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Seyja


She nodded at D's comments but, simultaneously, frowned and shrugged her muscular shoulders.

"You may well be correct but, once you're dead, it's done. I agree that how you live is more important than how you die, but I do not want to die for nothing."

Seyja frowned and thought for several long moments before answering the next question.

"The Iron Skull is a construct of sorts. Like, I guess, animated armor but almost unbelievably powerful. He commands a huge horde of orcs and he works at the behest of the Orc Lord."

She went on to explain, as best she could, what she knew of the Iron Skull.

D

"You are all living under an illusion. Your statement is false. Once you are dead, you are merely dead. That is not the end. Torment exists beyond. Many things exist long after what you consider life has ended."

He listened to her description and knew of the sort. Mechanical abominations he understood even if he couldn't remember having met one. They had something in common with things he had met and destroyed. They all thought they were immortal and couldn't be destroyed. That was something he had excelled at, when he wasn't what he is now. Well he still had talent, even if his body was more fragile.

[Ghosted for Owain]

Nestaron

The tale of the Iron Skull sounded like something a bard might tell. The forgeborn were a race created by the dwarves but Nestaron knew little else than that.

One thing he did know was that creating intelligent beings from inanimate materials had been tried by many wizards. All they'd achieved was to create automatons, either slaves to their creator's will, or themselves shallow impressions of it.

The dwarves had taken a different approach, using the raw power of the magic that coursed through the world, to create a spark. A spark of intelligence that could grow and learn, and so be truly alive.

And that was both marvellous and irresponsible. How could a flesh-and-blood wizard empathise with one of their forgeborn? They had made creatures that were destined for alienation.

This Iron Skull was worse still. Its creator had made it to be alienated, filled it with malice and hatred.

Nestaron sighed and shook his head. He was disturbed that such a thing could be serving the Orc Lord, more so that it was chasing Seyja. But why?

He didn't ask. The half-elf was a listener, willing and eager, but he never pried. So he tried to assist the woman, and picked up D's remark instead.

"We all take a different journey, D. It is the foundation of Creation.

"And what about you, Sergeant Almador?" He asked the townsman.

Nestaron hadn't missed the implication behind D's words either. He had concerns about the dark elf, but the day was still young.

Sergeant Almador

He'd been lost in thought. The hike so far had brought back many memories. He'd played in the fields as a child and as he grew to adolescence, him and other children from town had ventured into the woods.

And while he remembered the shenanigans they'd gotten up to, he suddenly realised they were approaching the bowers of his life's experience, the farthest he'd ever been inland.

He could turn around and see the town where he'd lived his entire life, clear as day. Yet in a hundred more paces or so, he would be a stranger in these lands.

Almador gulped and tilted back his kettle hat. It was unsettling.

He was a bit startled when the half-elf spoke his name. He'd caught the gist of the conversation though.

"I would rather not say, sir, lest I tempt fate."

For the Sergeant, this quest already felt very fateful.

Jex

"But you have tempted fate by joining us today. We're a merry band of brothers and sisters now, our fates are intertwined and we are as one. Be not so shy about your fears my good friend. We all have them and I, for one, do not believe that fate is set in stone. There are many paths we can meander down. Only the past is set. The future is etched in mud."

Sergeant Almador

He scowled. He really didn't want to tempt fate, but maybe the jester was right. Almador spent most of last night deliberating to a similar theme.

If he stayed at home, did he doom his family with his grandfather's curse? If he went, was he just repeating his grandfather's mistake? Both had a ring of fatedness about them.

His wife hadn't wanted him to go, yet in the end it was she who convinced him. She said no-one expected him to go, no-one was asking him to, he may as well stay home as he'd of no help to the adventurers.

He'd hate himself if the townsfolk thought of him like that. His wife knew it, knew exactly what she was saying, and she was right. He had to go.

Almador nudged a large, loose rock out of the path with the butt of his partisan.

"Then I can only say that I hope I die one harvest festival," he said, "indulging to the fullest and merry-making with my family...

"And I apologise to them now, if that spoils their evening."

Jex
"Ah yes. To die with a smile on your face, like Zoltan wishes to do. I cannot argue with that! But that was not the question I asked. What I asked was 'How do you think that you'll die?' which is a completely different matter. Yes, it is probing, I admit. And more uncomfortable too. Yet there is a point to the question. I deal in morale and now that you have joined our merry party, we are each of us each others responsibility. It is my responsibility to make sure you can fight through your fears. To do that, I must know them. But do not feel forced to speak up. Perhaps now is not the time."

GM

The slope steepened sharply for a few yards and then you crested a false ridge. It afforded you a better view ahead though. The slope continued upwards, thickly forested until it became a craggy cliff of pale rock.

Irt chewed his straw, while Wanshanks loped off up the trail.

"Hi ho! We follow dis berm sout for anoder mile, and den we come to a proper ridge-line and cross beyond."

He popped the cork out of a clay flagon he carried on a length of rope and took a swig.

"Me own self, will prolly cark it same way's me grampa and pa. Just drop dead, so dey did. One dropped dead off a cliff, other dropped dead after a quart of orujo." He grumbled, patting the cork back in and setting out in the direction he'd indicated.

The shepherd points out caves high up in the cliff, explaining they were made by the gnomish shepherds who inhabited these lands in a bygone age. Gnomes were famed for their patience, and once they were more associated with shepherds and anglers, than with clerks and accountants.

Irt's great-great-grandfather had reclaimed one of the caves and Irt still used it. There were some blankets and firewood stashed in the cave that you were welcome to, if you were ever passing. However, it wasn't the path you'd be taking on this trip; yours would lead you down to the river eventually.

[We will close out this conversation for now. Post if you want to continue it, otherwise I'll keep us moving.]

<Weston>

The 'history lesson' didn't hold a lot of interest, neither did Jex and his inquisition aimed at the Sergeant. No, it was the stark beauty of the mountains all around them. OK ... it was =kinda= interesting that gnomes used to live around here, but not enough to take his attention away from the rocks and the trees and shrubs that were fighting to eek out a life here. They were dwarfed from not having a lot of soil to support them, twisted too as they grew at odd angles from the rocks where their seeds had sprouted, before pointing to the sky.

D

He had said too much. He hadn't intended to debate reality with them. Yet he was alao sure that they all might not make it back the way they thought. Even living, through a journey changed a being. For now he kept his mouth shut and one foot in front of the other. They had a ways to go and it would likely be dangerous.

GM

The Sergeant didn't answer Jex then. Maybe it was like asking the same question of a soldier on the eve of a battle. Death was too close to consider, without risking despair or terror.

So south you walked, following the shepherd along a natural berm, with protruding tree roots being the only obstacle. The knight could have ridden this way easily. The earth was hard with a carpet of crisp, dry litter, so you could see where you were stepping and the trees were far enough apart that you wouldn't even need to dismount.

Soon the berm intersected with a true ridge-line, framed by another break in the trees ahead and looking like a gateway or sorts.

You stood on that sunny ledge and stared out, south-west. A spectacular vista.

The Scintilla River wound inland like a mirrored serpent, cutting through the rock, creating shelves of steep cliff that stepped down to the river's banks. On the bottom shelf, sandy beaches and boulders, the next shelf up was shallow and wide, plush with verdure, then the steep, weather-worn cliffs to the top some 1000 feet above the river.

The terrain above was also rugged, like a stormy sea, one low, sharp ridge after another, each as unremittingly wooded as the next.

And then you saw it. A darker form on the horizon, a massive karst archway that straddled the river valley, perhaps another 1000 feet high at its peak, sky shining through the hole at its bottom and looking very much like the elbow of a titan.

If you followed the river, you literally could not miss it. There would be more climbing up and down perhaps, but pathfinding would be straightforward, every pace would be in the right direction. No time wasted. You would be trading headaches for sweat.

"Oh, have a helluva crack dere, so ya will!" Muttered Irt before scrabbling down into a runnel, propped up with his crook.

[If you have any questions for Irt, post them, otherwise I'll keep us moving.]

[OOC D is going to be quiet for a bit.]

<Weston>

Words continued to fail. He had never seen anything like that 'Titan's Elbow'. He could see it was aptly names and even without their guide there would be no mistaking their destination.

But, nice and easy as the trek had been so far, it looked a difficult path from here. He didn't waste any breath on talking, he figured he would need it for the climbing and scrabbling ahead. Not to mention that he would be wanting to pay a lot more attention to where he was putting his feet from here as well.

Tindarien

Well at least they can see where they are heading now. He takes a moment to study their destination looking for anything out of the ordinary, anything that might suggest occupation.. things like smoke, movement, glints of light.

Then he moves again to catch up to his place in the marching order, also studying the trail for any sign of anything other than wildlife to each side of them.

Jex

He didn't push the sergeant any further because silence is it's own answer. While part of the healing came with the talking, the old man would not take this medicine until he was ready. Instead the bard started to sing. His voice was soft and melodic and although it was a sad tune, the way he sang it was uplifting.

We walk along a long and winding road
rarely traveled by merchants with a load.

Our eyes scanning the way ahead,
knowing full well to where this route led.

And as we followed the snaking river
We thought about what this trek would deliver.

A mission to return all of the treasure
To a beast we know about but cannot measure.

We are going where only brave or foolish go
Our next stop will be to camp at Titan's Elbow.

GM

You followed Irt, scrabbling down a runnel, jostling with rocks and tree roots and loose footing. It was a short, steep slope, only a few yards down but calamity for most riding horses. You had to be leaving the trail taken by the knight.

Once out of the runnel, you walked through sparse trees where the undergrowth was thick with thorny, uninviting bushes, browned in the summer heat. The dry vegetation snapped as you pushed along a narrow game trail, Wanshanks sniffing and panting at the head of your line. The sound of cicadas filled the air, and you could feel the heat of the day growing with every pace. Jex sang, lending rhythm to your footsteps and accompaniment to your thoughts.

The trees soon petered out and you found yourselves crossing a garrigue, scrubland perhaps half a mile across and blanketed with wild flowers of many shapes and colours. You were assailed by smells. Thyme, rosemary, sage, and lavender were ones most of you could name. Some aromas could only be discerned when you were standing over the plant, such as wild marjoram and summer savoury, and there were some plants that even Nestaron didn't know. A large, violet and pink thistle-like flower, bristling with thorns seemed a favourite with the bees, though the scrub was teeming with fliers, from yellow butterflies the size of both hands, to glinting, jewel-like dragonflies, to the less ostentatious flower flies and hovering moths.

Suddenly wildfowl took flight in alarm, everywhere you looked, all across the garrigue, bird cries, beating wings and wafting feathers. Wanshanks barked fiercely.

"By me jabbers' jabbers!?" Mumbled Irt, bewildered, glancing around.

A gust of wind swept over you, then calm, then you saw the flowers and bushes swaying in a spiral around you. A deep, undulating howl and a storm was unleashed. The flowers and bushes weren't swaying now, they were flattened. Dirt, scree and twigs were blown into your face, and where the wind caught loose clothing, you could feel it lift the weight off of your feet.

Ducking down, a hemp rope was passed between you and one by one you coiled it around your forearms. "Follow Wanshanks!" Yelled the shepherd, losing his straw hat in the gale. Half-blinded, you caught glimpses of the oatmeal-coloured sheepdog ahead and could barely hear its barking over the wind. It was enough to lead you onwards.

A howling, screeching voice was carried on the wind.

"These are the bowers of the Fey realm where none but the natural may roam!" It said, words ringing in your ears.

"BEGONE! BEGONE!"

You did your best, scrambling on hands and feet in places, trying to cross the scrubland whilst the wind pummelled you. Heilbutt acted as an anchor, big and brawny, and weighed down as he was by his and Nestaron's packs.

Once, Jex tripped over the stool of a bush and his hand fell on something hard, a glint of metal in the dirt, perhaps unearthed by the wind. Was that a symbol he saw? He scooped it up and kept on after his companions.

***

You weren't sure how long you'd been running, chasing after Wanshanks and the shepherd through the forest. The dog didn't want to slow down, your guide didn't want to lose his dog, and you didn't want to lose him, preferably.

Finally you burst from the trees and staggered into the bright sunlight of a sandy beach. In front of you, the Scintilla River flowed swiftly by and on the opposite bank, shelves of rock rose into more evergreen woodland and the towering cliffs of a gorge.

Everyone was gathered on the beach, catching their breath. Wanshanks woofed and shook his fur, trying to dislodge half the scrubland that was stuck in it. Irt was mopping his brow with a bandana and cursing at his dog, whilst Sergeant Almador was bent over and wheezing.

You'd reached the river's edge, and it seemed like a good time for a quick rest.

Jex looked at what was in his hand. It was a large, ornate bronze key, covered in verdigris and with a symbol wrought into the bow. A fuming or flaming chalice. He had the tickle of familiarity; he'd seen it before, but couldn't recall where.

D

The dark elf huffed and puffed like the others. Though possibly not as much as some. Even resting next to the waters his eyes kept roving as if he didn't believe the trial was done.

Zoltan

He lowers his head, clutching his cloak around him, leaning into the howling wind. He grabs the guide rope gratefully when it is offered and follows the dog and shepherd to safety, out of the storm.

<Weston>

He had been walking in silence. The jester's songs made that easy, filling the silence.

The birds weren't the only ones startled. From what he knew ... which admittedly wasn't much, their presence here seemed strange. But he didn't have much time to consider all that. There was wind and it made it impossible to see, then that concern was lost when it seemed like the wind was going to blow him away. He took the rope, but he wasn't sure that would help all that much in the gale howling around them. Then =that= concern was forgotten when to voice spoke. He had heard stories of the fey. They had a reputation ... very uncooperative with others. All he could do was follow the rope and the person in front of him.

In a way the silence ... once they burst through the tree line ... seemed as deafening as the wind. He slumped down, trying to catch his breath.

Seyja


She struggled along with the others, grasping the rope and trying, on occasion, to catch a glimpse of their surroundings through the fiercely swirling dust.

This was not a normal wind, she thought, and then she heard the warning voice. A place sacred to the fey? She redoubled her efforts so as to escape as soon as possible from the windstorm.

Afterwards, she sat beside the river, her shoes off, her feet trailing in the cold water as she rubbed her eyes and scratched at her scalp, trying to move the sand and dust there.

"I do not mind fighting," she muttered, "but how do you fight the wind?"

<Weston>

"You don't. You address the cause of the wind, which was the fey that addressed us. There are stories of them, but I have never had any direct contact with them", he said. After a brief pause, he added, "before this, that is."

Seyja


She scowled at him for a moment, but then just shrugged.

"Me, either."

Jex

First he caught his breath but soon his eyes became fixated on the key.

There is luck and then there was this. For him to fall on that key in the middle of nowhere after a sudden and focused windstorm was anything but luck.

"Maybe we'll be needing this before the day is out," he says as he holds the key with his arm stretched out in front of his face. His eyes were focused on it. "I just found it."

D

"It would seem you have a patron." He smiled. It was a grim thing. "Anything marked on it, or anything to tell us more?"

Tindarien

It is a relief to reach the river beach and be out of that unnatural wind. He does a headcount. Seems everyone made it through.

He notices Seyja cooling her feet and walks over to her. His voice low he comments.

"Feet should be OK but remember these waters are befouled."

He nods, adds a smile and finds a clear patch to sit down to take a break.