DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE9: By the Light of the Last Moon

GM

Water bubbled and simmered in its pot over the fire.

It was hung from a crude wooden tripod fashioned from pine branches, tied at the top.

The water was from your own stores. Even boiled, you couldn't trust the river water.

You were hungry and thirsty, and might regard the Baronessa's rations in a different light.

Biscuits, hard cheese, smoked mutton, and sweet brittle mixed with dried fruit and nuts, and fresh, green-tinged tangerines. It might have seemed excessive the night before.

You weren't starving, no.

But you'd hiked all day over rough terrain in sweltering heat, as you followed the River Scintilla to the Titan's Elbow.

You'd disturbed a Fey guardian and had to flee from its ire.

You'd climbed the steep, overgrown rocks alongside a waterfall.

You'd fought a band of orcs and goblins to the death.

You'd scoured the wreckage and remains of a dead dragon rider, searching for clues and piecing them together afterwards.

You had burned some energy.

Now you could relax a little, the cave was pleasantly cool and dry with a soft floor. Although it was approaching the New Moon, the night sky was lit by the outer cosmos and true night was slower to fall in the summer.

It was dim outside, with the wilderness blurring into murky, indistinct shapes.

Around the fire, your eyes and faces were illuminated.

Out in the dark, the sentries, sat under the bivouac shelter, shadows amongst the shadows.

<Weston>

It had been a long hard day. But he had seen long hard days before when he was working caravans. Granted it wasn't =exactly= the same, but close enough. You learned to eat when you could and it was all good. You learned how to sleep any time you got the chance.

He ate some food and lay down to sleep. "Wake me when it is my watch", he said and then drifted off.

Zoltan

He was used to staying up late, and was not an early riser. He also had become used to snatching sleep wherever he could while traveling so sleeping in two stints was not an issue.

"If no one else cares, I can take the midnight watch. Wake me when the evening watch ends." He glances at Weston as he lies down to sleep. "I'll wake Weston after my shift is done."

<Weston>

Without opening his eyes, he gives Zoltan the 'high' sign.

D

The dusky elf helped prepare the cave for habitation. It seemed as he didn't mind the work however menial it was.

He took his rations thankful that they were warm. One should never discount the comfort of a hit meal. One could survive on cold, but this was better.

He watched the others and said "I am willing to sit a middle watch. I can join Zoltan."

Tindarien

He takes a look at the Sergeant and considers.

"Perhaps the good Sergeant would stand the last watch with me?"

Whilst he would take any watch, he feels the Sergeant may well need his rest. He has probably done more this day than he has for a long time.

Zoltan

He nods at the Dark Elf, briefly considering the pairing to be somewhat appropriate.

Sergeant Almador

The cave was comforting. A warm fire, a soft mattress of pine needles. His quilt was unfurled with an enthusiasm that caught his own self by surprise.

He was slumped on his side, looking at a cameo portrait of his wife. A local craft, it was carved into mother-of-pearl that iridesced in the firelight.

Almador coughed and tucked it back into his tunic when Tindarien spoke his name.

"I would be glad to, sir." He said firmly, patting around to check where he'd laid his partisan. He didn't need it yet, but wanted to know where it was.

Sergeant Almador was the kind of late-fifties male, father and grandfather, who didn't think he was prejudiced but whose views were largely constructed out of them. Yet, being so neighbourly, Almador was mortified whenever he discovered one of these building blocks.

He'd have preferred to take stag duty with Weston, but the high elf seemed a genuine and helpful sort, contrary to the reputation high elves had.

The Sergeant felt dog-tired but alive, with all his senses firing. Fire. He sat by the fireside at home on countless evenings and it was just a fire... but tonight, this campfire seemed to dance and crackle in a way that seemed utterly new to him. Yet Almador instinctively knew it was just a fire; it was that he'd merely not paid attention to one since he was a babe.

Seyja


She had sat by the fire and ate while the others did, also, and half-listened to the rather desultory (other than for Jex's part) conversation. When the subject of pairing up for watches came up, she glanced at Nestaron, one eyebrow quirked upward in a questioning expression. The cleric nodded and she returned the gesture.

"I will stand watch with Nestaron," she said and set about cleaning and oiling her weapons and armor.

When it was decided that she and the cleric would take first watch, she stood, stretched and made her way to the impromptu lookout post.

Jex

He was tired and was ready for a few hours of sleep once the shelter had been established and dinner was had. It was good that he was physically exhausted because otherwise he might be up all night as lyrics and notes swam in his mind. There already were many stories that deserved to be recorded and retold somehow. This night those tunes would be his dreams because he was snoring in moments.

Tindarien

"Good."

He smiles over at the armsman.

"And Tindarien is fine."

He is a high elf, born of two other high elves but that is the sum total of elven influence in his formative years. As he was orphaned at an early age and brought up by humans who were intent on protecting him, he only learned more of his elven heritage later on in life.

He joins in the supper they all share and then settles down to rest, the events of the day still playing over in his mind.

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Nestaron

The half-elf was gazing, unfocused, into the firelight when Seyja spoke. He nodded in reply, with a short but agreeable smile.

There was something on Nestaron's mind.

Since they were all gathered around to eat, before splitting up, the cleric decided to share.

"Tomorrow we'll likely confront whatever lurks on this peak.

"I've been trying to order what we know of it, but all we really know are its victims, and even that's uncertain."

He sighed and sat back, looking to the others.

"Gorulon Gorehound, champion gladiator from Axis and later mercenary. Sir Edward the Red, famous knight errant and agent of the Order of Averness. Renn and Caeric, swordmage, dragon rider, notorious treasure hunter, loyal to the Crusader.

"They've got one thing in common, they died when they came here...."

Nestaron frowned and paused for a moment before continuing.

"Putting party morale aside, why will we triumph where they fell? Did they have something else in common? Is it a weakness we share? Could it be what the Beast exploits?"

Zoltan

"They were all hunting treasure. Some were famous for it in fact. Perhaps whatever is here played on their greed?"

Seyja


Standing there in the gloom at the far reach of the fire's glow, Seyja spoke.

"They fought alone, did they not? We fight together."

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Nestaron

He nodded at Zoltan and Seyja's remarks. They were right, both very true, and he felt they were onto something.... He couldn't say how important it was, just that it was self-evident; they had to ready for this Beast in a way the others had not.

"What about hubris?"

Tindarien

"Fighting alone suggests an arrogance or at the least significant confidence in their own ability."

He looks around at the others.

"We don't seem to be exhibiting much of that. However, we should not underestimate our foe, always a dangerous thing to do. So some thoughts from when I searched. It takes a lot to bring down a dragon. Possibilities include petrification magic, a missile of size such as a boulder; the dragon did have fractures or significant reach which I think is less likely. Most likely: big and strong - giant sized maybe?"

<Weston>

He opened an eye and looked at Tindarien.

"Everyone has a weakness", he began. "Traveling with stalwart companions as we are, there will be someone to help cover for my weakness and be covered by me in turn for their own and so on. And it is not always about power, doesn't =have= to be boulder chucking. There are subtle magics that could down a dragon. ... perhaps it was put to sleep, perhaps an illusion made it think it was safe to dive to avoid some fearsome foe."

Finished, he closed his eye again. His shift would come sooner than he would have wished and he wanted to get what rest he could before.

Sergeant Almador

He struggled to think of a way he could contribute, but one thing did occur to him.

"My grandfather--- Gorulon, he took other townsmen with him, those mercenaries who'd also settled in Rosencliff. None returned, mind you." He said.

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Nestaron

"Hmm." He pondered, remembering the apparition in the castle, "Yes. But they were all seeking fortune and glory."

The half-elf stroked his beard, glancing to Tindarien. He trusted his friend's opinion, the sorcerer tended to pay attention to the finer details.

In the end Nestaron huffed and shrugged.

"Well no-one can accuse us of avarice, can they. Here we are, lugging riches across untamed wilderness, with the sole purpose of dumping it."

He looked around the campfire.

"We are all agreed that we're dumping it, yes?"

Seyja


She had returned from the gloom at the edge of the firelight to join in on the conversation until time for her watch.

"I don't care about riches." She shook her head and restarted.

"I do care about riches, but I have things I care about more."

A grim, humorless smile flirted with her expression.

"I suppose it is a matter of priorities."

Tindarien

"We are trying to achieve two things I believe. To prevent harm to the locals from the curse and to clean the cause of the poisoned water. Replacing the treasure should achieve the first of these."

He shrugs eloquently, his careful statement agreeing with Nestaron's last question but leaving a little room in case things ae not as clearcut as they seem on the surface.

Zoltan

He shrugs. "I've got no need for money and jewels. When the Herald brings Heaven here money will have no meaning."

D

"While I personally like and use riches, it has been my experience that they come with a price. In this instance I would prefer that the townspeople didn't suffer for what we carry. So if returning it will help alleviate peoblems, then I am here to do just that. I do, however, reserve the right to learn more regardless." He shrugged.

GM

And so you talked, and so the night wore on.

With two lookouts under a shelter made of layered branches and the rest behind, camped in the cave by a small, brightly burning, smokeless fire.

The stars came out in their multitudes and the colours of the night sky swam together like spilt ink.

The Moon was a silver sickle, a white welt, veined with dark blue, cold and distant. But the hillside below was warm and breathless, the heat of the sun living on in the earth even after it had set.

Those on sentry duty didn't talk. The patchy gloom under the trees both revealed and concealed the depth of the forest, a forest that was silent. They could hear each other's breathing well enough, hear their companions shuffling around in the cave, and somewhere, far downhill, the faintest sound of the river. But no overlapping cadence of insects, no twit-twoo of swarthy owls. There were no howls of wolves in these hills, or rustling of birds in the undergrowth.

It was still, and yet when you took your turn on sentry duty, you felt something watching you. Something crafty, something curious, something that was at home in the woods as a fox. You sensed a voyeuristic intent, not malice, but it was irritating, distracting. Your partner sat only a whisper away, but you felt sure that every word you said would be overheard.

***

D and Zoltan were sat, poised and searching the darkness with straining eyes, fingertips lightly touching the hilts of their weapons. Whatever watched them, it was a skilled -- nay -- a gifted woodsman.

They heard the crackle of dry twigs, a patter of feet, and the dark elf and tiefling's instincts told them it was gone. Had it fled?

Suddenly there was loud rustling from high up on the peak, that seemed to grow and roll down the hillside towards them. A strong draught came whistling through the trees, low to the ground, throwing up leaf litter, and scattering debris. It washed over the length and breadth of the slope, shaking the roof of the bivouac.

And just as suddenly, nothing, the forest was still once more.

Maybe D and Zoltan stole a glance at each other and noticed the breath misting in front of their faces?

In the cave, you had been dozing with your drawstrings undone or bare-chested. You awoke, shivering, with the campfire guttering in the cold.

Outside, a white downy feather drifted lazily down from above, landing one of the sentries' hands.

It melted and was followed by others. A light snow fell.

Momentarily, it swirled around the sentries as they were cast into deep but fleeting shadow. Somewhere nearby was an awful crash in the trees, the ground shook, and in the cave the water in the pot rippled and the fuel in the fire toppled over.

Now everyone felt a malevolent eye upon them.

D

He wondered at first between what they felt and what they heard. The dropping of snow flakes after such a hot day made him think even more. His mind went over the order of events from the thing that had been watching them departing, it knew something was coming. Whatever it was that came, flying, large, and drawing cold in its wake. Could it have been another dragon? One that killed the other skeleton down the hillside?

But the unmistakable feeling of power, the dark intent behind what watched them now. That he felt had all to do with their goals and the problems of the town. He had walked confident into this place. For not the first time he wondered as to that devil cat's offering and whatever it was the master wanted. Did she want it loose doing damage? Did she want it back asleep, no longer a threat to her power? Only time would tell. He wasn't as confident as he had been. He certainly wasn't complacent on watch. He was silent, still and more vigilant than ever. If only he knew the source of the malevolent intent.