DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE6: The Journey

[Also see HHE5: Interlude]

GM

The first light of day.

The eastern horizon was a pale silver blossom and the soft shadows below were blued. The gentle lapping of waves could be heard down on the shore, but all was quiet and calm.

A ginger tom slinked across the street, suddenly pausing mid-stride with its ears pricked up.

Zoltan came walking uphill from the town below, looking relaxed and carrying his sword belt over his shoulder. The cat stared at him fearlessly -- like it wouldn't move for a rampaging land shark -- until Zoltan got within about 10 feet when it hastily fled, panicky over a low stone wall, pausing but once more to disdain the tiefling while showing him its bum-hole.

***

All of you were soon assembled in the courtyard, in front of the gatehouse, yawning as you double-checked the straps and ties on your packs.

Heilbutt had lashed together his and Nestaron's packs, and the half-orc was the closest thing you had to a beast of burden. With the treasure also distributed amongst you, a hard day of hiking lay ahead.

The local shepherd, Irt, leaned on his crook, munching on a leek and watching your preparations with the blank expression of someone who spent far too much time alone in the hills. A creamy-coloured sheepdog sat next to him, wearing a spiked collar. Although looking like an implement of war, the spiked collar was commonly worn by sheepdogs on the Sword Point, intended to protect the neck from wolves and lions. The dog itself was a stocky breed, with a broad, bear-like head and black eyes and nose. It had a friendly, eager face.

Although it was the coldest time of day, it still didn't feel cold to you, newly arrived as you were from more northerly climes.

Captain Achelus was feeling the chill though, and wore a quilted overgown as he walked amongst you. He was otherwise alert and in good cheer; remarkable, considering his inebriated state at supper.

Master Casados and some of the sailors had already been and gone, wishing you a safe onwards journey. The Issitia would sail with the morning tide, round the Sword Point and call in at the south coast village of Stiltstrand. From there, it would sail straight to the fabled city of Horizon and then east-south-east into the unrelenting heat of the Dragon Empire's south, destined for Santa Cora.

Your journey would be far shorter, but no less adventurous. The rugged wilderness that awaited you was untouched by settlers or tribes. There were no roads running through it, not even a beaten path. The interior of the Sword Point was generally considered to be of no interest to anyone. You couldn't know what you would find there, let alone at the Titan's Elbow.

It promised to be a long day.

As people rising too early tended to, everyone spoke in hushed tones or muffled grunts. A clock would have said a quarter to six.

Outside in the street, the Sergeant of the Guard stood facing his family, some nine of them. There were another eight grandchildren not present, probably still asleep in their beds.

They whispered and hugged, clapped shoulders and swapped meaningful looks. Finally, Sergeant Almador turned to his wife and kissed her on the forehead. Her eyes were as red-rimmed as Heilbutt's, and he hadn't slept a wink.

"I will see you four days hence, petal. I love you." He said earnestly, and she nodded speechless in reply, stepping away into the arms of her children.

There was a gargling bellow as Heilbutt yawned mightily, grabbing the attention of most onlookers. He didn't seem to notice though, hefting the pack onto his back and picking up his spear.

Captain Achelus wished Zoltan and Weston the best. He also assured them that the town's guard would stand at battle readiness until the threat of the haunted helm was past.

Several of you spotted the Seneschal watching blankly from behind one of the tower's windows, and for a while you thought that perhaps the Baronessa wasn't going to appear. Yet she did, once you were all formed up in a line with the shepherd at the head.

She wore a full-length hooded cloak of bright saffron, that made it seem as though she was gliding not walking along your line. The eye-catching colour in that pale, fore-dawn light lifted the spirits, almost like the sunrise in itself. The Sergeant's family and men-at-arms were obviously impressed; their eyes could barely be wider.

Lady Morgen petted the sheepdog's head, smiling fondly before turning to you.

"You have an hour before dawn. An arduous journey ahead maybe, but the good will of this town at your back. Si, this is my dominion but I am in no position to give you orders... if I were I would command just this: Return."

D

He watched her move. That was the first concious thing he had done. Much of his prep had been done the night before. This morning was merely automatic double checking. His hands wandered over his clothing. Sharp people might note an incredible array of small black points here and there.

Satisfied he nodded to the Lady. "Would it be in my destiny, I will. I feel like we have more to discuss."

Seyja


The barbarian woman happened to be looking in Helibutt's direction when the half-orc issued his jaw-cracking yawn. It was impressive and contagious, too, and she yawned, also, then stretched and shivered slightly in the slightly cool morning air.

Then Seyja took a final bite from the piece of crusty bread in her hand, tossing the bit that was left toward some pigeons in the courtyard.

"Can't return 'til we leave."

<Weston>

Rising early was something he was quite used to. In town it was the best time to get things done, while working the caravans, you =never= wasted light. OK, so he was still a bit 'drowsy', not having completely adjusted to the chance from ship to shore, but still ... he was ready to get on the road ... or trail ... or path.

In any event, he was ready to get started with his gear all sorted, the added weight of his share of the 'stuff', he tried not to think of it as 'treasure', that sort of wealth made him nervous, they were returning to the 'grave' ... or whatever it was ... carefully packed so that it would not shift at an inopportune time and throw him off balance.

He nodded his appreciation to the Captain for his words. "Keep your people safe, that is =your= mission", he said with a smile. He smiled as the Lady bid them return. He liked her, despite her 'position'. She seemed a very down to earth person despite it all. He like that ... and her. But he also knew that was about the extent of anything 'between them'. So he decided to remain silent.

[Recruiting for this player character. Send PM for details]

Jex

He tugged the felt cap down over his unruly mop of curly, gingery hair, after throwing on his own pack. He felt the weight of the water the most and was already looking forward to being rid of it.

As always he was fluted and luted. There was no way he was wearing that ridiculous rapier on his belt though; he'd break his neck tripping over it! So he'd tied it to his pack and hoped not to need it. He had several far smaller, handier blades within easy reach if need be.

He grinned at Seyja's comment.

"Too early for me to muster any such wit!" He said. And for him it was, an entertainer who worked mostly by night and often well-lubricated. Early starts were not his forte.

Tindarien

He stands close to Nestaron and Heilbutt, his stance easy, keen to get going. He is carrying his own pack and share of the hoard they are returning.

He nods to the Captain and to the Baronessa. Everything that needed to be said has already been discussed. He is ready and wearing his new headgear.

[Ghosted for Owain]

Nestaron

So Sergeant Almador was joining them. It was his choice, and Nestaron didn't think there was a right or wrong to that decision.

The half-elf nodded his head in greeting to Lady Morgen, smiling as she petted the thickly furred sheepdog.

He admired her love of animals but had his concerns. Her two bear cubs were adorable now, but what when they reached adulthood? They were black bears, not toys, they would weigh as much as a grown man.

Would they be abandoned to the wild where they'd inevitably die of starvation? Or perhaps sold to a travelling circus, or worse, to pitfighters?

However tempting it was to bring nature closer to home, sometimes it was best left well alone. Nature was outside of every porch and every gatehouse. All you had to do was walk.

This reminded Nestaron of their day's goal, as much as Seyja's remark.

"You are most gracious, Baronessa. Until our next meeting then, may you and your town fare well." He said, tapping his quarterstaff on the cobblestones and nodding to Irt.

Zoltan

He saunters up the hill to the assemblage, whistling a merry tune softly to himself. He quickly goes inside and gathers up the rest of his gear, then returns outside, nodding to the Sergeant amiably.

When the Baroness appears and offers her words, he grins slightly. "How could I do anything else? After your promise?"

GM

"I could say the same to you." Captain Achelus said to Weston with a grin, shaking his hand. He also returned Tindarien's nod with a look that seemed to say 'Remember what I said'.

The Baronessa meanwhile tilted her head in subtle affirmation, by way of reply (to Zoltan or D?).

Perhaps there was the crease of a smile at the corner of her mouth for Zoltan, perhaps a nervous twitch of her eyebrow for D, but she remained the noblewoman and when she spoke, she spoke to everyone.

"Adios." She said quietly.

Lady Morgen drew the satiny yellow cloak around and stepped back. There were hesitant waves from the Sergeant's family and Irt gave a short sharp whistle. His dog sprang to its feet, tail wagging and loped off in the direction shown by the shepherd's crook.

"Go on, off wid ya, Wanshanks!" Grumbled Irt, setting out after his dog.

Sergeant Almador looked over his shoulder at you, then back to his family. Was he out of his depth? He wore his brigandine and a wide-brimmed kettle hat of steel. He could reply on his partisan is a staff of sorts, and he'd need it. He was past his prime and fattened by years of stable, comfortable home life. The Sergeant also now carried the haunted helm of his grandfather, Gorulon Gorehound, in his pack. He felt its weight in more ways than one.

Almodor hitched up his belt and put his best foot forward, as did the rest of you.

***

The sun rose in the east with a fanfare of glorious light on the far horizon. Warm rays stretched out across the sea and sky, and where they went the richness of colour bloomed. The highest of the east-facing mountains glowed like embers, as day slowly unfurled itself down their sides.

You breathed deeply through your nose as you walked along the wilderness trail. You had been concentrating on your footing in the dimmer light, but the pensive birdsong around you suddenly took on a more gregarious tone. There were flapping wings in the treetops and you could hear the forest coming alive as morning dawned on the lower slopes too. Raising your gaze, you found everyone in the party had taken a moment's pause.

You stood in a single file, in the hills high above the town. Looking back you could see Rosencliff from above and behind, not that there was much to see from this angle. The curtain wall and gatehouse, the Baronessa's keep, all visible, as was the fine caravel, The Issitia, anchored out in the blue waters. But most of the town was hidden from view by the steepness of the slope on which it was built.

A rutted road led out of town from the gatehouse and meandered up through terraced fields, petering out as it encroached on the forest. There was a donkey cart on the road, just leaving town, and a broken string of field hands ambling along. Doubtful they could pick you out amongst the trees and underbrush.

Wanshanks the sheepdog woofed gaily. Up ahead there was a blur of spotted, honey-coloured fur and striped, bushy tails as two genets shot across the trail, with winged fairies clinging to their ears. The gabbling of the wee folk sounded like a cross between a frog, a cricket and two rock sparrows having a dust up.

Irt grabbed his dog's collar and hauled back on it.

"Feckless fairies!" Grumbled the shepherd, chewing on a wheat straw. "Ever ya do, don't follow dem, begorra! Tiddly little blaggards love getting folks lost, so dey do."

The genets and their rider-tormentors disappeared into the forest that surrounded you. Above knee height the forest was open and airy, sun now sieving through the leaves, creating a fretwork of mellow shadow under the trees. Where you stood there was a break in the trees, of course, affording the view, but even in other directions you could see for 20 yards or so into the forest. With the pleasant warmth of morning and touch of breeze from the coast, there was nothing of immediate concern except enjoying the walk perhaps.

[The player characters will now be asked a special question, to which they must respond. This represents the general chit-chat amongst the party during this stage, but may also offer you and others an insight into your character.]

[Ghosted for Neptune]

Jex

Hopefully the fairy folk would be less rampant inland. He had bad memories of trying to camp in Fey domains before. Not a wink of sleep all night with their irksome pranks.

As one would expect from a jester, Jex was an adroit prankster. Adroit. That meant he knew when pranking stopped being funny and started being irritating.

Fey did not have this capacity in his experience.

Otherwise, Jex was bouyant. The walk was vigorous but easy, the weather and scenery quite lovely. (He did suspect this might change around the midday mark.)

There had been some conversation along the line, about could've done in Gorulon and Red Ed, and whether it could've effected the haunting of the helm.

A fine summer's day was a great time for talk of death!

"Ah, I suppose we'll find out exactly how they met their doom." He said aloud.

"Say, here's a question for you!" Jex continued, "How do you think that you'll die?"

<Weston>

He walked in silence, lost in thought, lost in the beauty of this place. And it =was= a strikingly beautiful area, but scary at the same time. Very different from the places he had been leading caravans ... one misstep and your body might never be found. Surprisingly the 'climb' felt safer than the subsequent descent. That was probably because while walking up hill the most likely thing would be to fall on your face. Walking down hill it felt like he had to fight to keep his feet from speeding up.

Mind your step, he reminded himself. Don't loose yourself in the beauty or you might loose yourself over a cliff.

But all that 'concern' didn't detract from his appreciation of the stark beauty of the place. the trees and shrubs 'clinging' to what seemed like bare rock, eking out a life ... the rugged 'sculpture' that was the mountain itself had their own stark beauty.

But still he had to mind his step.

It was very different to see a river from this vantage, he thought ... the river winding it's way through the mountains came into view. It sparkled like gems in the sun. From their 'vantage' it seemed much smaller than it had from the ship when they passed the mouth where it spilled out into the sea.

Still, he had to mind his step.

"I =think= that I shall live forever", he said with a grin. "No sense having a wish like that to be fulfilled!"

Seyja


The tall, lithe barbarian walked with an easy, agile stride, her muscular rear moving in taut figure-eights with each step. Seyja felt almost at home for the first time since she'd left the gypsy camp and, as she walked, she pulled several pine needles from a path-side tree, crushed them in her hand and inhaled their pungent aroma.

She smiled and shrugged when she saw the fey up ahead, having never had much problem with such.

The question, however, caused her to miss a step and frown. The frown deepened at Weston's answer.

"Not me... The Iron Skull will kill me unless I can kill him first."

<Weston>

"Then all you need to do is see yourself as the victor in any such encounter. You have all of us at your side, after all", he said with a wink.

Seyja


She grinned crookedly, but only briefly, at his rejoinder.

"Any help you can offer will be welcome," she said, "but even if we can destroy that menace and his horde, what do we do when the Orc Lord takes a hand?"

[Ghosted for Owain]

Nestaron

The half-elf leaned on his quarterstaff and absorbed the view. He felt entirely at home in the wilderness, but was glad for the flexibility of his brigandine. No wonder Sir Edward the Red hadn't attempted the journey in full plate.

He didn't consider himself to have an inquisitive nature. Mindful, observant certainly. Nonetheless, he wanted to know why this Iron Skull was dogging Seyja's steps, and it had to do with the Orc Lord.

Nestaron felt it was a discussion they should have whilst sitting though, or at least eye-to-eye.

As for Jex, the man had guile but the question had spiritual merit on such a fine day. Only by confronting death could one truly appreciate life.

"I fear I will die alone, driven apart from everyone by my convictions." He said slowly, but added, "Yet I hope to die peacefully, alone in the wild, having said my farewells to my loved ones.

"Interesting that the two are so similar! And what about you, jester? I take it you don't want to die at sea."

[Ghosted for Neptune]

Jex

"The gods truly can be praised!! You made a joke, holy man!" He laughed.

Though Nestaron had a point, after his experience on The Issitia Jex never wanted to set foot on another ship as long as he lived. Or died.

"I myself now suspect I will get killed by the Orc Lord, thank you Seyja. Though it might be worth it for the chance to play in his court! Can you imagine it? Toughest audience ever!"

Zoltan

He enjoys the wilderness, noting the edible berries and roots they pass along the way and noting any tracks he sees in case they need to hunt or something dangerous is wandering around nearby.

At Jex's question he chuckles. "Well, given my choice, it would be in the bed of a beautiful woman, a glass of expensive and rare vintage wine in one hand, and the woman's....", he glances at Seyja, pauses, chuckles again and changes his phrasing, "...the woman in the other. However given my honest expectations, I will be alone, hungry, tired, and bloody."

<Weston>

"You are a pessimistic lot", he said with a chuckle. "Assuming we survive =this= you all =may= get your respective wishes. Otherwise we shall all die together fighting this evil", he said with a chuckle that suggested he did not expect to die any time soon.

Seyja


"Oh, I am not pessimistic, if indeed that word means what I think it does." She shook her head and scowled.

"I just know that the Iron Skull, once he sets out to do something, does it."

Seyja took a drink from her waterskin and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, giving a sardonic snort as she noticed the way Zoltan included her, at least visually, in his statement.

"He... or it, intends to capture me and that I will not allow."

She shrugged her muscular shoulders.

"So either he or I will die."

D

He heard it all the time. People made light of what could be and what wasn't. Should he join in? His perspective was so much more skewed than theirs. They didn't know what they said. They didn't understand how death was not even really a doorway in the journey. It was merely a step that could be taken at any time both directions. Different states of being like awake or asleep, or hungry or not hungry.

Finally he offers "death is not what you think it is. To you it seems like this is a finite existence, and that death is the transitional moment to the next state. Dead or alive, neither matters, actions matter." His words offer a harshness in tone as well as meaning.

"Seyja, should this thing come for you. I will stand with you to destroy it. Know that all things can be destroyed. Nigh unkillable undead assassins, even the Orc Lord for that matter." Again he sounded convinced of his words.

Tindarien

He is enjoying being out of doors, looking around him with interest and watching the antics of his ferret, Farvi, who ran around the forest floor and then climbed his leg to nestle on Tindarien's shoulder, rearranging the new headgear to accommodate his sinewy body.

He listens to his companions chatter, offering his own perspective more to be a part of the team than any real interest in the topic. He glances at D as he does so.

"Well I am intending to dedicate my life to ensuring that the dead stay dead. Certainly whatever my fate is, I hope that I do not return an abomination."

He looks over at Seyja.

"Should we know something of this Iron Skull if it may be that we encounter him here?"

<Weston>

"Well I don't know", he began hesitantly, "death seems pretty final to me", he finished with more conviction. "Least ways I have yet to meet anyone who has stopped being dead", he said with a shrug.

Zoltan

He nods agreement to D's statement that actions matter, but withholds comment about death and life being the same, just different aspects of existence.

When Tindarien asks for details about 'Iron Skull', he turns his head to listen. Anything that might help in a fight against him, were he to show up, could be useful.

Heilbutt

Carrying two packs on his brawny shoulders, his spear becomes more of a walking pole on the hike. So far he hadn't felt the need for the wide-brimmed straw hat he'd obtained in town, but with the heat of the morning sun being comparable to mid-afternoon on a very hot day in the Wake Islands, he feared he was going to need the hat soon enough.

When the genet-riding fairies shot across the trail, Heilbutt prepared to pounce on Tindarien's ferret before it could take off after them, but the sorceror's familiar showed uncanny wisdom in returning to its master instead.

He copied Seyja and crushed some of the long pine needles in his hand, to smell them. It was like an infusion of the smell all around them. Dry, woody, fragrant.

Nestaron had told him these trees were mostly cluster pines and chestnut. Heilbutt didn't know the names but was fascinated by these woods, their apparent uniformity compared to northern woods. They were very pleasant but the half-orc wondered how hospitable they were.

Listening to the others talk about death, he scratched the back of his neck, failing to think of an answer. Where he came from, people died young and in such varied and unpredictable ways, he wasn't imaginative enough to narrow them down.

Maybe Jex had the closest thing to answer? He shrugged, muttering, "Falling in battle is as likely a doom as any right now."

Heilbutt wasn't going to let this Iron Skull or the Orc Lord himself take Seyja without a fight, not if she didn't want to go. He shivered at Tindarien's words though. The thought of being turned into one of those things they encountered yesterday in the storm made his skin crawl.

[Ghosted for Neptune]

Jex

"If I die like Zoltan here intends to, I won't want to come back!" He said to Weston, "Unless it's to die in exactly the same way again."

This and Tindarien's remarks made him ponder why the undead always seemed such relentless stick-in-the-muds. Why come back if you're going to insist on having such a miserable time?

He tried to listen to the Iron Skull talk and not get lost in his own musings.