DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE14: Victory of Life

[About time we had some Future World Music in our musical score! Here's an appropriate track for you to listen to.]

GM

"I do not see how me marrying would protect my town against times such as these, Señor." The Baronessa replied hotly to the Seneschal.

She had to bite her tongue to avoid directing a power word at the bald, palid man. The Seneschal was astute enough to sense her annoyance, and he rushed to qualify himself.

"Your Ladyship, an old duke could provide security -- wealth and liegemen -- and would not be concerned that you were, well, beyond child-bearing age."

The Baronessa had wrinkles, but they were like beauty marks, traces of laughter and tears that lent her lush, sultry features more mystique. After that remark, however, her lips well and truly pursed and she swept from the room sucking in her breath.

A woman was not defined by her ability to bear child, and Lady Morgen would not trust her town's fate to any nobleman, husband or not.

The Seneschal followed her into the long, late-afternoon shadows of the loggia. The light was warm, rich, and a salty smell of wafted up from the harbour.

"The fortunes of this town are no different from those of my household, Seneschal." Lady Morgen said, "When I married last, I did not marry a man, I married a barony. And it is still very much alive."

At this Seneschal scowled and wrung his hands. The former baron was very much alive too, until one day he fell down dead.

"You heard that terrible brouhaha this morning, Milady. Even that cheery drunk Captain Achelus fears the worst!" He implored, "Those adventurers have met some grisly end, and if we do naught then without mother-of-pearl, this town will perish."

The Baronessa was ignoring him, leaning against the balustrade and gazing out over the town. When the Seneschal protested, Her Ladyship shushed him, swearing in her native gypsy tongue.

A sea eagle soared in the deepening sky, black against blue, almost adrift like one of the flying realms of the Overworld.

Lady Morgen's eyes narrowed as she looked down at the harbour, then her cheek dimpled with a lopsided grin. The Seneschal stepped alongside, curious himself now despite his pique.

Gladden, excited cries from far below. An outrigger canoe sliding up to the beach, its paddlers jumping out to drag it ashore as townsfolk flooded down from the streets above.

***

Lermoriach's ambush had been nerve-wracking when it was sprung, goblins and orcs racing towards you. Remarkable how similar the sensation was, seeing a town disgorge its citizenry at you.

The kids playing on the beach had seen your canoe first and after pointing, jumping and shouting a great deal, had ran off to tell their parents.

Your crudely-built outrigger was falling apart as you dragged it ashore -- the cateracts had bullied it mercilessly -- so you hastily abandoned it after grabbing your packs.

Not two steps had you taken before you were mobbed by honest, overwhelmed faces. You guessed that most people in town hadn't realised how worried they were until you returned. People were like that. They feared what they couldn't control, but they could at least control the fear, try to forget about it or just pretend it wasn't real.

But you had paddled out of the river mouth and the hope you bore gave people confidence to admit their fear. Men, women, young and old, you even recognised the taverner (and yes, Zoltan, his eldest daughter too). The gnomish mercer was there, who sold Tindarien the cheche, as was the young page who'd attended you on your stay at the Baronessa's keep. He was sweating and so short of breath from running that he couldn't ask the questions he was desparate to.

What a crowd! They all wanted to know if the river was restored, if the haunted helm was gone for good, if the mussels, the town's lifeblood, would return.

Seyja


Her haversack over one shoulder, her greataxe over the other, Seyja jumped lithely from the canoe and smiled at the crowd. She did not say anything, however, letting the more graced of tongue speak first.

Zoltan

Stepping out of the ankle deep water, he sees the townspeople rushing them and smiles. The excitement is palpable, and spotting a familiar face he sweeps the innkeeper's daughter off her feet and gives her a deep kiss, figuring he was safe enough doing it right now. He gives the innkeeper a wink, and releases his daughter back to the crowd.

He too doesn't say much, they have a Bard among them after all and who is he to steal his thunder?

<Weston>

He nudged Almador. "It's your town, you should be the one to share the good news", he said quietly.

Jex

He moves between Weston and Almador, puts his arms around their much larger shoulders and says to both, "I seek no reward greater than to see these smiles as their hero," and he looks at Almador, "their brave sergeant Almador, returns to his town, the town that he saved from the most ancient of dragons!"

"YES!" he bellows out. "It is true! We return to tell you that the poison is no more. The water WILL BE pure again!"

Those were just the first words of an act. He had rehearsed it all in his mind as they paddled down the river. He would dance and sing. Each step was choreographed, each word of each song carefully joined to the next.

Jex moves away from Weston and the Seargent and climbs atop the nearest stump or large rock or any high ground and calls out to the throng:

Ring your bell! Sing your song!
I hope we haven't been gone too long.

He crosses his arms over his chest and feigns a moment of panic.

We have some news! Have no worry!
Gather around now and listen to our story.

As the children and townsfolk circle around him, he begins to sing some songs.

[Jex's Songs]

He sang a ballad that included a stanza about each of his friends. While each could have a song of their own, he explained that "It was our teamwork and unity that made us strong, that is why we all share this song". It was a ballad about how they risked their lives and endured painful wounds to achieve a singular objective. He left out no swing of a blade or casting of a spell as he weaved the tune. He watches the crowd as he sings.

Indeed it was those expressions that he craved and he played the crowd like an instrument itself, drawing gasps of horror as he told Nestron's tale and what he had to endure but he changed those feelings to mirth when he sang a new song about the ferocious halfling named Bearkiller with the mowhawk a beard as pointy as his dagger. Even the parents had to laugh when he sang the stanza about the invisible, make-believe, but real dire wolf pet. "You don't need to be tall when your friend is he-who-sicks-balls!" Finally the giggles turned to cheers with the final tale of the death of the Master of Winter.


[ooc: I wish I had the time to write it but alas, time is not something I do not have much of these days.]

Tindarien

He is happy to let those of his companions who wish it to have their moment of glory. He smiles at the townsfolk, pleased that they are joyous but he stays with Nestaron, protecting his armless side from being jostled unintentionally.

D

Though he disliked attention. This time though he just stood with his companions and let the feelings of life pour over them. That was to be celebrated after what they had endured. Though hus eyes watched the crowd out of habit.

Sergeant Almador

He'd been more chatty in the canoe than during the whole quest. It was only partly relief. He hadn't been on the water since he was a teenager and it brought back glorious memories of those halcyon days. Together with the excellent weather, it only improved his already jubilant mood and he talked happily as he paddled.

That changed as they drifted from the river's mouth and saw the rooves of Rosencliff. Sergeant Almador suddenly felt a welling of emotion in his chest and he knew he couldn't speak without his voice cracking, so he said nothing.

He felt his age as he tried to prise himself out of the canoe, but fortunately one of his companions was on hand to lend him a hand. With a grunt, he hauled himself out, grabbed his pack and limped up the beach, straightening his back with a grimace.

The man-at-arms was used to addressing his men in the daily routine of work, and these people were friends, neighbours that he'd known his whole life. So he wasn't intimidated by the crowd, he couldn't address it either. He nodded in reply to Weston but was glad for Jex's theatrics. Had Almador lost his tongue?

No, his eyes were desparately searching the crowd for the one face that meant the most.

Nestaron

He'd slept during the journey downriver and not even realised it. He'd felt as though he was just resting his eyes and soaking up the sun, but he hadn't noticed the whitewater rapids that'd battered the outrigger.

As a healer, Nestaron was always amazed at the healing power of a nap. His arm hadn't grown back but his innards felt aright. Now if only he could get his head straight.

Once ashore, the half-elf stood with Tindarien, sharing a look and subtle grin. This was more like it! A better outcome than the bloodshed on Meniscus. Indeed, this was what drove Nestaron. Saving lives, bringing hope and ultimately happiness.

He was glad that his sacrifices, and those of his companions, had paid off and been worth while. Rosencliff was a lovely town.

"Well done, Heilbutt." He said quietly.

GM

It should be noted, for the record, that no-one asked Jex Dragon-Spoor what he was smoking, as he recounted the perilous two day journey along the river valley.

Many amongst the crowd looked like they wanted to, but for the rest it was a wonderful, enthralling spectacle. Gasps, laughter, murmurs, cheers, they were all present in the bard's audience. The youngsters loved his confusing description of He Who Sicks Balls, and the name of a whole generation of the town's puppies was decided on the spot.

The grown-ups were jubilant, generous in their praise and thanks. They wanted to shake hands, clap shoulders, or at least touch these heroes that had saved their livelihoods.

On any other day, an adventurer and stranger snogging the taverner's daughter would have ended in fisticuffs with the father. But under the circumstances, the taverner was gobsmacked. Having a hero as a son-in-law had to be good for business!?

It was a happy, avid chaos.

Sergeant Almador barely responded. He was dumbstruck, his mind fixated on one thing. That one thing stepped from the crowd, hand clasping to her mouth when she saw him. Misses Almador burst into tears and rushed into her husband's embrace. He dropped his packs and held onto her, his shoulders shaking. The rest of the Sergeant's family gathered around, including some baffled grandchildren.

Captain Achelus manoeuvred around the Almadors, smiling earnestly. He didn't interupt them. Like his men-at-arms, the Captain wore yellow and blue livery, but topped with a cape and sword-belt. He'd forgone the polished breastplate, or perhaps hadn't had time to strap it on. He hadn't forgotten the signet ring, however, engraved with the crest of the Order of Averness.

Achelus nodded to you, eyes glancing over your party appraisingly.

"Victory rarely comes without sacrifice." He said, basic numeracy telling him your party was less a man.

"A strange thing was seen yestereve at dusk. The sun had set beneath the sea and a lonely raft drifted out into the bay, bearing a figure laid to rest. The light was fading but warm.

"The men heard the howls of seawolves and dared not take to their boats, and as they watched, shapes rose around the raft. Seawolves in a pack, but instead of setting upon the raft they bore it into the east, into the night." Said the Captain, and nods from the crowd corroborated his story.

A shorter tale than Jex's, it nonetheless meant something to you. Wake Island was to the east.

Captain Achelus let the moment linger, a reminder, not to you, but the gathered townspeople. Quiet. Then, once he sensed that they appreciated what had transpired, the Captain shifted his stance and shook hands with each of you, smiling, congratulating.

"I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you!" He said, "We were woken by dreadful sounds from the south this morning, and I knew then that you'd had an early start.

"Are you all right? Do you need help with any of your things?"

<Weston>

He was quite happy to let Jex 'take the lead'. But he hoped that Almador would step up and accept the honors that he had earned. Of all that went on the mission, he was the one that had the most to lose. And yet he gave his all! That was =his= definition of a hero.
"He is here, sharing this moment with us in spirit", he said just as quietly to Nestaron. He really had lost more than any of the rest. He hoped that they could at least manage to restore his arm. Sadly he didn't know of anything that would bring back his friend.

He watched the 'celebrations' of the town's folk. He had expected that. It was how 'they' were ... jubilant when someone else saved them. But his mood lightened when he saw that it was Almador that was the recipient of the warmest welcome possible. He watched the reunion. It was the greatest reward he could have wished for. His wife and family. He could only wish that he might be so lucky some day.

He knew that he and Zoltan would have to 'meet' with the captain on 'Order Business', but that was for later. For now he was happy to let the 'festivities' swirl around him. He shook the captain's hand, "I am fine for now, thanks. But we should talk on the morrow."

D

He watched the festivities with patience as if it was something necessary but not his choice. He even shook the Captain's hand. But then he slipped back into the press and did his best to be unobtrusive. Though he wanted to just slip away, he didn't. He still had questions for the Baroness.

Seyja


Seyja clapped Almador on the shoulder as she walked past him to Nestaron's side.

"You have lost your good right arm, Nestaron, not once but twice, and I have lost a new, but close friend."

She smiled at the cleric and shook her head sadly.

"I share your pain and thank you for your sacrifice."

Tindarien

Apart from the general atmosphere, two things bring an extra cheer to his soul. He watch as the Almador family are reunited and he is glad that this moment has come about and he is here to see it. And the news from the Captain brings a smile to his face.

"It seems that Heilbutt has gone home." He murmurs to Nestaron.

Sergeant Almador

For the moment he cared about nothing but the person he held in his arms, and no-one could blame him for that after the day he'd had.

Nestaron

The half-elf smiled warmly at his friends words. He was humbled and grateful, but happy too.

Like Tindarien said, it seemed that Heilbutt had gone home. The High Druid claimed her own.

He felt sad for Seyja though. Heilbutt had liked her, it was obvious, and the two had struck up a rapport very quickly on the ship.

"I know one thing, Seyja," He offered, "Heilbutt would have wanted your other new friends to remind you what you have gained and not dwell on the loss."

Nestaron looked at her. Yes, should would be fine. Glancing at Tindarien, then back to Seyja and the others, he said.

"Come, let's find lodgings before the excitement peters out and these people realise how badly we smell."

GM

It was true. You stank.

<Weston>

He smiled at Nestaron's suggestion. "I like the sound of that", he said with enthusiasm. The rest could wait a bit ... until after they had a chance to clean up and get a bit of rest.

Seyja


"It is as good an homage as most of us could expect," she said with a sad sort of smile. "I would settle for it myself."

Seyja looked down at herself and grimaced.

"I need a bath."

GM

It was sometime later. Tiredness made the time pass in a blur, and though you may have grabbed a few winks it was far less than forty (but more than ten).

Where the sky met the sea, it caught fire as the sun eased itself lower, and above, the heavens bruised.

Captain Achelus called the guards to attention and they swivelled on their heels and stomped, tucking their partisans into the crooks of their arms.

You walked between two ranks of yellow and blue livery in the loggia of the old keep, overlooking the town. Captain Achelus and the Baronessa of Rosencliff awaited you, bathed in sunset.

Fortunately for the assembled, you were washed, scrubbed and reclothed. Nestaron's bandages had been changed and Sergeant Almador, dressed as a townsman, had borrowed a wooden crutch from somewhere.

"The haunted helm and its damned treasure have been laid to rest. The river has been restored to nature. The Town of Rosencliff saved twice over... by you." Proclaimed the Lady Morgen.

"I asked you to do this and you obliged. Never once did I promise you reward, amigos, not once did you ask for it.

"But what you have done for my town cannot be ignored, even though this is a time when we have little wealth to spare." She said, pausing to gauge your reaction.

A slight grin crept onto her face and she clapped her hands. "Nonetheless, I cannot allow you to leave with only my thanks."

The Seneschal entered in his dingy habit, an imperious frown on his face and trailed by the young page who'd attended you during your stay. The burly lad carried two jangling sacks, and placed them between you and the Baronessa. He opened one to show it was filled with irridescent shells, mother-of-pearl.

"Yours." The noblewoman confirmed, then reached around to the pedestal behind her.

"And something of my own to give." She said, holding out a sheathed short sword.

It was seemingly crafted from a strange, lustreless steel that suited its perculiar design, including stunted, rounded quillons and unusually, a side ring on the guard. The grip was conical, wire-wrapped as it widened to a flat pommel. The straight blade was slender, double-edged, tapering to a point. So it was perhaps a poniard, but all said, at just under two feet in length, 'short sword' was not inaccurate either.

"A dwarven parrying dagger," the Baronessa explained, "made for human hands by the founder-smiths of Concord. Its name is Scatty Schlank and I hope it serves you as well as it did myself."

[Scatty Schlank (Recharge 11+): +1 to attacks and damage when using the weapon. When an enemy you are engaged with hits you while you're wielding this weapon, make a Dexterity check against the attacker's MD. If you succeed, the attack misses instead. Quick: Jumpy and suspicious.]

D

He watched the others for their reactions. He suspected money wouldn't matter. The parrying dagger was interesting if it did come from the baroness. He closed his eyes for a moment but the fickle muse that was his memory gave him nothing. No there was some other piece of his past that had to do with her. Why? What? Probably the most important question who wanted him to know and what was their intended purpose. All questions he might never get answered. For now though he reopened his eyes and kept vigil.

<Weston>

He was glad of the all too brief respite from the 'festivities' to clean up and rest a bit. He would have happily avoided the following pomp, but knew that it was important to these people.

He did his best to not look bored as the ceremonies continued. He didn't really care about the 'presents' ... although, the 'wealth' might be useful later. He made a mental not to be sure that Almador got a share in all this too. He had done his part as much as any of them.

The weapon didn't interest him all that much. He preferred a longer blade.

Mostly he was looking forward to getting a bit of food, maybe some wine and then a long time in a soft bed.

(OOC - Neil - How does a Parrying Dagger work, compared to a Shield?)

Zoltan

He has washed himself briefly, spending more time cleaning his equipment. It took a bit of time to clean all the blood and gore out of the crevices of his armor. But now, clean and at least partially rested he stand with the others in the audience room, offering a slightly sardonic look to the Senechal who had doubted them.

To the Baroness he gives a bright smile and a wink, reminding her of her promise.

He glances at the seashells. A nice enough payment, and something they could all use a bit of. The dagger interests him more, though.

Tindarien

They would probably split the shells and sell them when the opportunity arises. He might keep one as a memento, after all it is not every day that you vanquish an ancient dragon.

He is glad to be clean again.. and glad to be alive.

['Parrying dagger' is just flavour. Mechanically it's a magic dagger or short sword -- can be used as either -- with the Dexterous Parry magic power. Two-weapon fighting doesn't do much in 13th Age. If you miss an attack with a natural 2, you can reroll. You don't get an extra attack. Some classes (frex, ranger) have further special abilities that revolve around two weapon fighting. For a paladin, a shield is probably better.

Once evenly split, the mother-of-pearl would be enough to give you full board in a fine inn, in one of the Seven Cities, for a week. Possibly much longer in a coarser establishment.]

GM

Neither Jex or Seyja looked like they had much need of a dagger cum short sword either, so the Baronessa turned to the quiestest, most withdrawn of the assembly. The dark elf called D.

The Baronessa tensed but walked over to him, presenting him with the magic weapon.

She was struggling for the right words when Captain Achelus politely intervened.

"If anyone could appreciate such a dwarven design, I expect it would be one of the drow." He said, and wasn't without merit.

The dwarves knew about fighting in confined spaces alright, and a poniard like Scatty Schlang would make a handy side arm. The lack of quillons meant less likelihood of snagging on other equipment, and the side ring protected the fingers during the parry too.

Mother-of-pearl jangled as the page tied up the sacks and carried them over to Zoltan, who was looking particularly important in his cleaned Crusader armour.

The Seneschal cut in, settling his hand over the page's chest to stall him, while he addressed the adventurers.

"I don't mean to doubt the fine Sergeant Almador, but a man can be convinced of seeing things he did not, by those of stronger mind. And what could be stronger than a dragon's!?

"To clarify, you did return all the treasure, and the ghost was appeased, yes? It had... satisfaction, as it were?" He asked, arching his eyebrow at the paladin.

<Weston>

He was sorely tempted to whip out his sword and whap the seneschal on the head with the flat of the blade. But that was what he had been commissioned to prevent Zoltan from doing, so he took a deep breath and let it out slowly instead.

"Perhaps you would like us to take you up to Titan's Elbow and let you make your own assessment", he asked innocently. "I, for one, would be more than happy to take you up there for a stroll around."

Zoltan

His hand strays absently to the fine chain he wears around his left wrist. Made of thin metal with two entwined rings. As he does so he stares at the Senechal. That stare contains all the disdain he can muster, with a good added portion of promise that were they not standing in the Baroness' audience chamber, that comment would not pass by. Behind his eyes burn the fires of the abyss.

A moment later, as Weston replies, he relaxes, turning slightly to the Sergeant and offering him a sardonic smile.

Seyja


Having no need for such a small weapon, Seyja did not bother making a response, but she did tense somewhat at the tone the seneschal used in questioning him. She smiled at Weston's reply.

"Yes, we could make it... up close and very personal."

Sergeant Almador

He'd had proud moments in his life, but it occurred to the Sergeant that all of those he could remember were of him being proud of someone else. His parents, wife, his children, his men, etc.

Walking between the ranks of guards, dressed as a citizen of the town was humbling yet deeply gratifying. Like he, Almador, had finally achieved something.

It made him think of his eldest son. They never saw each other, and when they did they argued. His son was always talking about 'achieving' this or that, and didn't see much in his father to be proud of.

Was it possible this quest and Weston and the others had taught Sergeant Almador to better understand his own son?

He was honoured to receive the praise and reward from the Baronessa. He liked the old Baron well enough, but Lady Morgen was far more approachable, more interested in the common folk, and honestly, a thousands times easier on the eye.

The Seneschal was a numps though, and always had been.

Almador's daughter worked in the household, so he heard all about the Seneschal's megalomania. The general concensus was, that the Seneschal just didn't like taking orders from a woman. (Probably why he was still a bachelor.)

The old guard shifted on his crutch, aware of what the Seneschal was implying. That maybe his companions had intimidated or charmed him, and stolen the treasure for themselves.

Deplorable, pathetic, and an insult to the whole assembly, including the Baronessa.

He was pleased to see the fool was given short shrift, and himself said, "The deed is done, sir, and if it isn't, you will know about it soon enough. Tonight would be the night of the ghost's vengeance, were it not appeased."

Tindarien

Not one to take umbrage unless the matter is serious and the politics of this court could not merit that depth of concern, so he adds in an even tone.

"As we delivered the treasure, the ghost appeared and thanked us. Said that he and his men could finally go to their rest. I think that concludes things nicely."

GM

Showing more savoir-faire than the Seneschal himself, the heroes slammed the door on his thinly-veiled accusation, and even deflected the onus to answer back at him.

The Seneschal had raised a valid point. How could the town be sure that they weren't being duped? Fortuntely the town had an astute investigator like the Seneschal to undertake such a dangerous task....

His eyelids fluttered, as if an ogre had just broke wind in his face, and he quickly bowed and backed away, realising just where this line of questioning might lead (to the Titan's Elbow).

"Ah splendid splendid. Absolutely capital! Brave heroes, yes indeed." He said, turning to nod respectfully to the Baronessa, "Fine work, I must say, the town will be relieved!"

Lady Morgen's eyebrow twitched, but she hid her emotions masterfully. The Captain on the other hand, he shook his head at the Seneschal's antics.

"Not all of the town will be relieved." Said Captain Achelus, "The Guards will be on the look-out for these orcs you told us about. If they want in to Rosencliff, they had better bring siege engines."

The Baronessa nodded in stern agreement. Already she was discussing with her captain (and thus the Order of Averness) the possibility of creating a troop of rangers, to patrol the Sword Point, threading between the towns.

Serious concerns, but not appropriate to the occasion. The Baronessa smiled disarmingly at the heroes.

"As for the rest of the town. We shall have a feast this night, to celebrate your great triumph. Maybe tomorrow, you will pick up your troubles and worries again, but for tonight, amigos, in this place, they will unburdened." She said.

Nestaron

It wasn't a curmudgeonly spirit that made him averse to the ceremony, or grief for the fallen, he just didn't want to stand up, stiff-backed, listening to speeches.

Fortunately, that isn't what the Baronessa provided, getting down to the business immediately. Nestaron did like the woman's style! (But then he had married a southern lass himself, so maybe he was biased.)

So Nestaron stood and concentrated on his breathing, ignoring the throb from his maimed shoulder. He was glad his friends were in the mood for handling the Seneschal's prattle, because Nestaron didn't have the strength.

All in all, he was pleased that the Baronessa had treated the party to some pomp and circumstance. They deserved it, frankly.

As for the feast, Nestaron knew he wouldn't sleep well, so some good food and good cheer would be an entirely welcome way to spend the evening.

<Weston>

He managed to suppress the grin that =really= wanted to erupt when the Seneschal back pedaled so spectacularly.

He turned to the captain. "The few of us were able to drive them off, but I agree that vigilance will be important. But they seem more likely to 'infiltration' and 'ambush' than to frontal assault."

He sighed at the prospect of some sort of 'party', but, then again, it might be a good chance talk with Captain about their task and what they planed to do next.

D

He watched the antics with interest. Something deep in his soul relished the political maneuvering. He wanted to make a snide comment bit kept his tongue as the Baroness presented the Dwarven creation.

He nodded in appreciation of the words and said "I am honored by your gift. I would love to learn more of its history and yours later if that is agreeable." It was in her court now, she could talk or not as she wished.

For his part he flipped the dagger, swished it, and balanced it on its tip. He knew the weight and balance. He woukd be able to put the weapon to very good use.

[Ghosted for Neptune]

Jex

Jex had been busy regaling first the town, then the tower with the tale of their quest.

He couldn't take a break until their appetites were sated. That was a bard's duty!

He barely had time to change into clean clothes! So the ceremony was the first opportunity he had to recuperate his voice since pulling ashore, and he took full advantage of it.

Jex was still very expressive, smiles, bows of the head, furtive looks, et cetera. He was not going to waste his breath on the Seneschal though! Fortunately his companions dealt with the palid, small-minded servant admirably.

Mother-of-pearl, magic weapons, it all quickly slipped his mind when a feast was declared. A feast would mean music and a night to remember! Words and melodies danced through his thoughts, looking for the right partners.

Zoltan

He smiles at the talk of a celebratory festival. He enjoys revelry, and he is owed several things that he intends to claim. A festival is the perfect setting.

Seyja


Clean and wearing clean clothes, her injuries healing, the barbarian woman was ready for some solid food and stout drinks.

Captain Achelus

He considered Weston's advice, plotting it against their account of the ambush.

The orcs had intimidated goblins into joining their ranks, and both were armed with high quality steel weapons. Hallmarks of the Orc Lord's forces, no doubt. Achelus would report it back to the Shoppe on Spar Street, but Rosencliff would remain on alert until he was sure the orcs had moved on... which might coincide with Seyja moving on.

In the meantime?

"We will employ overlapping roving patrols, Weston. That should nix them." He said, devising the watches in his head.

Sergeant Almador

He'd already heard word of the feast and knew that the town was busy preparing.

People's relief was palpable and they wanted to celebrate, so the Baronessa's decree was almost a formality, received enthusiastically by the Sergeant's friends and family at least.

Which meant he had to be going!

He saluted his captain and men, then thanking Lady Morgen again for the honour she'd afforded him, he excused himself, pausing on his way out to speak to the adventurers.

Sergeant Almador shifted on his crutch and smiled genially at them.

"Well sirs, I must get back to my wife. Putting together a feast in an hour or two will mean raiding of the pantry, and that will mean jars to be opened, and that solemn duty truly proves a man's worth." He said with a wink.

He didn't comment on how these heroes had shown him that he was good for more than opening jars. More than a fat, over-the-hill old guard! He was still a man, as capable of great things as anyone, who could contribute to his community.

Did a pupil explain their lessons to the teacher who taught them?

No, thought Almador, he just said "Thank you" and he did, with deeply-felt sincerity.

Goodbyes weren't needed, he would see them later.

Nestaron

Something hot, easy to eat and digest, something nourishing. His stomach grumbled as he thought about it. Yes, a hot broth perhaps? Exactly what he needed.

The half-elf looked forward to the feast and warming himself with the town's happy enthusiasm. But he knew that whatever came tomorrow or the next day, he would not be travelling with Tindarien and the rest of the party. He had to return home, to heal properly if ever he could.

Memories of his home, his wife and sons were too potent for Nestaron to dwell on. He dared not think about them, feeling the well of emotion and afraid that he might be too frail to hold it in check.

He had to make haste, catch the first ship bound for Santa Cora, and from there to Vigil and Fullcatch Bay, where his family awaited him in a village built on stilts.

So Nestaron could understand the Sergeant of the Guard's desire to get back.

"Likewise, Sergeant Almador." Said the cleric, "Likewise."

Sergeant Almador

The man-at-arms looked from face to face, and bowed his head respectfully.

Before shuffling from the room, he paused and turned.

"Actually sirs, it's Gill. My name that is, Gill Almador. At your service."

<Weston>

"I am sure that you know much more about defending your town than I do", he said with a nod of acknowledgement for the Captain. "And it does sound like a reasonable plan. Just ... well, they were willing to jump our party, so you may want to beef up the patrols ... unless you hope to use smaller patrols as bait to gauge their resolve", he finished. He considered both ideas. Each had pluses and minuses. While he was quite willing to put himself at risk, he wouldn't like having to 'gamble' with the lives of others. He was glad that he was not in the Captain's shoes, didn't envy the man having to make the hard choices.

He welcomed the shift of thoughts when Almador came to make his excuses. "What", he asked looking surprised. "You would turn down a long boring dinner with a bunch of stuffed shirts to spend time with you friends and family? I am shocked, shocked I say", but he couldn't keep it up and started chuckling. "You are indeed the lucky one ... Gill", he said as he offered his hand to the man he had come to know and respect.

D

He spent much of his time in silence. The Captain's thoughts seemed reasonable. Though to be fair most of the dark elf's own tactics were centered on one or just a couple. Not the kinds of engagements that they had spent much of the last few days fighting.

He bade the man at arms well with a silent wave and a nod of head. Mostly he wished he were going to such a warm embrace as that of a loving family. Friends he reflected might have started to be made again as he looked around the room.

For now though he was being patient. The baroness is who he wanted to know more about but that wish might not be granted.

GM

Gill Almador clasped Weston's hand and shook it, as he would with any of that esteemed company. It was the Baronessa who spoke though, a mischievous smirk on her face.

"I am afraid Señor Weston that the whole town will be dining together this eve." She said, then looking down at her own frontage, "But if you wish to stuff a shirt and bring it with you, it would be invited."

Almador chuckled. He'd been kept abreast of plans by his daughter.

All the activity that could be heard and smelled from the town beneath the loggia was in preparation for the feast, to be held on the seafront.

The man-at-arms had to get back. His companions on the quest had started out as strangers, but now they were kindred. Almador had to admit, they still looked a little out of place in Rosencliff, but yes, he reckoned they'd be fine.

...And if they needed Sergeant Almador, they knew where to find him. When ever, why ever, if they needed him, he would come. Weston, D, Tindarien, Seyja, Jex or Zoltan. He was their man.

He turned and left.

Left you in the same loggia where you had stayed only two nights ago. Of course, the apartments had been rearranged to host the short, informal ceremony, and after Almador left, the guards filed out under the command of Captain Achelus. He gave Weston and Zoltan a knowing glance that seemed to say 'speak later'.

The Seneschal excused himself and shooed the page from the room (leaving the mother-of-pearl), and so only the Baronessa stayed with you.

"Bueno," she said, "It is done. I will leave you to your own devices, as I too have preparations to make.

"Before I go, I must say this. I am glad you came to this town when you did, and I do not think it pure coincidence.

"You should stay together for a while longer, I think, and maybe, just maybe you will find out what fate has in store."

Lady Morgen clearly weighed her own words as she spoke them. It was no glib comment, but voicing aloud a thought she hadn't even realised she'd been gestating.

She gracefully bowed her head, then exited, gathering up her handmaiden at the door.

As promised, you were left alone.

[We're wrapping up here, peeps. So if there are any outstanding PC interactions you want to cover, now's the time.]

Zoltan

As the Baroness leaves the room, he steps outside and follows her. "Pardon me, my dear, but I believe was was promised a dance upon our successful return?"

Seyja


The barbarian woman's expression grew still and cold when she thought about finding out what fate had in mind. Seyja had almost been able to push her concerns about the Orc Lord's obsession with her to the back of her mind by concentrating on their mission.

She felt she had held her own and, although they had lost Heilbutt, the teamwork of the group had kept the rest of their party alive.

Now that the mission was completed, she was not sure she had anything worth looking forward to.

<Weston>

Clearly he needed to work a bit on his 'inside voice' he thought at the Baronessa spoke up. But it seemed as though she accepted the 'advice' in the manner it was intended.

He was happy to see the 'officials' make their departure, noting the Captain's implication of a meeting before they left. And that was sufficient for him at the moment.

D

The dark elf agreed with the Baroness's thought but only time would tell where fate intended the group to go, and what was in store. They of course had ideas, but things didn't always go as planned. For himself he knew that his past would remain a mystery for longer. Answers were not easily wrung from the ghost that haunted him. He was ok with that what other choice did he have?

GM

Zoltan's armoured silhouette was framed by the doorway with the setting sun as a backdrop.

The Baronessa herself seemed more of a shadow, fading into the dimly lit corridor beyond. But the tiefling could make out the gleam in her eyes well enough, when she turned to face him and the handmaiden stepped aside.

"Oh Señor Zoltan, rest assured we will have that dance. In the meantime, perhaps you should change into something more comfortable." She said slyly, "Hasta!"

And with that she and her servant were gone.

The Baronessa did have a point. The Crusader armour was forged in hellfire, a rivetless design of black plate and ornate, electrum trim. Imposing, protective, but with any luck not needed when dancing with the Baronessa. More importantly, a suit of armour wasn't something you could shrug out of in a hurry.

For now, Zoltan could return to his companions and enjoy the sunset and quiet talk.

Tindarien

His thoughts are more on the future than the past now. He talks with Nestaron about his plans and says he will find passage on a ship to take him home.

Meanwhile he turns to the company now that they are alone.

"I am heading down to the harbour to enquire about passage to Axis, then onto Trahice... perhaps via Anvil as it lies not far off our route. I would dearly love for us to stay together, though Nestaron is going back to his family. Most of you have expressed a desire to continue together. I just need to know who is not coming so I can arrange our travel?""

He smiles at the group, friends now, and hopes no-one has changed their minds.. and that Weston & Zoltan have cleared their way.

<Weston>

"I am still on board, as it were", he said with a smile.

D

"I would learn more and right a past wrong. To that end, I am in as well. Though I have some questions for our hostess and possibly what she might know."

Seyja


Looking up from her glum reverie, it takes several seconds for Tindarien's words to settle in her mind.

"I will go with you and lead you and scout for you as best I can."

Tindarien

He smiles at the three of them and then looks enquiringly at the others.

Nestaron

He had a decent size map of the Empire in his pack somewhere, folded on wax paper.

Nestaron reminded himself to dig it out for the party later. From the discussion being had, they might need it.

"As I see it, if Trahice is your goal then you have two choices." He said.

"Either a coaster northwards, all the way to Concord, or one southwards to Santa Cora, then a galleass across the sea to Concord.

"From Concord, you could take the overland route to the Oldwall Mountains, passing west of the Harthorn."

The cleric pictured the map in his mind, plotting an alternate journey from Rosencliff to Trahice by land. He shook his head.

"You could travel by land to Axis, but the realms between there and the dwarf fortress of Anvil are beleaguered by the Crusader's draft.

"From Anvil you would face the perilious ways of the Undermarch to the Forge, seat of the High King of the Dwarves.

"Once out of his domains, you'd follow the trampled plains of the Koru to the east, avoiding the centaur clans until you reached the Oldwall."

Nestaron wore a skeptical frown. No-one had accomplished that journey in generations, as far as he knew. Plus,

"Your every step could be dogged by the Iron Skull and his orcs...

"I think perhaps Anvil should wait, and you take a sea route. The key has laid in the ground for three centuries, has it not? But you don't know how long Moonshadow will tarry at Trahice."

<Weston>

"So it sounds like there is no way to avoid a boat trip", he said, sounding ... apprehensive.

Seyja


Her face grew even colder at the mention of the Iron Skull.

"Sooner or late I will have to end the Iron Skull," she muttered.

"But probably," she said slowly, perhaps reluctantly, "it should be later and we should avoid him as much as possible until your quest has been achieved. She nodded toward Tindarien.

Tindarien

"As ever full of wisdom my friend."

He smiles at Nestaron.

"Unless there are strong objectives from anyone, I plan to follow it. By sea it is."

He looks around at the others.

"Seyja, delaying your fate should give us the opportunity of spreading your foes more thinly and giving up time to find more things to help counter their threat."

Seyja


Seyja smiled but it was not a pleasant smile and did not extend to her eyes. She ran her thumb across the near razor sharp edge of her greataxe.

"I plan to spread them thin, but I can wait. I think it is called... delayed gratification."

Nestaron

Glad to hear that his companions were favouring the safer sea route, Seyja's notion of delayed gratification mades Nestaron think...

"And if there were a fatal flaw to the Iron Skull, some weakness in its design, where better to learn it than Forge, where the Forgeborn are made.

"So perhaps you could make the trip in reverse," he said with half a grin, "Trahice, Forge, then Anvil. By the time you catch up with the Iron Skull again, you might have the upper hand.

"They do say 'vengeance is a dish best served cold'."

Seyja


She quirked one eyebrow upward and, after a moment, nodded at the one armed cleric who had sacrificed so much in their travels together. She chuckled dryly.

"And who would know more about cold than you would, Nestaron."

D

The pale dark elf nodded in agreement. "It is best when the enemy doesn't expect it as well."

They had decided on their course and action. For now he felt like he was doing what he could to learn more. He just hoped he wasn't playing into their hands too much. The Icons of this world were a fickle, scheming bunch.

Nestaron

He laughed earnestly at Seyja's remark, but she had a valid point. He knew the cold now, and didn't want to be reacquainted. The warm south was where he was heading.

"When you tire of the grim north, seek me out in Fullcatch Bay, my friends. There the sun always shines, and you will be welcome in my home as family...

"...Most likely." He winked to Seyja, "I'll have to ask my wife first and I haven't seen her in a long time."

Humour, yes, but it got him thinking about gifts. He should return bearing something of the sort. He didn't intend to tarry in any of the Seven Cities, so a shop around Rosencliff would have to suffice.

[Ghosted for Neptune by nemarsde. Neptune, please edit as you wish.]

Jex

Tindarien had the right idea. Why wait for a big ship to make port at Rosencliff? Some of the town's longboats were gunter-rigged and could sail them down the coast to Axis, where they'd find sea passage to any of the Seven Cities.

Jex would have to postpone his summer engagement at Rosencliff but thought the Baronessa would understand. Here was a party who were considering a journey of truly epic proportions. Even not accounting for the adventures they intended to get into, the possibilities for unintended adventure made Jex giddy.

As Nestaron said, the secrets of the Eternal Alchemists' key were in no hurry to reveal themselves and by heading straight to Anvil by land, they'd run the risk of falling afoul of the Crusader's draft.

That didn't strike Jex as an adventure so much as a misadventure, so approaching Anvil from north, from Forge was fine by him.

"Oh I do like the sounds of this, good people!" He said excitedly, still somewhat hoarse but flashing a white grin.

[Ghosted for Zeim by nemarsde. Zeim, edit as you wish.]

Zoltan

He let her go, and looked down at his armour. Zoltan appreciated the Baronessa's point with a shrug of his eyebrows, though she was clearly underestimating the speed at which he could divest himself of armour.

Returning to his companions, the paladin was confident the Order of Averness would want him to accompany Tindarien, D and the others to Trahice. He was also sure they'd want him to keep an eye on Weston, since he was carrying the accursed ring.

Zoltan was not so sure how detailed a report he was going to make. The Order didn't need to know everything, and they certainly didn't tell him everything. Given its history, this Aurenaur might cause ructions the party could do without, so it might be better if formal enquiries about the Aurenaur e Du were made discreetly.

Something he'd have to discuss with Weston before discussing it with Captain Achelus.

For now Zoltan could quite easily stand a night of festing.

Looking out at the sun setting on the coloured roofs of Rosencliff, smelling and hearing the preparations, he avoided talk of the plan and simply suggested to his companions.

"Shall we?"

GM

The scrappy-looking but eager to please young page soon coughed at the doorway and entered. In his slight awkward, rustic manner, he offered to escort them to the feast while there was still some daylight on the steep, cobbled streets.

It would have been rude to refuse.

[Go to HHE15: Interlude 3]

GM

The sun dropped below the horizon in a sublime display of colour. The skies along the coast dimmed into the long, pleasant dusk that made summer's eves so memorable.

Out on the headland, mermaids surfaced and shimmied up onto the rocks. Finding the waters were clean again, the mermaids had returned, and were now curious about the late hustle and bustle in town.

Rather than sleep, Rosencliff had come alive. Where a magnificent feast had been excitedly thrown together on the strand, there were lamps and revelry. Long tables, short tables, round tables and all were laid out, before being themselves laid with food and drink. Sergeant Almador indulged with gusto and proud encouragement of his wife. He insisted that Weston sit with him, amongst his family, and everyone was soon well acquainted.

What a feast! Pots of steaming hot sofrit pagès bore the rich aroma of a meat medley, lamb, chicken, and whatever sausages needed using. Stuffed aubergines on the side. For anyone with a lighter apetite, jars of mussels, pickled in wine, with olive oil, chunky vegetables, herbs and orange zest, with tough, crusty bread to dip and tear into. Even Farvi the Ferret sat on the table, being fed sausage meat like an emperor.

After that, trays of sweet rubiols with every filling a delicious surprise.

The drink flowed, local wines, gins and liqueurs aplenty, and barrels of small beer for young and old. Captain Achelus stuck to mussels and bread, and smoking his pipe, looking vaguely unsettled whenever someone offered him a drink. Tindarien amazed the children by casting dancing lights across the strand, winking purplish lights that spiralled like dervishes and provoked alarm then laughter amongst the adults.

Irt's creamy white sheepdog, Wanshanks, was settled down under one of the tables, occasionally opening an eye or cocking an ear.

His master appeared with other townsfolk, bearing a menagerie of musical intruments. Many were old heirlooms brought to the town by mercenaries during the Shoreblade Revolt over half a century ago. From the northern and southern Empire, the self-taught owners played in their own self-taught way, lending the music a remarkably foreign flavour. The timbre was familiar, however, music made for one thing. Dancing.

Fast, slow, whirling, twirling, jigging, jumping, and clapping.

And so it was that Zoltan found himself caught on the dancefloor as the musicians abruptly stopped playing. Looking around, he would see Jex had settled onto a stool with his lute, the townsfolk watching with baited breath.

This had to be some plot?

The Baronessa had given Jex of Drakkenhall her patronage though and invited him to stay the summer. He was expected to earn his keep. And hadn't the Baronessa also commented over supper, two nights past, that Jex reminded her of the southern gypsy style?

The bard started playing, fingers and thumb a blur on the strings. Then paused.

Clack clack clack! Castanets.

Lady Morgen stepped from the shadows opposite Zoltan and the crowd were awed. She wore a white blouse with billowed sleeves, tied up under her ample bossom and baring her midriff. Her skirt was layered with ruffles, patterned in dark lusty colours, and with her hair lashed under a silk scarf she did not exactly look like a baroness or a lady.

She clicked her castanets and Jex's playing resumed, with timed rythmic surges in tempo, and the Baronessa, she danced. The zambra, forbidden dance of the southern gypsies -- undulating, mysterious, sensual -- growing like an obsession, a feverish dream.

She had promised Zoltan a dance and this one was for him....

Afterwards there was a stunned silence, then rapturous applause for both dancer and her accompanyment. Lady Morgen was not a conventional ruler but she was Rosencliff's, and unlike most nobles, she seemed to put the town's interests before her own.

D watched, possibly embroiled with his thoughts. What was the Baronessa to him? Was she one of his 'lost farthings'? What did that make him, one of four? And what then was his whole?

Behind him, on the beach, Seyja prepared.

Once the darkness of night had descended and the stars come out, the barbarian stood on the beach, mostly naked except for a coat of white grease and ash. She lit her oils pots and hefted the chain that linked them together.

It was a moonless night, a night of what some called an assassin's moon. There was no more killing intended on that night, but there was one death yet to mark. The dragon's.

It was the turn of the northern gypsies and Seyja began the fire dance, a victory dance to scare away the souls of vanquished foes. The flames roaring and hissing through the night as the crowd watched, entranced. Standing on the rocks nearby, Nestaron sipped a cup of seafood broth and smirked. Recalling the fire bomb and how the party had gained the upper hand, if the Master of Winter's soul was circling around, Seyja's dance was rather like rubbing his face in it.

And why shouldn't she. The party had won at a cost, the half-elf's arm, his magic, and the quest had taken Heilbutt too. Did anyone doubt it was worth it?

Nestaron didn't. There were many fallen heroes, whose adventures might not be recounted amongst the legends of old, whose great deeds might be known only to their friends. That did not lessen their importance.

All things had an ending, though often we did not want them to. Lives. Feasts. Adventures.

So our moments, one to the next, were precious, and how we chose to spend them was a testimony to those we had lost. For the light that we brought to the world outlasted us, shone on those we left behind, whether or not they knew from whence it came.

But a word of caution; the same could be said of darkness we wrought.

***

Later, after the townsfolk had sought their beds, D, Jex, Nestaron and Seyja, Tindarien, Weston and Zoltan gathered at a table. Someone had found and unfurled a map of the Dragon Empire on its surface, pinning it with a tankard and dagger.

You looked each other in the eye, nodded, and raised your cups together.

[Go to HHE16: The Alabaster Apparition for an epilogue.]