland, Selm reassures her,
"I'm sure you did fine. But what brought you to these fair Dalelands when
you were so comfortable in the High Forest? 'Tis no short journey."
Rhiannon smiles and looks down at the river.
"I was asked to come here, this will sound strange, but I think it was the Forest queen herself that requested I come. I've felt her presence every time I pray for my spells, and I felt that presence in Unicorn Run, so I know it was her.
She didn't actully tell me why she wanted me to come, I assume that it had something to do with that artifact you were also looking for."
"I was late arriving though, I was.... delayed In Cormyr, and so I didn't get here in time to help you, which I think I was meant to. So maybe by helping you now I can make up for that."
Selm breathes a soft 'Wow' under his breath, looking up to Rhiannon with
awe. "Touched by your Goddess... That's truly special. Your good work has
clearly not gone unnoticed. As for what you can do for us, you don't owe us
anything. Your allegience and help are your own to give, but we are glad of
them, and more importantly of your company." He shivers slightly, the chill
air getting to him. Thank you for sharing that with me. I will, of course,
not disclose this to the others, it's your business." |
Edited by - Kaladorm on 12 Jan 2006 23:41:00 |
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Kaladorm's Campaign Journal
