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.

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.

Jex

"Yes. Let's all take a look. It is quite ornate and has markings that ... I seem to remember seeing something like this before but I can't quite make the connection."

He's pointing to the etching of the flaming chalice as he said the last.

[Ghosted for Owain]

Nestaron

He was thankful for Tindarien's reminder. He'd been about to quench his thirst from the river.

Instead he took one of the gourds from Heilbutt, giving his half-orc follower a grateful squeeze of the shoulder.

Nestaron looked at Jex's bronze key while he drank, but didn't recognise it and shook his head.

He was still pondering what occurred in the garrigue.

"That windstorm was summoned by a Fey guardian, I'm certain. A sylph would have such mastery of the air element.

"No, what confounds me is how we offended it so badly. I've never seen such unprovoked hostility from the Fey."

Nestaron wearily sat on on a nearby boulder and looked at the shepherd.

"I take it you've come this way before, Irt, without this kind of trouble?"

Heilbutt

As he stood there on the beach, he felt the sun prickling his pale, northerner's skin. He found his wide-brimmed straw hat with its chin strap and put it on.

After being storm-tossed in the middle of the woods, he was feeling much more awake than he had been.

He unpacked some of the rations the Baronessa had provided and handed them out.

The half-orc was a roamer of the wilds, servant of the High Druid. The Fey were treacherous, unpredictable, but they were not confrontational.

"The voice said we were unnatural." Heilbutt said, though he didn't know what was meant by it; none of them were demons or undead.

Sergeant Almador

"Good doggy!" He said earnestly, patting Wanshanks on the head once his heart had stopped hammering in his chest.

Seeing that Nestaron had found a good sized boulder, he staggered over and sat alongside the cleric.

His wife and daughters had packed him food and drink, and he slaked his thirst with barley water from his skin.

"How can such a spirit talk of what is natural!?

"None of this is natural! Wearing this damnable armour is not natural, nor is lugging a haunted helm across the land to almost certain doom!" The Sergeant despaired.

GM

The river was fast-flowing and deep by the looks of it. It curved away to the north where it would eventually meet the tidal creek that ran alongside the town of Rosencliff.

The sky was a vivid blue and the sun seemed to have climbed with great haste as it always did in the summer.

You could feel the heat of it, but also a cool breeze blowing off the surface of the water.

Whatever was poisoning the river, it wasn't noxious enough to rival Seyja's feet at least, and the water felt delightful on the soles of them.

Jex might have considered washing the bronze key. It was caked with dirt, especially the intricate symbol.

You had some time to spare. The Fey guardian's tantrum had sped you up over the last mile or so, and you'd reached the river earlier than expected.

Nonetheless, this was still where Irt and his dog intended to leave you, and make their return journey. You didn't need a guide upriver (not that one was available).

The shepherd drank and smacked his lips, shaking his head at the half-elf's question.

"Whaddya tink!? Course I been dis way afore, and den some! Ne'er had an ounce of trouble, all dese long years... Well, maybe a pinch, but nottin like dis."

<Weston>

Now =that= was something he knew a bit about. "Folks as think their 'territory' is being violated can be quite vexed", he told Nestaron. "And that was certainly the impression the speaker gave", he added. But Nestaron did raise a good point and he looked to Irt to see what replay was made there.

"Thanks", he said to Heilbutt as he accepted a bit of the food he offered.

Irt's comments made him think about what was in their packs. "Could be it was the cursed treasure we carry that set the sprites off", he said to no one in particular.

Seyja


She frowned up at the high elf for a moment, but then grinned briefly and shrugged.

"You are right. I probably need to pay more attention."

Seyja lifted her feet from the river and looked closely at each one before shrugging again and lowering them back into the water.

"Good thing I have tough feet."

D

He hadn't had time to think of it with the wind and running. But the treasure was certainly one possibility. Another was his own existence. He said nothing. There was too many questions to answer. For now avoiding that spot would be fine by him.

Tindarien

He nods to Westron's suggestion about the treasure. It might also be D who had confessed that he had been dead, something that Tindarien still wished to talk to him about. But it could easily be something they know nothing about and right now unity in the group will serve them better so he says nothing.

Instead he turns his attention to the key that Jex found, looking at it more closely.

"I know that sign, the one that seems familiar to you. It is the symbol of the Eternal Alchemists. They were a group of wizards who sought the secret of true immortality. From what I remember they were around some 300 years before, very guarded about their work, so not many have any knowledge of it. I think they had such rivalry that they killed each other over a period of time."

He considers.

"If it is no coincidence that they key is here, maybe whatever is in the Elbow is related to them? I'd like to see the other runes more closely. Could we wash to dirt off the key?"

Jex

"Sure boss. Wash away. Keep your key clean, I always say. Eternal Alchemists, eh? If they live forever, then they're still alive, wouldn't you say? But then you said they killed each other, which sort of defeats the purpose."

He hands the key over to Tindarien, "I want it back. Somehow the key found it's way into my hands. I get the feeling it's supposed to be in my possession."

Seyja


Seyja looked around at the bard and cleric and gave a sardonic grunt.

"Didn't happen to find a lock to go with the key, didja?"

Jex
"Perhaps 'tis the key to your heart?" he said to the barbarian woman.

Seyja


She glared at him for a moment, but then couldn't help laughing.

"Mayhap it is, little man," she said, once her expression of mirth had died down.

"I doubt it, but mayhap it is."

<Weston>

The talk about wizards killing each other over living forever was ironic enough to bring a smile to his face. "Probably just as well that they are all dead, then."

The banter between Jex and Seyja made him feel better about the group. There was always a bit of that sort of thing among the regulars on the caravans.

Tindarien

He nods his tanks to Jex but instead of washing it in the river, he uses some water from his supplies, careful to minimise any wastage and uses leaves to clean it.

Then he looks at it more closely.

Jex

"Ah yes. Now I've put things together!" He suddenly was excited and he could not seem to contain that excitement. With a hop to his step and a smile etched on his face he starts to strut around the barbarian as Tindarien studies the key. At first one had to wonder when Sejya if he was getting too close to her, but he never did as he began skipping and twirling in a full out dance around and weaving through everyone in tje group. With his curly red hair bouncing about, hardly a soul realized the moment that his lute came into his hands. The gentle plucking and strumming was in rhythm with his feet. After a brief instrumental introduction he began to sing a song:


There were golden elixers the alchemists wanted to brew
Magical ingredients flavored their special stew
Living forever would be their goal from the start
Crafting of the special ale meant using an unsavory art

Living for eternity
Finding deaths remedy
Living for eternity
The future is for me

Inspired from tales read in tomes crumbling and old
They searched far and wide for the secret to unfold
They Bathed themselves in tubs filled with dragons blood,
They feasted on mermaid flesh and drinking magic mud.

Living for eternity
Finding deaths remedy
Living for eternity
The future is for me

They wished to be become immune to poison, blade and even old age.
Perhaps they would have succeeded had it not been for their own rage.
As smart as the alchemist were, they were betrayed by their spirts.
Delusions consumed their hearts and they were beseiged by envious fits.

Living for eternity
Finding deaths remedy
Living for eternity
The future is for me

So then they ceased their efforts to live for all of eternity
To revile former colleagues who were now their mortal enemy
They plotted murder against each other to as the mania spread
They would not live forever fore in the end they were all dead.

Living for eternity
Finding deaths remedy
Living for eternity
The future is THIS KEY!

D

His pointy pale ears perked up at the song.

Tindarien

He chuckles and applauds as Jex finishes his song.

"Very good, very inventive."

Then he offers the key back to the bard.

"Not much else I can tell you."

Zoltan

He listens to the song the Bard singe ruefully. As it ends he says, "Living forever is not all it's cracked up to be. Imagine being driven mad and never being able to find surcease?"

<Weston>

A bit too flamboyant ... but maybe that was just because he was =not= sitting in an inn or around the fire with a mug. But he was curious.

"Jex, was that an old tune or did you just compose it?"

If he had just come up with that on the spur, it showed he was a truly gifted bard. If it was something old, perhaps there was useful information in the words.

Jex

"A true bard never tells. What matters is if you listened to it!"

[ooc: I wrote this based on lore that Jex supposedly knows, which was passed down from Nem. He didn't lyricize it (is that a word?)]

[[ lyricize =seems= like it should be a perfectly valid word <g> ]]

<Weston>

"Well I =did= listen, and that is a reason for the question. If you just conceived the song, then it shows what an incredible talent you have. If it came from the past, then there might be some helpful information there ... especially if there are more verses."

Jex
"Words come together for me. I can't explain it, just like you can't explain how you walk or talk. It's a talent, I guess. But the words were there and are the lore is legitimate. Whether they are true or somewhat true or not true at all, I suppose we'll find out."

<Weston>

He nodded. "But it is more than we had before", he said. "For example, all that talk of dragon's blood and 'magic mud' ... could their 'experiments' be the source of the pollution ... could it have been walled up in there for all these years, released when Red 'barged in'?"

He really was out of his depth here. There were ideas from tales and songs from the caravans, around camps and while traveling. But how much of that was 'real'? Probably none ... exaggerated over the decades or even centuries.

Jex

"From what I recall of the lore, they tried many things. A lot of their experiments centered around gold. Gold dust, golden apples, golden ambrosia - that sort of stuff. If I were to focus on something in particular, that would be it. From what I understand of alchemy it's a lot of trial and error. But I'm not an alchemist."

D

Eloquent as ever the pale elf just shrugged. He knew death and villainy, not alchemy.

GM

The bard's singing, wistful but upbeat, distracted Sergeant Almador from his woes. For a time, he sat and was entertained by finger and thumb across strings.

As for the bronze key, although most of dirt could be washed off in the river, there were orange-hued encrustations that could not. It was ironic then, that a key attributed to secretive alchemists would need alchemical treatments before it might give up its secrets.

From what Jex and Tindarien could make out, there were more markings graven into the bow of the key, pictograms, possibly dwarf runes.

What was the key doing buried in scrubland on the Sword Point? You could only conjecture. Although you could guess at when the key was crafted, could you even hazard a guess at when it was brought to the peninsula?

Having lost his straw hat, Irt tied the bandana around his head instead. He pointed to the shimmering surface of the river.

"See how fast she flows, even when she's smood. If ya need to get back to town once yis done wid yis doings, a sturdy raft or dugout's da way to go.

"What's upriver from here, yis guess as good as mine. But I'm heading on back, ya best believe." He said, dusting down his smock and whistling for Wanshanks.

The dog had nobly resisted dashing into the river, suggesting the shepherd had been strict in teaching it not to. The water didn't seem at all harmful to Seyja's feet, but that didn't mean you should go diving in it either.

Seyja


She grinned at the lively little man (little in her eyes) and chuckled a bit as he sang his song.

"You do sing fancy."

[Ghosted for Owain]

Nestaron

He listened appreciatively to the Jex, and tapped his staff on the rock as applause.

The half-elf stroked his beard and leaned over to the Sergeant.

"And there you have a tale of what a really pointless quest is, Sergeant. Ours is not pointless. There is a town to save, your wife, your family amongst them.

"So do not despair, as unnatural as you or anyone else thinks this journey gets, we do a good deed here."

With a huff he stands and stretches his back, nodding to the shepherd.

"Thank you, Irt, for your guidance thus far. And you too, Wanshanks! Needless to say, you might be wise to skirt that clearing on your way back."

Heilbutt

He scowled and packed away the rations once they were done.

After Seyja and Jex's shared joke last night, and now Jex's deft play of the lute, Heilbutt felt he needed to do something impressive... to impress Seyja? He wasn't sure why and it left him flushed yet again, and thus grumpy.

"We waste time on frolics and baubles." The half-orc grunted, trudging off upriver.

<Weston>

He was completely out of his element with the key and ancient history.

Irt's advice, though, he understood. "Thanks Irt. We will be sure to keep the raft idea in mind. It is a good one. And be safe on your trip back." Although, he suspected that Irt knew the area well enough to not need any help getting safely back.

He glanced at the half-orc as he made his opinion known and headed on up river. Well, he =did= have a point. "Shall we join our headstrong friend", he asked the others and took off in the same direction ... up-river.

D

"It would seem the plan." He agreed, stood, and moved after the half orc.

[Ghosted for Owain]

Nestaron

He sighed at Heilbutt's back and shook his head. He could see what was happening and swapped a glance with Tindarien. Young blood!

Nestaron offered a hand to the out of shape Sergeant Almador.

"Come Sergeant."

The Sergeant was a heavy set man, wearing guard armour. But Nestaron wore a brigandine too, over his robes. Plain leather finish, without such shiny studs or the brightly coloured velvet perhaps, it was still a heavy load.

It was forgivable to call it 'damnable' on a hike, as Almador had. If you had never been in battle. This told the half-elf cleric that, as old and experienced their Sergeant was as a town guard, he was no soldier. After his first battle, he would quickly change his tune about his armour.

Nestaron looked around for Zoltan. He wanted a quick word.

Sergeant Almador

He accepted the half-elf's hand and hauled himself to his feet with a grunt.

Adjusting the straps on his pack and straightening his kettle hat, he then nodded to the rest of the party.

The holy man was right. How could he sit there griping about a morning's exhertion when his people's livelihoods, their very lives, were at stake. He was taking this personally, like it was a grudge between him and his grandfather, and maybe it was, but the repercussions would be felt by more than one man.

And so he reminded himself that he was Sergeant of the Guard and that meant on this quest, he represented the town of Rosencliff.

He said farewell to Irt and told him they'd return soon after New Moon. Regardless of his newfound determination, he still hoped one of these adventurers knew how to fashion a boat! It sounded a lot more relaxing than hiking.

Tindarien

He thanks Irt and waves the ir guide goodbye. His dog had been well behaved but both he and Farvi are relieved that it won't be around any more.

As they start to gather their things to set off after Heilbutt, he shares a look with Nestaron and shrugs in his response. Then he moves to speak to Jex.

"The washing didn't work on the key but I have something in my pack that might do the trick. Maybe when we camp I can borrow the key again?"

Zoltan

He nods a reply to Jex. "Yes, well that could explain the pollution of the waters. Gold processing with all sorts of caustic chemicals flushed downstream.

Still, that was ages ago. Why would it be happening now. Unless someone has started the Alchemical work back up?"

He too thanks Irt for his help and makes ready to go with the others.

<Weston>

"Another possibility is that all that old stuff had been ... let loose? ... when Red went exploring", he said thoughtfully as he walked. Then continued. "Someone restarting the mine is an interesting possibility as well. But I wonder how that would set with the 'spirits' involved though."

D

He gave a wave and it seemed like he was being reluctant. But none the less he did so. Then he listened with interest to the thoughts of his companions.

Jex

He offered his hand to Irt and said his farewells to their guide, "Thank you for taking us this far and for the advice on using a raft to return. It makes sense."

"Yes, Tinny, you can have the key any time you want. Just remind me when we're camping."

Then, to everyone he says, "Sometimes looking at a single piece of the puzzle is confusing and leads folks down the wrong path with assumptions. All I know is that we have a key and that it has the symbol of a group of people that wanted to become immortal. So I would rather not dwell too much on this one clue.