DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE3: The Invite

<Weston>

It was all interesting enough, he thought as they walked, but it felt like they were wasting time.

He managed to suppress the groan that wanted to escape his lips when their guide led them to more steps.

He could only sigh as the first words out seemed to be inciting folk.

"Perhaps", he interjected, "we should relax a bit. As far as =I= know, only Zoltan and myself were asked to come and help with the problem here. These others, out of their interest in helping others, have expressed an interest in helping with your problem."

He was silent for a moment, then continued. "But if you have no use for our services, the ship is still here and we can leave you to sort out your difficulties. We do not wish to force our help on you."

Tindarien

He seems mildly amused by the incorrect assumptions made about him but sees no need to challenge them. Instead he has a question.

"What more can you tell us of Sir Edward and his mission?"

D

Now there was a question that interested him. As far as why he was here. None of them needed the particulars. He was interested in the Lady and that was enough. All other business aside he didn't have information about his own existence to sort it out, at least for now.

[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

He bowed florridly when his name was mentioned, his mane of coppery hair and forked beard bouncing as he did.

It was good to know that at least was invited, and Longrim the Halfling hadn't been pulling his leg. He fingered the magical pendant around his neck and wondered where the Lady was.

The treasure was a trifle compared to what he'd seen in Drakkenhall, and these days he valued other things far more highly than riches.

A drink of cold water after that climb would be one of them, so he made his way over to the table where he'd espied a silver pitcher and goblets.

Nestaron

"My only follower is Heilbutt here. I was indeed directed here by a holy person, but it was not someone of Santa Cora. I assume you do after all, need assistance?"

GM

Heilbutt understood Nestaron's look -- whatever it was -- and stood down, swapping a glance with Seyja.

The Seneschal shook his head emphatically at the holy man and Weston's notion.

"No no, we're very glad, uh yes, very glad of all help. I'm just concerned that this talk of awakening monsters might attract more mercenary interest---"

Captain Achelus quickly interrupted the Seneschal before the pale, bald man accidentally accused their guests of being mercenaries.

"Sir Edward the Red and his mission!" He replied loudly to the high elf, thus shutting up the Seneschal. Achelus nodded gratefully to Tindarien.

He grabbed a corner of the velvet blanket and drew it smoothly off of the polished long table.

The room was instantly alight from glinting gold and jewels; a sackful of treasure laid out on the tabletop like a prize.

Achelus folded his arms and breathed in deeply in concern.

"Thus far, all we know for sure is that the knight errant arrived here in town to resupply. As was his fashion, he boasted that he was destined for the Titan's Elbow and there would undertake his next 'great feat'.

"The Titan's Elbow is a remote peak in the wilds, west southwest of here, along the river valley about two days ride. The rivers runs right through the mount, so I hear, makes it look like the crook of an elbow, hence the name.

"Some five days after setting out, we caught his horse galloping into town in the middle of the night, riderless and carrying this haul on its back. Our troubles began soon after."

The Seneschal shook his head is dismay. "Likely the only reason we haven't been over-run with 'adventurers' is that we made it abundantly clear that the treasure was confiscated by Her Ladyship, with naught more to gain!"

Achelus walked passed the Seneschal, giving a dismissive shrug, "Might I suggest we worry less about what isn't, and more about what is, sir?" he said.

The Captain grabbed a coin from the trove and flicked it to Zoltan.

"Minted in the Deep Under; the old dwarven realms before they were conquered by the Drow. From another age, at least one thousand years ago.

"So it's unlikely brigands or raiders would sit on such a trove, and it does rule out the knight being beset by an old enemy. There seems no reason they'd laden his horse with treasure afterwards.

"Either way, to be frank, none of this bodes well for Sir Edward the Red, and Titan's Elbow has its own history, if you're interested."

<Weston>

"Considering all the chats we had on the trip out, I don't believe that anyone that came with us is here as a mercenary", he told the Seneschal. "And as long as you do not post a 'listing', I doubt you will see any. But if any do come, just mention how 'destitute' the town in and I am sure that they will move on quickly enough", he added with a smile. He had met enough merks to know that he was right ... for the most part. He was sure that the group here could 'dissuade' any that arrived uninvited. They were not known for fighting where there was no profit.

Clearly, he thought, upon seeing the 'haul' that their 'Sir Edward' had managed to get onto his horse, the 'errant' knight had 'disturbed' something. That kind of treasure never sat around on it's own.

"No, brigands would not have bothered to pollute your river", he said with some conviction. "It sounds more like he ... disturbed something and that is the source of what ever had tainted the water." He was silent as he considered. He decided to ignore the obvious ... that their knight was dead ... and focus on what =they= needed to know. "You mentioned a 'history' for the area. Can you tell us about =that=?"

D

He remained quiet and still at the back of the group watching, listening, and above all thinking. History was good, though he knew from his own, or lack there of, that it was not everything.

Seyja


Seyja grinned at the half-orc and then stared for a long, hard moment at the treasure revealed by the flamboyant gesture of the town's nobleman. The gold and jewels were indeed impressive but, after a moment, she realized she did not really need that much wealth.

Wealth was not what she was interested in.

She waited to hear what was yet to be said.

Tindarien

"Maybe a part of some creature's hoard..?"

He speculates on seeing the treasure, nodding at the other comments made by his companions.

"Yes, I would like to hear this history."

History often provides a basis for happenings of today but history is often 'tweaked' in the telling. It might prove useful though.

Zoltan

He catches the coin easily, flicking it across his fingers. He grunts. "History would be helpful, yes." He tosses the coin back.

"However the situation implies certain things as well. If the coin is from an old dwarven treasure horde, before they were overrun by the Drow, it is unlikely the Drow are still there. Edward was a show-off. Flamboyant. Not one to skulk around. If he entered a Drow complex, alone, he'd have encountered too many of them before he reached a treasure room to be able to load all of that", he points to the pile, "onto his horse unmolested."

"The situation points to a solitary monster, or a small group, who came upon Edward after he'd found the treasure and was trying to exit with it."

"Add to that the poisoning of the river. Why? What is it's purpose? I think it can only be two things. Either to drive away people to provide more solitude. Or, it is a byproduct of something else going on there. Run-off from some sort of alchemical experiments perhaps?"

"But, perhaps history will help add clarity?"

<Weston>

Some pretty cleaver thinking from someone The Order did not seem to have much faith in, he thought as a grin spread on his face.

Seyja


Shrugging her muscular shoulders, Seyja rolled her eyes briefly skyward and then, a small grin appearing on her face, she spoke.

"I don't completely hate hearing history, I guess, but I think it'd be more fun to take his right ear off," she said, pointing to the seneschal, "put it where his left ear is and then hang the left one on his belt for a spare."

Tindarien

He smiles at Zoltan.

"I agree. My first though was dragon but I am hoping for something smaller."

GM

At Seyja's threat, you could almost see the judder run down the Seneschal's spine, from top to bottom. Not only was he unaccustomed to visiting dignitaries and treated everyone like the household, he also wasn't used to being domineered.

"I-I think I will go and um, yes, find out what is holding Her Ladyship. Thank you!" Said the Seneschal and carried himself out of the great hall as if struck by a crashing wave.

The Captain of the Guards shook his head, and placed the coin back on the table.

"It would seem we're in agreement then." He said, "Monster.

"Perhaps you could tell that tale of yours, Sergeant?"

Achelus nodded to the older man also standing at the table. He was stout, jowly with plump bags under his eyes and a ruddy complexion. A man who enjoyed his food and drink then. His thick beard was grey, though his hair was brown and thinning. He wore the studded brigandine worn by the other guards, with a red band around his arm indicating his senior rank.

He spoke up awkwardly.

"Yes sir. Well, like many hereabouts, my grandfather was an adventurer who came to Rosencliff during the Shoreblade Revolt.

"Back then, the noble houses of the Sword Point were in revolt against the Dragon Throne. Little bearing has it on our fix, suffice to say it was over a special levy and a coast road promised but undelivered. Such a trifling thing, yet wars have been fought for less, so they say.

"My grandfather was one of many sell-swords retained by the Don of Rosencliff to defend the town. But when the time came, the Emperor's General offered them fivefold their pay to betray their master and seize the town from within.

"My grandfather was born to thralls, he was driven by greed, a desire for wealth so that he might live out his days in the lap of luxury. He knew no loyalty. Together with his brethren, they delivered the town to the Empire. The old Don was flung from the top of this very tower and the Emperor created a new barony, granting it to the scion of a wealthy patrician family from across the sea.

"As for my grandfather, in Rosencliff he settled, enjoying his life of indulgence, but in time his coffers ran dry and he became discontented. He could not abide being poor, not again, so he sat and planned one last adventure.

"There were tales of the Titan's Elbow long before the Revolt. A cursed place, haunted by a monster of an earlier age, though whether giant, dragon, demon or dark god would depend on the teller. Most simply called it the Beast.

"It was said to have hoarded a king's bounty in its lair, from days of yore when it was paid tribute, before the Beast became tired, old and fat. Then as now, the occasional ancient coin washes up in the creek and the story was considered true.

"My grandfather was my age then. He gathered eleven who remained of the adventurer mercenaries from the Revolt, and they set off along the river to the Titan's Elbow, to slay the Beast and steal its treasure.

"His wife begged him not to leave, saying they could still thrive in Rosencliff, living a humble life. But he would not listen and so they parted amidst an angry storm of words. His wife swore that should they not return, she would throw herself into the sea before letting anyone from the town follow them to the same fate."

If Jexric poured him a goblet of water, the Sergeant took it gratefully. The story disturbed closeted memories in the man-at-arms and his eyes shone with tears. You were reminded that this wasn't some folk tale wheeled out at the fair, it was a family matter. It would have been told to him by his parents, who were likely now passed. It spoke of his grandfather's flaws and fateful folly, and perhaps held a mirror up to his own life and what kind of man he saw in his reflection.

Captain Achelus placed a hand on the Sergeant's shoulder and continued the story.

"As you might have guessed, these men did not return, and no-one from this town has ever searched for them.

"However, Red Ed's horse did return this to us, amongst the treasure on its back. The magical helm owned by the Sergeant's grandfather."

On the table was a battered steel helm, spotted with rust. It was made from braced plates with a steel mask over the eyes and a mail aventail. The hem of the aventail ragged and though the crest was inlaid with gems, several were missing. Two aurochs horns should have swept around to the front, but one of those was also missing.

It was still very distinct, with Weston and Zoltan recognising it from arena statues as belonging to the famous Axesian gladiator, Gorulon Gorehound. He won his freedom some 80 years ago and was renowned for always lopping off the hands of fallen adversaries, even if they weren't dead yet. Something of a crowd favourite. Popular folklore said he did so in case the corpses ever rose from the dead.

Tindarien didn't tie the helm to the champion gladiator, but he did note that it was centuries older than the Sergeant's grandfather and North-Eastern in design not Western, probably made by the fabled smiths of Grey Harbour.

[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

He poured water from the silver pitcher, filling all the goblets and handing one to the Sergeant.

The man's telling had been a little plain but it was one of those tales that didn't stand elucidation without getting rather unpleasant. Of course, most audiences lapped up unpleasantness but then it wasn't personal to them.

If the Seneschal had gone to summon the Lady, he had better tidy himself up, he decided, and straightened out his magnificent goatee.

<Weston>

He had to work hard to suppress the chuckle as the Seneschal 'turned tail and ran'. For one thing it really didn't help their cause to be alienating the locals. He shot Seyja a scowl. But he also didn't want to show a lack of solidarity in the group. So he would find a 'quiet moment' to have a talk with her.

He listened to the sergeant's history. He understood the 'greed' of the grandfather. It was something he had seen all too often.

The helm was of interest. He had heard the stories, seen the statues. A bit grisly for his way of thinking. But it lent a sense of 'reality' to the man's story. But he did not hear anything that really helped ... other than some confirmation that there =was= some sort of monster and the likelihood was it was in that 'elbow' area.

Seyja


As stories go, it was not a bad one, although Seyja normally only cared for tales of her own people and perhaps those relating to the Orc Lord (for her own preservation). It held her attention, though.

Once the tale came to a pause, she looked around, drinking the water she'd been provided and caught the warrior - at the moment she couldn't place his name - scowling at her. She had no idea why and one eyebrow quirked upward in puzzlement.

She shrugged and turned back to the others. Perhaps something he'd eaten disagreed with him.

Tindarien

"Well the helm seems to substantiate that this treasure pre-dates any kin in living memory. This gives credence to what has already been told."

He is wondering what sort of creature might have fouled the waters. That it hasn't done so in living memory might suggest it has been in some sort of hibernation or deep slumber - maybe even under wards - and that the local knight may then have woken it. Maybe he even injured it and the creature's blood has caused the contamination?

D

Sound reasoning from the group. D listened and watched. He was much more familiar with treachery made by humanoid hands. These people appeared to be what they were, yet appearances could be deceiving. He waited patiently for the Lady he was sent to see.

Nestaron

"It is clearly something that needs to be seen to."

He looked around at the group.

"We here assembled seem capable enough, to my mind."

Captain Achelus

"I agree," he said, "and a better use for your sword than the tavern-keeper's daughter." He smirked at Zoltan with that last comment.

Zoltan

"Now how can I know that?" He chuckles. "But business first, yes."

He glances to Nestaron at his pronouncement with a slightly raised eyebrow. Unless others here are long time companions, they know as little of each other as he knows of them. One fight on board ship is all the experience they have of each other.

**Still, this is the group that is assembled, and they seem willing, so it is what it is.**

He grunts as he recognizes the helm, nodding his head.

[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

He raised one of his fiery red eyebrows at Tindarien's comments.

"Remarkable that it's so old! Yet it reminds me of that gladiator... You Axis fellows must know the one I mean?

"Alas, I've always avoided the sands of death, regardless of its theatrics. I've seen far too much of death as entertainment in my short life!

"But this gladiator was a crowd favourite. Statues of him in most of the city's arenas. Didn't think he was ages old. Huh, always shown wearing a helm, just like that. Very distinctive--- Ah, Gorehound something-or-other."

Zoltan

He nods. "Yes. Gorulon. Famous for making his foes say 'Unhand me!' Can't recall if the tense is correct there, but anyway less than a century ago I think".