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Nestaron

Nothing. The spirits, the gods, they were gone. Or at least, he couldn't reach them. Their presence had always been like an intense richness of colour in his mind's eye. But now Nestaron saw nothing but flashes of raw white light. Had the cleric lost his powers?

He was grateful for Zoltan's unwavering support, every step of the way, because he was incapable of helping himself in his current state, that much was obvious.

The sun on his skin felt marvellous, wondrous, and that reassured Nestaron. His love of the natural world was still there. Regardless of what came next, the half-elf could still be happy, but he was beginning to realise that he too would soon be parting ways with his companions.

His thanks to Bearkiller were given in between an introduction and farewell. Nestaron had likely obtained the halfling's story from Jex, but he was still unsure why others kept referring to two of them. Bearkiller and who?

Also unlike his companions, the half-elf couldn't make any pledges. He was a one-armed holy man with no divine power, what could he pledge?

<Weston>

"You have nothing to be ashamed of Alamdor. You were a vital member of out team. We might not have survived if you had not been here ... or if you had lost your nerve. But you did not. We were all of us scared. Only a stupid man would not have been scared in that situation. The difference between a 'man' and a 'coward' is that the 'man' stays and does what needs to be done in spite of the fear. You have proven yourself to me ... to all of us."

Seyja


Seyja nodded her agreement.

"You have proven yourself a worthy companion, Almador."

Sergeant Almador

He clapped Weston on the shoulder and winked to Seyja.

"By 'one time performance' I was referring to my singing during the bucket ride.

"Nay, I am not ashamed, nor could any man be, standing in present company."

The Sergeant hefts one of the wooden paddles they'd made.

"Besides, I think this might just be my time to shine! If there's one thing a boy learns how to do in a fishing town, it's paddle!"

Jex

He approached Bearkiller, "It will take me some time to write a song that befits your heroics this day but do not be surprised if you happen upon a tavern and hear a song being sung about Bearkiller and He-Who-Sicks-Balls. Without you, there would be no song and this river would still flow of poison. It was an honor to fight by your side.

And then he moved over the the seargeant, "It was a fine performance!" the bard sang the last word in a high-pitched voice that sounded like a squeel as he put an arm around the old Sergeant. "I was thoroughly entertained!" His smile washed away any of the negativity that might have been associated with a taunt. "Now let's get back to town!"

Tindarien

"Thank you both. A safe return to the clan."

His words are simple but heartfelt. Everyone of these companions had his respect, all had earned it. But now it is time to undertake the last stage of their journey.

Silently he bids a last farewell to Heilbutt.

<Weston>

"I agree Jex", he said as he moved to side of their raft, ready to be on his way.

Bearkiller

The halfling scratched the stubbled sides of his head. He needed a shave and his mohawk needed greasing, but it would be many days before he was standing in the foothills of Harthorn again, standing in front of his tribe.

Although he taking leave of the party, he wouldn't be travelling alone. As always, his dire wolf, He Who Sicks Balls, would be by his side for the long journey up through the northern Empire.

Bearkiller had watched the party from the time they'd left the river and been impressed before they even knew he was there. His opinion had only been elevated further by their daring and heroism.

Unlike civilised folk, however, he did not interpret their parting words as garnish, he took them as solid truth.

"Your words are iron," he said to the assembled, "Harthorn tribe record your name in the tales and know you as halfling-friend."

Frowning, Bearkiller looked down, jaw flexing, but then back up. His look was hard.

"You help me find justice for tribe and chief's daughter. I thank you. Some day I reclaim the Long Tears. On that day, I call on you once more.

"Until then, if ever you need me, seek the Mountain That Stands Alone, passed the City of Spires, north by north-east. Show them this...."

With one hand, Bearkiller tugged his bearclaw necklace over his head and handed it to one of the party.

Then the halfling adjusted his pack, checked the loop on his sheath knife and nodded to himself.

Turning to go, a thought suddenly occurred to him. He glanced over to Tindarien.

"You Son of Trahice?" He asked.

Tindarien

"I have no idea."

He meets the halfling's gaze, as he answers honestly.

"I need to find out more about my origins. Do you have information that might help?"

D

He listened to the discussion. It might have come to that point. But maybe he would learn a bit more first. He may have fought beside the high elf, but some things can evoke feelings that are unforgivable.

Bearkiller

A shrug was his reply. He only knew what he knew.

"Trahice not person, is place." Bearkiller said.

"Ruins of town from old times. High in mountains by lake, south-west of Nomad."

The halfling tips his mohawk at the dark elf, D.

"I only know this because is where Moonshadow went, who you dream of."

GM

Moonshadow, the painted halfling woman that D had seen in his near death vision the day before. She'd been mowhawked and dressed so similarly to Bearkiller, the dark elf had asked about her. Bearkiller had recognised the description straight away. The woman was a ritual exile, a 'ghost', someone chosen by the tribe to do a dishonourable deed on their behalf.

And she was to be found in Trahice?

Out of the party, it was likely that only Seyja had wandered in the Oldwall Mountains. She had probably visited Nomad and might even have heard of ruins by a lake, high in the mountains. If she had, they were old enough that common folk had forgotten their name and origin.

For Tindarien, it was the first tangible lead to tracing his parents' steps. The Master of Winter had called him 'Son of Trahice', which suggested the high elf was sired in the place, or, in some way because of the place?

Perhaps you had salvaged some treasure from the dragon's lair after all, but these gems were knowledge.

Bearkiller had given you his bearclaw necklace as proof of your bond of friendship. The Harthorn tribe would recognise it, and interestingly, so might Moonshadow.

Touching the claws, you felt a strange, animal spirit, as if there was a grizzly bear standing behind you growling. You quickly realised there was magic in this necklace that would make it useful to a savage warrior.

[Bearclaw Necklace (Recharge 11+). +1 to saves when you have 10 or fewer hit points. When you hit with a melee attack while staggered, gain 10 temp hit points. Quirk: Swaggers even when overmatched.]

Seyja


"I traveled in the Oldwall Mountains as a youngster... with my parents," the barbarian woman said with a quick grimace of pain at mentioning her dead father and mother.

"We stopped in Nomad where an old trader mentioned, if I remember rightly, some old ruins high in the mountains by a lake."

Seyja shrugged, unable to dredge anything further from her dim, childhood memories. Perhaps later she'd remember more.

She smiled as she touched the bearclaw necklace and clutched it to her chest.

"I would be honored to accept this... if no one objects."

Tindarien

He smiles at Bearkiller and then at Seyja.

"Useful information. I should visit the place and see what I can find, once I help Nestaron to his chosen destination. Anyone else fancy a trip to Trahice?"

His eyes stray in D's direction.

"We could then discuss the torc."

Pale Dusk

He looked to the halfling and then Sejya, and finally his dark orbs fell upon Tindarien. He was silent for a time.

Eventually his hands went to his throat and slipped the item off. Yet he held it in right fists that became even more pale as he held it.

After a long silence he said. "I would aid you in your search. But you may wish it otherwise when I have finished my tale. For I know things of your past that you may be unaware. I must first ask do you really want to know the answers to which you seek? I suspect I know the answer but, I must stress that it will affect your view of the world. Whether it is better to know or not, is not for me to decide. But..." His voice trailed off as he watched the high elf.

Seyja


Tapping her chest with one thumb, Seyja nodded in answer to Tindarien's question.

"I could help guide you there."

Tindarien

"And you would be most welcome."

He smiles at Seyja, answering her first to buy a little more thinking time before answering D.

With a soft sigh he turns to Pale Dusk.

"I would welcome you also. And I do wish to hear what you have to say. I cannot be a complete person without knowing my heritage.. but I still believe that essentially I will still be the person I am now. Say what you have to say."

He makes no move to take the torc.

Zoltan

If no one objects, he will take one of the vials of Dragon's Blood. He then looks towards Tindarien when he asks about Tahice.

"I am obliged to return to the order's headquarters to report about our mission. After that, presuming they have nothing else pressing for me, I could meet you there?"

Pale Dusk

He nodded as the elf said he wanted more information. "As you know, I have lived before. One such life was less than savory. The next incarnation I worked for the Black as the Shadow of Assassins. I haven't talked much about this because..." his voice trailed off for a moment before continuing. "It is the part I am least proud of. Though to be fair I am not proud of any of the evil that I perpetrated. Much of my memory is incomplete. Some of you may think of me as just a person suffering from delusions. Another reason I don't talk much about those pieces."

He shifted slightly "When Bearkiller identified Moonshadow, it brought back a piece of my memory. I know of the society your parents were a part of because I---" His voice just stopped. He took a deep breath let it out slowly.

"The society sought the ring that Weston carries, the one the Master of Winter wanted. It was purportedly carved and imbued with the White's power to control the dead. I imagine that is why the weakened serpent wanted it, to restore some of its ancient power.

"Your parents threatened dragons and their power. I am not sure how else to describe the situation. They came to the attention of the Black. I was dispatched to take care of the problem.

"It was a very dark night. Some call it a night of the New Moon. Others call it a night without a moon. I called it an Assassin's moon. For I could see in the dark and I knew many couldn't. Your mother wore a dark blue shift, long and robe like. It had gold trim with a green inlay. Some of the finest elven handicraft I have ever seen. Your father a burgundy night shirt. They lay within their chamber there in the town you seek. The room was high on the wall with a commanding view of the valleys beyond.

"I entered through the window as is my want. Some things don't change. Your mother must have suspected something, for she shifted and sat up. I made no noise, nor movement. I was part of the shadows. That was one of the powers that had been bestowed upon me. As I move and am not noticed, this was literally passing as a substance of shadow.

"She knew not where to look, but she moved to spark a light for the candle by the side of her bed. I let her as I knew it would comfort her. That would make it easier.

"In the now dim light she slipped from the bed and walked around, of course seeing nothing that I didn't wish her to see. She stopped and looked out the window a small breeze freeing some of the heat of the day from the chamber. I stepped forward and did as I was made to. I spoke to her. The message was simple.

"For you efforts you are given the gift of release. Know that your soul goes to the claws of the dragons, and that is payment for your actions in life."

"I ended her life. I could give you a more exact description, but I don't think that it matters much.

"Your father never moved. I inserted my blade into his throat and he gurgled to death in his sleep. You were not my target, so I left my job finished. Know that I wished your parents no ill will, I was commanded nay controlled when I was the Shadow of Assassins. It was payment for my own despicable actions in my short lived life.

"I know it is not much. But I have offered what I know." He stepped forward and offered the magical Torc almost as if it were a consolation prize.

[Ooh, dark! Nice one, Pandemonium! I touched up for for continuity. -NM]

<Weston>

He turned to Zoltan. "I suspect that we could find a representative of The Order back in town that you could report to ... it would save a lot of travel if you want to help our friends."

He tried to follow the tale, but he kept getting lost as he thoughts continued to return to the damned ring. Clearly it was responsible for a lot of misery. If they had been standing at the top of a volcano, he would have thought long and hard about tossing the damned thing in.

As that was not the case, he would have to bide his time. A part of him wanted to get it to the original intended recipient. But he wasn't sure that was any better than letting the Master Of Winter have it. It would certainly take some serious consideration!!

Jex

"Trahice. What an interesting word! I suppose it is to bard like me. It's Elvish creole. I think it could be translated as luke warm. I think it refers to a hot spring or some sort of spa?"

Tindarien

He stands there, his eyes never moving from Pale Dusk's. Very little of any emotion can be seen on his face. But his thoughts are in turmoil.

Certainly D's story is at odds with what he had been told but he cannot deny the ring of truth that lies within it. He had not really known his parents so the emotional tie to them was not strong. Initially he feels anger, a deep buried anger, of the life that had been denied him.. but his life growing up had not been a bad one. And at that moment his parents had been taken, he had been spared. He is not sure what to feel.

Does he hate D? Want to take his life? As he considers this, memories flit through his mind. Strong memories because they are recent. Along with the rest of this group, they had formed bonds. These bonds forged with a willingness to put their lives on the line to help others. And D had impressed him along with the others. Has that opinion now changed?

He lets these thoughts and emotions filter through his mind, switching this way and that until they settle to a conclusion, a conclusion that needs to be said out loud.

Minutes may have passed before he breaks eye-contact with a nod. Some of the tension leaves his body as his eyes lift again to find Pale Dusk's.

"It took courage to tell me this. It cannot have been easy."

He swallows, his throat dry from the tension.

"I cannot hold you fully responsible. I may as well blame the knife. It is not easy to say this. Your life.. or lives.. have not I think been easy. You carry scars deep within you. This does not excuse what you did. But I sense you are a different person today, seeking a different path. Your recent actions have brought you respect.. and it was earned."

He nods again as if to endorse this view within himself.

"From this point then, the slate is clean. I will not always find it comfortable but I knew that was likely whatever you had to tell me.. but as with everyone here, I would extend a welcome to travel further with me.. if you wish."

He takes a deep breath and feels a moment of release that he handled this in the way he wanted to.. and that he now knows more of his past - though what he does with that knowledge may have to wait until another day.

He turns to Zoltan.

"And I would be delighted for you to join us."

Maybe he will follow in his parents footsteps, maybe he will not.. but his future is already shaping itself and for once he is really looking forward, rather than backwards.

D

He nodded at the elf's words tension easing from his frame. "I would be honored to help. In addition if you learn more so do I."

That had gone much better than he had imagined that it would.

Sergeant Almador

Spa town!? Now that sounded appealing to the old guard. He was nursing his mauled knee, split cheek, sore feet and bad back, together with what felt like a hundred other scrapes and bruises.

All the man-at-arms knew about the Oldwall Mountains was that they were at the opposite end of the Empire to him. So he doubted he'd be seeing Trahice anytime soon. He consoled himself that his vision of it being a relaxing spa town was probably far from the truth anyway. It was probably infested with undead, orcs, possibly undead orcs.

Sergeant Almador could further console himself that at least he was alive and not a bloody pulp. He had the dark elf to thank for that, so he was convinced of the man's good nature.

"If I may be so bold, sirs? One thing our adventure has shown, is that not everyone who dies in wickedness repents in the after-life." Almador said, thinking of Gorulon's ghost.

"So I count myself lucky that Mr D here has."

Seyja


The confrontation between Tindarien and the dark elf was none of her business, but she was curious and wondered how she would react to such a personal tale of dark responsibility.

When it was all over and Tindarien answered as he did, the barbarian woman was satisfied and found herself exhaling a deep breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.