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Nestaron

"Our fates are intertwined, that much seems obvious. Less obvious is why, how, by whom." The half-elf offered.

He needed convalesence, he needed his home, his wife and family. So regardless of how entwined, his destination was Fullcatch Bay and that lie meant heading south, not north to Trahice.

Nonetheless, Nestaron had spent the past night as a guest of a Primeval dragon. Like all white dragons, it had some affinity for death magic and had learned secrets that only the ghosts could tell of.

Nestaron doubted the Master of Winter had lied or fabulised, but its words were bent by evil and the cleric did doubt that any good could come of them.

D's account reminded Nestaron of what the dragon had said to the dark elf, about 'lost farthings'. Was it possible that D was both more and less responsible for Tindarien's parents' murder than he thought?

Possible. Yes.

The one-armed cleric shivered, even in the warm summer sun that bathed the beach. He was ready to go.

If Zoltan was there to assist him in, Nestaron took his seat in the canoe, turning his mind to happier, simpler things.

Zoltan

He pauses, considering. "If the good Captain has a means of contacting the Order so I can report in and see if there is any new assignment then I would like to continue this thru."

Bearkiller

Grave. His face was serious, listening to the dark elf. These heroes, who Bearkiller had come to respect, were as haunted as the helm they returned.

Such was often the way.

Seeing Seyja wear the necklace, the halfling warrior nodded approvingly.

Like him, she would wear it openly, he thought. Proudly.

He had killed that bear when he was a boy, allowed it to corner him and lured it into a pitfall.

Perhaps it would inspire the barbarian woman to similar feats.

And perhaps Jex Dragon-Spoor would sing of them? As impressed as he was with the heroes, it was the bard who had communicated with him in his own language. The bard, the Bodejacker. A hero, no doubt, but also a rebel, whose antics had delighted the downtrodden.

So it was to Jex that Bearkiller saluted, sweeping his flat hand outwards, palm down, in a farewell gesture.

He whistled to his not-so imaginary dire wolf and turned. A scuffle of moccasined feet and he was gone into the undergrowth.

Seyja


She waved goodbye to Bearkiller, hand up, palm toward herself in the come back one day gesture she'd learned from the gypsies.

Seyja watched until he was out of sight and then climbed into the canoe which held Nestaron.

"Tell me, brave cleric, does your healing magic allow for the regrowth of lost limbs?"

Nestaron

His faraway gaze refocused on Seyja and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. For a so-called holy man, he'd always shown a decent sense of humour.

"Alas, my magic -- such as it was -- could neither regrow limbs nor make what appendages we have grow larger.

"Believe me, I have been asked many times!"

<Weston>

He couldn't quite suppress the chuckle at Nestaron's 'quip' about 'enlarged members'. "I bet we can find someone that would be able to manage that Nestaron ... once we get back to a big enough town."

Seyja


She frowned in momentary confusion, but then her eyes widened and she made a noise halfway between a chuckle and a snort as she reached toward the cleric and laid a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"That is a shame, my friend. You have served nobly."

Tindarien

It seems that many of the group may journey on with him. This is both a blessing and a responsibility. He has much to think about since D made his confession. He starts to paddle the canoe, not because he is gifted in that direction but more because it gives him something to do and let's him focus his thoughts inwards.

Jex

He saluted the halfling back in the manner that he had been saluted, a mirror image of Bearkiller. "Fare well Bearkiller and He Who Sicks Balls!"

After the halfling disappeared, he turned to Tindarien and said, "So, where are we going next?"

He knew full well where they were going but Jex wanted to make sure that Tin knew that he was coming along.

Then he looked over to the cleric and tried to make light of his missing arm. "I say we make you a better appendage. Perhaps we attach the symbol of your god to what is left of it, or maybe we just attach a blade there. Which would you prefer Nes?"

Nestaron

His brow wrinkled. He'd never given godly symbols much thought.

"The thing with gods, Jex, is that you never know which one will be in the neighbourhood at the time of your needing." He said to the bard, quite seriously.

"So I try to be on cordial terms with them all."

With an involuntary gulp, he glanced down at the bandaged stump jutting from his shoulder. Nestaron cleared his throat, then looked back up at Jex and Seyja.

"Put me down for a blade."

GM

The last of the packs were loaded and lashed down, and fresh wooden paddles were picked up.

You'd already discussed who would sit where, spreading the weight. You hadn't time to craft seats, so you would be sitting on your packs, kneeling, or both depending on the river.

The tallest of you (Zoltan and Weston?) pushed the outrigger into the current, cool, clean water splashing around their knees. Once the outrigger was floated, they found their positions and swung over the side into the canoe.

Crude as it was, but the outrigger had little work to do and even the paddles were more for steering. The Scintilla was a fast-flowing river, dropping down to the sea from Titan's Elbow over a short but winding coarse.

You silently drifted under the shadowed karst archway, then back out into a hot summer's day at noon. Sweat and fine spray, sunlight and low rainbows over the river.

Ahead of you were several bends, then the labyrinthine Heilbutt's Hallow, viewed from the water this time, followed by a raging whitewater cateract. After that, smooth running to the sea. Assuming you weren't dashed on the rocks and drowned, it would be a far less strenuous return journey.

The first bend approached rapidly. Looking back you could see the distinctive peak with its wooded slopes and water-bored hole. A thin tendril of black smoke rose from a somewhere high on the side, from the dragon's lair.

The Titan's Elbow. It hadn't been your first adventure, nor was it likely to be your last. What made it significant was the people you shared the caneo with. Significant in ways you didn't fully understand yet.

In one way you did though...

You were certain that your future held even greater dangers, but you suspected that you would not be facing them alone.

[Go to HHE14: Victory of Life]