Fantasy A Tide of Flames: a d20 Dungeons & Dragons adventure

IC: William Marshall and Maeghen

Every breath he took still burned from the lingering feeling of those two gods-damned harpoons, but he was healed up enough that the pain was a minor note in the current symphony of worries. He eyed the massing troops with the certainty that he was going to stay right here behind stone walls this time; courage was all very well, but he'd be damned if he was going to courage himself to death unnecessarily.

And then Skadi dropped the news of another disaster on them.

"Oh, for the love of the gods," he muttered. <You heard that?>

There was a sense of movement. <I'm on my way.>

<Keep out of sight.> He couldn't find a way to explain the pang of dread that went through him at the idea of Maeghen getting hurt now, but it didn't need expressing; she just knew, and replied with reassurance. She could handle it - there were always places to hide in a city for a bird of her size.

""It sounds like we have some worryingly resourceful enemy units on our hands to have got all that way unseen," he murmured into his ring. "I've sent Maeghen to investigate - she's faster and more unobtrusive than any of the rest of us. Do we follow, Sa'adi, or stay here?"

TAG: All

 

Evelios D'Rtan, Poe the Raven, and Skippy the Wonder Muskrat
"For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"

"Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets!"

"Sic semper tyrannis!"

"No gods or kings! ONLY BARDS!"

The blood of the corrupt tyrant Monsieur Edmonton, the copyright law friendly talking horse, flowed through the cracks of the city streets of Evelios' mind, like wine in a Dickens' novel's unsubtle foreshadowing sequence. He had only millennia ago - for what was time to the mind? - deposed the appointed dictator in a violent coup that would've looked really stunning on the six o'clock news, and it was only fitting that he, too, now met an unsettling end.

"Weird, I always thought candy came out of there," an Evelios noted, puzzled.

"... Candy?" asked Edgar Allan Poe.

"Y'know, because it's a horse. They're stuffed with candy."

"... Never mind."

"Nevermore," corrected the Evelios.

---

"Something is wrong. The contact with Jarmaath -- it has broken. I cannot hear him. He was at Cathedral Square, about to bring the reserve."

Evelios came to a stop, still singing a song, but clearly, inside, behind the eyes, there was a whirl. Like gears starting up again in an old machine.

---

"Comrades. Bolsheviks. Friends of the Revolution. I have returned!"

There was tremendous cheering.

"The bloodstained shadow of Equine repression is past! I bring you new light of permanent revolution! Comrades, I may once have been ousted from power, I may have been expelled from the party in 1927, I may have been deported in 1929 but I'm just an old-fashioned girl, with an old-fashioned mind..."

More cheering, now.

"Comrades, I don't want to destroy in order to build, I don't want a state founded on hate and division, I want an old-fashioned house/With an old-fashioned fence,/And an old-fashioned millionaire..."

"Eartha Kitt!" came a cry.

"Eartha Kitt! Eartha Kitt!"

---

Poe waved a wing in front of the bard's eyes. "Evelios? Buddy? Can you hear..."

---

"Victory is the greatest tribute we can pay those who sacrifice their lives for us! Rise, Rise! Take your sorrow, and turn it into anger! Evelios thirsts for the strength of its people!"

"Jieg Jion!" came another cry.

"Jieg Jion! Jieg Jion! Jieg Jion!"

---

"... m-"

"One does not care to acknowledge the mistakes of one's youth, Poe!" Evelios barked, suddenly snapping to attention, before he resumed singing. The song was yet another completely different tune.



Poe flapped down to talk to Skadi. "He... uh... hm..."

<<Say it.>>

<<But this is so->>

<<Say it.>>

"He's wondering 'what the hell we're still doing standing here, then?'" The bird flinched. "His words, not mine."

TAG: All









"You, of course, realize that none of the revolutions we referenced had anything to do with the others, right? That was just a messy hodgepodge of contradictory political ideologies," said chief political advisor Evelios.

"Blame that on the misfortune of your birth," replied President Dictator for Life Comrade Evelios I.

"Oh, and Gundam references."

"Thank you."

 

The Rock,
Night, Brindol, Elsir Vale
Thirtieth of Kythorn (Midsummer’s Eve)
Year of Scattered Lanterns (1368 DR)

"Skadi," said Corrath quietly, "That barricade's not going to hold for long. Zanaek's wall will funnel the Hand troops in, sure, but there's a lot of them coming. If we stay--"
"If you stay," said Halden, "then you're just prolonging the inevitable." The guardsman was grim as he paced over, glancing back to the figures hurriedly adding more rubble and wood to the barrier. "I can hold the gate a while with these guys. I can't hold it forever, though. I need a solid troop to do that."
Corrath's voice was flat. "If we go, and what's out there comes over that barricade without us, you're going to--"
"Most likely. But this whole valley was most likely to burn until you -- we -- came along. So far, you're on a roll. I trust winning streaks. I'll lay odds we can hold the gate long enough for you. Especially if you stop talking your damn asses off and get moving."
Skadi turned: "All of you. Move. Cathedral Square. Go."
The cleric felt a whisper of air brushed aside, as Corrath slipped past her and away. Another gust of wind as Evelios and the others took to the sky. She met Halden's eyes. "I will see you after."
The spearman's smile was gentle. "Don't think so." Then he was gone, to the barricade. "Stand to, boys! We've got a bunch of pigsnouts to poke some big holes in!" And she was gone, too, walking into the sky.

Ahead, Maeghen beat wings against smokestained night winds. Torchlight and shadow grappled on a wide grass arena of the Cathedral's forecourt, a couple hundred metres to the south. With the fires out in the northern quarter, Cathedral Square was a beacon in the blacked-out city. Even so, more than light drew the falcon: her species had long evolved to note movement from a great height. And there was movement aplenty; she could see men and women alike scrambling like so many mice or rats. They crawled; tried to hold shields up against an invisible threat; scrambled over one another. She could hear the screaming even from here. What she assumed was meant to be an orderly column of troops had turned into chaos.

The answer came with more movement: a quick one, difficult to track, difficult to source. A black, thin blur reached out across the grass, made a Lion of Brindol rear his horse as he clutched at the black shaft that had appeared in his neck. A second later, he fell, and the screaming continued; and among the movement, Maeghen could see several more unmoving forms, each with their own black shafts protruding like thin, wallowing gravestones from their bodies. She understood: sniper.

TAG: All

 

IC: William Marshall and Maeghen

The falcon immediately plunged for the nearest cover; a sniper who'd got this far could probably target her too given the chance. From the shelter of a chimney stack she peered out, straining her eyes for the next dark flash of movement, seeking the source - or at least the location of the source - of the black arrows. The Company couldn't run into this unawares.

William, racing towards her with his companions, abruptly checked his pace a little, bringing his ring to his mouth. "Everyone - slow down! There's a sniper at the square. If we just go pounding in there we'll be making ourselves into open targets. The troops are in a complete panic as it is." He paused briefly, catching flashes of his familiar's intent. "Maeghen's trying to locate the sniper now - let's not charge in before we know which way to charge."

TAG: All

 

[[Ignore this double post.]]

 

The Killing Ground
Night, Brindol, Elsir Vale Thirtieth of Kythorn (Midsummer’s Eve) Year of Scattered Lanterns (1368 DR)

The falcon peered with all the sharpness and hunter's instincts that came from his species, eye flickering from one shadow to the next, one rooftop to the next. There could be any number of places that could hide a bowman; a good twenty tall, wooden structures huddled at the edges of the Square, and then there were the flying buttresses and towers of the Cathedral itself, frowning down over the chaos.

Nothing.

Regardless of the masking of shadow and night, wherever it was, the sniper was good. And Maeghen had no difficulty ascribing a genderless pronoun to the concept. No human like, say, William could have evaded the falcon's gaze. If the falcon had any chance of spotting the sniper, he'd have to be closer - much closer.

Another blurring shadow! This time a black shaft materialised between another trooper's shoulderblades at the northwestern exit to the Cathedral Square. He fell, arms trying weakly to reach that which had already pierced his heart. And the knot of troops gathering there dissolved into panic.

TAG: Cass, all

 

IC: Maeghen

Darting closer, flitting from shadow to shadow, the familiar had drawn closer to the conflict - and froze as another deadly shaft crossed the square. It was only an instant's movement, but that was enough; she tracked the movement, and mentally reversed its path. She had seen the direction in which the arrow was going, and that was enough to work out where it had come from.

TAG: Saint

 

The Killing Ground
Night, Brindol, Elsir Vale Thirtieth of Kythorn (Midsummer’s Eve) Year of Scattered Lanterns (1368 DR)

While the arrow's flight was enough to tell roughly from which quadrant it came, pinning down the destination would be harder. Maeghen could tell the arrow had come from somewhere among the buildings in the southwest corner of Cathedral Square; at least they wouldn't have to search among the Cathedral's maze of towers. But she would have to wait for another shot to try and pin down exactly which building the shot had come from, and the morale of the men and women in the square was rapidly breaking. The falcon looked but couldn't see Jarmaath anywhere around; possibly he'd been taken from the battlefield, but either way, without him or someone to rally the troops back together, the sniper's work would still be complete in moments.

TAG: Cass, all

 

The Killing Ground
Night, Brindol, Elsir Vale Thirtieth of Kythorn (Midsummer’s Eve) Year of Scattered Lanterns (1368 DR)

William, sensing the rush of emotions and images from Maeghen, nodded quietly to himself. He touched the Ring, addressing the rest of the party: "It's one of four buildings over there. There's a lot of locations to choose from among that four. I don't think Maeghen can track the sniper's location without another shot."
"If you can find the sniper's building, I can probably lock him in," said the empty air nearby; Corrath, still invisible and in flight. "So. Who gets to play pincushion?"
"Wait--I've got an idea. We might be able to..." The mage shifted in flight and winged over towards the kilted flying bard. "Evelios, do you trust me?"
"Trust you? Well, I don't actually know how you actually expect me to answer that, since, well, I'm meant to be singing right now according to this rulebook I've got right here, big plusses to the rolls and all that, dontcha know. You do realise everyone on the wall can actually hear me clear as day while I'm talking, thanks to this spell I've got on? Anyhow, seeing as that's the case: (notice how I managed to actually verbalise a colon there? I was rather proud of that, I had to pucker muscles you've never heard of to make that noise.) Anyway, yes, hem hem, seeing as they can all hear me out there, good time for a quick story, got nothing to do with topics of discussion in other forums, no, not at all: He was an old man, and he had gone eighty-four days without catching a fish--"

William tapped him, and Evelios became one.

His body stretched; lengthened; smoothed. Thickened, grew in power. And a moment later, the hundred colours of his clothes merged and swam together into awesome, terrifying shades of black and white as the orca's form overtook him, and he winged through the night air as easily as if he were swimming in a great sea of darkness, with seagrass of fire and smoke swaying gently on the ground below.

And then the orca's abilities overtook him, and he felt it, even from this distance, even from a hundred and twenty feet out from the circle of buildings around the Cathedral: two forms, unlike all the other humanoids in the teeming sea of panic that was the Square: two black, mixtures of man and dragon, inside the coffinmaker's shop, on the second floor, nearby the windows. Two armed with bows; one invisible.

Not one sniper. Two. Which he'd pinpointed.

TAG: All

 

Sa'adi Adim

Imagine the whale. It loomed above them, a dark shape swimming in the sky, hazed in smoke, fire reflecting dimly off its underbelly. His song metamorphosed smoothly from human speech to an eerie, haunting cry.

Skadi had seen such leviathans before, of course, way out at sea. The appearance of Evelios had sparked memories of great broad backs breaking the water far off from her ship. She looked at William, and while her face betrayed no emotion, her voice, when she spoke, was infinitely weary.

"You turned him into a whale."

She was entirely too old for this.

TAG: Cass, all

 

Zanaek Grahorn

Cathedral Square, Brindol​

He strode across air as quickly as the spell would allow him to. Jarmaath was down and who knew how much longer the troops there would hold out before the sniper incited pure and utter panic amongst them. As news of the situation came in through Maeghan via William, the cleric was pondering on how best to bring the sniper out when the wizard took action instead.​

​

Zanaek blinked.​

​

I must be tired, I'm seeing things, he thought and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand before taking a second look. But no, he certainly was not seeing things. William had polymorphed the bard into, of all things, a whale. A whale that was swimming through the air as if it were in it's own natural environment.​

​

"I've seen it all," he said aloud. "I'll eat my holy symbol for breakfast if something can top that."​

​

TAG: ALL

 

IC: William Marshall

"It seemed like a reasonable idea at the time," the wizard replied, somewhat defensively under Skadi's scrutiny. "He can see things now that we can't, and at a greater distance." In an effort to look somewhat less crazy, he called over to Poe, figuring him to be more help than trying to get Evelios-the-whale to talk in a language they understood. "Can you tell us what he's seeing?"

TAG: ramza, all

 

Ariel Elandinai
Hovering the skies, nearing Cathedral Square, Brindol


In her travels before meeting the company, and since then, Ariel had witnessed many strange things and creatures. Some beautiful, some strange, and others that were quite horrifying, things that should be left within the land of nightmares..

She wasnt sure where to classify this one.

One minute, she had heard the bard and William speaking with one another. (It was rather hard NOT to) when suddenly William touched Evelios's shoulder and then... Evelios changed. There was no other way to describe it. His color changed, and his skin grew smooth, in colors of black and white. His size grew to something even larger than Skadi, and he rather resembled a strange fish with a flat tail. Except this gigantic fish was now flying along with the rest of the party, making strange sounds. Ariel dropped a few inches, as her wings suddenly remembered they needed to flap for her to stay aloft. It was beautiful, but unnerving, with its large teeth. It was Skadi who gave her a name for the creature, when the woman turned to speak to William.

"You turned him into a whale." Skadi told the mage. Her voice, sounding strained. If the situation was not so serious, it would have been comical. A whale? Ariel moved around to get a better look. She wondered why of all things would the mage turn Evelios into a whale? But at least they didnt have to listen to his insane ramblings at the moment. He just sorta, sang.

Another voice chimed in. "I've seen it all," Zanaek said aloud. "I'll eat my holy symbol for breakfast if something can top that."

Ariel looked over towards Zanaek, as she gave him a grin. Best not to say such things too loudly, she thought to herself. Others might take that up as a challenge! Ariel shrugged her shoulders. She could only guess what reasons William had to do such a thing. But having no idea what they were, Ariel just stared at the strange form once more that Evelios had become.

"Dont give him ideas..." Ariel answered softly as she continued to eye Evelios. Ariel then heard William speak to Poe, "Can you tell us what he's seeing?"

So, there WAS a reason. She wondered what this creatures form could see, that they could not. If nothing else, this would make for one heck of a story, when told.

Ariel kept a sharp eye out for anything, as they waited to decided where to attack next.




TAG: The Company

 

Evelios D'Rtan, Whale Extraordinaire, and Poe the Raven
"Arr, the great, big, crab-like thing! I been searchin' all my life for…" "Excuse me? Cap'n no you haven't!"

Interestingly, the first thing you notice when you transform into a large aquatic mammal is the way in which your vision changes.

It is for this reason, then, that Evelios D'Rtan's first reaction to William Marshall's spell was to accuse him of inducing an increased field of vision - which would, of course, be of little help given the situation at hand. He was prepared, therefore, to wag his finger incriminatingly at the mage for wasting his resources, when he realized that his hand had lost all of its fingers.

Some sort of stabbing weapon? It was grey in coloration, after all, but it seemed floppy and disinclined towards disemboweling one's enemies. He tried swinging it around a bit. It seemed to be expectant of a certain amount of pressurized liquid, but the air was sufficing for the purposes of raw viscosity. Curious. He checked his other hand to confirm a hypothesis that had naturally developed; as he had expected, a second floppy appendage.

Perhaps these were wings? But whither the feathers? One did not simply fly about without them - excepting, of course, the possibility that one had become a demon or devil. This was possible, and he swept his head for the telltale horns, recalling an old wives' tale he had once heard about eating too much asparagus on a Sunday after partying too late the Saturday prior.

That particular narrative was actually supposed to result in one's hangover being cured, but he assumed that would be loosely akin to turning into a monster.

There were no horns - instead, there was only smooth flesh, notably hairless. He was fairly certain he wasn't that old, yet, and checked his feet.

There were no feet. Instead, a single appendage, ending in a bisected segment which suggested a sort of sideways rudder. He gasped in shock, and noticed that this caused water to spout from the top of his head.

<<My god, Poe, he turned me into a duck!>>

<<… A duck? You're not a->>

<<Don't go easy on me, Poe, I know a duck when I see one. The signs are all here - pectoral fins, a long tail, blowhole, the ability to swim through the sky, sonar senses, an insatiable desire to consume plankton - I'm a duck through and through. Soon I'll want nothing more than to fly north to Canada for the summer. Poe, I don't even know what a Canada is, I'm pretty sure it's not in this campaign setting.>>

<<But you're not a duck!>>

<<Well I sure as hell aren't a large, crab-like thing (which would be the only other possible explanation for all of these phenomenon) as I'm lacking in the characteristic Icewind Dale-esque accent. So I must be a duck, quod erat demonstrandum Poe. If you prefer, ὅπερ ἔδει δεῖξαι even.>>

<<You're a wh->>

<<A white duck, I know. I guess now I'll have to wander the earth now, forever a duck, shunned and unappreciated by society, cursed to this freakish existence by a mad magician and possibly some kind of vengeful enchantress trying to prove a point about inner beauty.>>

<<I'm fairly certain it's just William's pol->>

<<Alas, William's countermeasures were in vain! I am forever a duck now. It's my lot in life. It is my power. It is my curse.>>

<<I quit.>>

<<Incidentally my freakish duck senses have detected the presence of not one, but two interlopers, of the duck hunting variety.>>

<<You mean - the snipers?!>>

<<Yes, and they're no doubt accompanied by some fiend dog, eager to get his chuckles. My keen duck clue-sniffing antennae have determined that they're neither wholly man nor wholly dragon. Indeed, these terrifying duck ears can discern their position inside the coffin maker's shop on the second floor, near the windows. One invisible, even. They no doubt desire my fine duck fur to mount on their trophy wall.>>

<<I… I just… Sure. Fine. I'm on it.>>

<<Good. Now fetch for me three human sacrifices. Being a duck I no doubt hunger for the taste of their sweet kidney flesh, foul hell beast that I am.>>

---

Poe let out a sigh and explained the sniper situation to the Company of the Crescent Flame. "… Oh, and when you've taken care of that will someone please explain to him the concept of a duck?"

<<By Milil's melodic marimbas, Poe, I've just realized I'm not a duck at all!>>

<<Really?>>

<<Yes. You see… I'm… one of… the tomatoes!>>

<<… Really?>>

<<Of course not, I'm plainly a trout of some kind. Maybe a sort of salmon.>>

<<Well, at least that's cl->>

<<Those are kinds of ducks, yes?>>

TAG: All

 

The Killing Ground
Night, Brindol, Elsir Vale Thirtieth of Kythorn (Midsummer’s Eve) Year of Scattered Lanterns (1368 DR)

William listened carefully to Poe's words, then turned again in flight. He whispered words of power - and reached out again, this time to touch Ragnar.

Again, a change was wrought; again, flesh shaped and smoothed and twisted into another form. But this shape was not smooth, or monochrome; it rippled, became gnarled. Ragnar's long red hair began to dance on its ends, and then hardened, darkened to green and brown. His face weathered, eyes turning to caramel orbs, mouth becoming a single slash of dark below his nose. He grew; his body reached for the sky, beyond his own height, the work of a thousand springs done in the flickering of an eye, until there he stood on the air, tall as Evelios's form was long; his body thickened, arms becoming great, bark-covered appendages that spoke of sheer power. His shoulders foliated; flowered; stretched. And where Ragnar had stood, there now was only the treant: a moving tree, thirty feet tall, massing more than four and a half tons, a vessel of nature itself.

Zanaek heard Corrath's voice over the Rings: "Nice look. But how're you gonna stop the snipers from seeing us coming--"
"Allow me." Ariel's voice; and a second later, lights burst into existence at the windows of the coffinmaker's store, blocking their view of the square.
"Move quickly," came Mazarun's voice, brittle with apprehension. "They will know we are here, and they likely will not stay around now they are targeted."

But the drow's voice was partially drowned out by the cry of the treant. Its scream. It was the same voice that Skadi and Corrath had just heard on the battlefield a moment earlier. And without anything more, Ragnar was gone: running through the air, a true elemental force of nature, drawing every eye in the square towards him. The treant arrowed in on the coffinmaker's store in but a few short strides. Corrath thought he would punch through the window. Instead, the creature arced its massive, wooden hands through the air--and brought them down in a titan's strike square on the roof of the building. The noise of the impact had the force of a blow, a localised earthquake that rolled across the square.

The building trembled for a moment. Then, with a scream of overstressed timbers, the roof of the building folded inward like failed origami, collapsing in a thunder of noise as the second floor gave way and tons of rock and wood came crashing down on the building and those who were within it.

Even though Evelios's senses were confused for a brief moment by the cacophony of the building's destruction, they reasserted themselves shortly enough to reveal that nothing moved within.

Across the square, Zanaek had already landed at the door of the Cathedral. The chaos was not abating, but the doors were open, and if he wished, the cleric could head inside.

TAG: All

 

Zanaek Grahorn

Cathedral, Brindol​

​

He could hear the crushing and crashing sound of the coffinmaker's shop over the cacophony of battle in the west and the panicked cries of the soldiers around him. Zanaek stole a glance back at the sight of Ragnar as a treant and was not surprised at the transformation or the destruction wrought upon the snipers. He only hoped that neither of them survived the angry barbarian's raging attacks upon the building.​

​

He returned his attention back to the matter at hand, the purpose he came to the cathedral instead of helping the others. Jarmaath was obviously attacked by the snipers and hence why Skadi had lost contact with him, he needed to see if the Lord was still alive and if there was anything he could do to help the man. He knew if they lost Brindol's leader, morale would drop amongst the troops and when that happened, Zanaek knew the city would fall no matter what he and his companions did to prevent it.​

​

The cleric stepped passed the threshold of the cathedral doors and into its inner sanctum. The evil presence and destruction that had been wrought upon the place was gone, but evidence of what had happened here still remained. It would be some time before the cathedral was fully repaired and brought back to its full glory, he was certain.​

​

Stopping at a soldier who had taken shelter inside the cathedral while the snipers wrecked havoc on his comrades, Zanaek demanded, "Where is Lord Jarmaath? Lady Goldenbrow?" While he waited for an answer he cast his gaze around at the other occupants inside in search of the two figures he had named.​

​

TAG: Saintheart, Anyone

​

 

The Cathedral of Lathander
Night, Brindol, Elsir Vale
Thirtieth of Kythorn (Midsummer’s Eve)
Year of Scattered Lanterns (1368 DR)

The soldier swallowed, eyes flickering back into the square as if still searching for another target. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the high altar.
"There--up the back. Sarg'n Besavin dragged him in." The soldier turned a cool, frightened eye on Zanaek. "I saw his wound. It smelled. Like rotten moss. The Lady's with him."
Zanaek hurried in, up the main aisle, through the charnel house. The damage done to the Cathedral during their confrontation with the demons seemed grotesquely fitting now the place had been turned into a field hospital. Blood had soaked the floors. In the alcove below one broken statue was a small jumble of discarded limbs. Hasty operations were being conducted with bits between teeth and hands clutching trembling fingers where healing potions could not help and numbweed had grown scarce. The cleric's keen eye picked out the faint glow of yellow light off healing potions brewed by the clerics being distributed, like stars in near-darkness, but the stars were slowly going out, one by one. And the Cathedral's congregation arrayed neatly among the pews now numbered chiefly long swathes of cloth covering unmoving forms.

Tredora Goldenbrow was kneeling at the foot of the steps up to the High Altar. Her pretty face had gone even whiter than Zanaek remembered it. More frightening were the dark hollows under her eyes, making her look like the player of a ghost in one of Alessandro Itrayem's Amnish follies. This was a cleric close to burnout, he knew; one whose draw on spells was close to exceeding her capacity. Tredora's hands hurried, trembling, weaving a bandage around the junction of torso and leg of the form before her, then pulling it tight with a sudden jerk that made Zanaek wince and drew a weak groan from Kerden Jarmaath. The acolyte with her held a oil lamp up over them, and she looked the fear that Zanaek did not see from the Mistress of the Cathedral.

Jarmaath's armour on his right leg had been stripped away; his breastplate was askew. Old instincts kicked in, and Zanaek's eye flew, practiced, smoothly, over the fallen lord's form. The face was pale; sweating. Might have gone into shock. The eyes were closed. There was a faint grey taint to his skin that the cleric didn't like and hoped was a trick of the lamp. Even so, that was not the real fight. The battle was being waged at the leg. Tredora had been right to tourniquet it. The arrow had been deftly aimed, catching right at the gap where greave and breastplate yawned open while a man was on horseback and delivering its package into the artery there. No pool of blood around the leg, so that had been a scratch to the blood vessel - but the smell of rotten moss wafting up to him was just as bad. And the skin around the surprisingly small shaft of the arrow had taken the shade of tree blood. The body was fighting poison. And it was pretty clear that Tredora had nothing left to counter whatever poison it was, other than to try and slow its flow through the blood's rivers to the heart. The insidious part being that if it was left for long, she'd have to remove his leg for death of the blood supply, cast his limb to join the little pile of amputations back down the hall at the statue's feet.

TAG: @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo , anyone

 

Sa'adi Adim, Brindol
Pain is temporary, chicks dig scars. Glory.

The square was in chaos.

That is, perhaps, something of an understatement.

Turning Ragnar into a treant had certainly had the desired effect in one respect. The buildings that sheltered the snipers had succumbed to his rage, and there was no more danger from any unseen assailant- the leaders of Brindol would probably be upset about what he was doing to their buildings, but that, Skadi decided, was a matter for another time. The sudden appearance of a thirty-foot tall, angry tree thing had not had the best effect on the morale of the troops in the square below, most of whom quite rightly were deciding that this was, in every sense, the end of the world.

Skadi righted her helmet on her head, drew Winterfall, and stepped into the square.

The moon, having passed behind a cloud, came out and brushed silvery highlights on her armour, enhancing the soft, icy glow from Winterfall as the cleric, still giant, looked around the square, then, stripping off her glove, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, loud and piercing. That, and the sword, got everyone to look in her direction.

"Peace." she could not let her tone betray any weariness, any concern. She was the Lady of the Balance. "The night is not over. Brindol still stands."

She stepped forward, into the centre of the square.

"It shall stand to see the morning."

Her voice was filled with utter certainty. In the Cathedral, Jarmaath lay dying, but she would not give up this city if breath remained in her body.

"Your courage breaks? I will bear it. Your strength fails? I will lift your arm. But I tell you, this city is mine, and I would spit in the face of the gods to see it preserved."

Skadi looked over the square, sketched lines in her mind- places troops needed to be to hold it.

"So, peace. The night is not yet through."

 

Ariel Elandinai
The Cathedral of Lathander, Brindol

Things in the square seemed almost surreal, as things moved quickly. After the creature that Evelios had become sang, William reached over and touched Ragnar. And he looked rather close to the treant creature they had met not so long ago. And while Ariel provided the light show, Ragnar rushed into the square, and with his two large 'branches', literally brought the building down.

The square was in chaos. That was not surprising. After a snipers ambush, only to be followed by a flying whale, a treant, and then Skadi stepped into view. Ariel hovered silently, but she noticed that Zanaek had continued into the temple. Skadi spoke to the ones in the square then, her words meaning to offering comfort to the guards below. Ariel then turned, and went skywards for a few feet, scanning the area around the square. She then came down, spiraling in wide loops, gradually getting smaller as she came down. As she did, she looked to see if anything was coming towards them, as well as looking for the Elves that still stood with them. She knew the crush to the west gate would come soon. Let Skadi give comfort to those that she could. Eventually, Ariel knew the Evelios would begin his song once more. She was no healer. But she could guard over one who was.

Ariel flipped over once more in the sky, before quietly coming to land at the entrance of the Cathedral. She quietly stepped inside, and then scanned the area, looking for Zanaek. The others could call her, if they needed her. But she wanted to check on Lord Jarmaath. She quickly scanned for any who could point her in the direction he or Zanaek had gone.



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Zanaek Grahorn

Cathedral, Brindol​

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The cleric propped his staff nearby and dropped his haversack and summoned the healer's kit to the top. He recognized poison when he saw it and knew that Jarmaath only had minutes to hours, depending on the poison, before he died. He bit his lower lip as he picked up a burning candle from nearby and drew beside Goldenbrow. There was no time for permission or pleasantries and dove into saving the man's life. "Here," Zanaek handed her the kit before bringing the light closer to the wound where the poison had entered. Tentatively he touched it and felt the dryness of the skin, noting the sickly coloration around the shaft and his skin overall. He said not a word as he brought the light to Jarmaath's face and opened an eye, noting the dilated pupil underneath before letting it close again.​

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"Black Lotus Extract," he muttered and switched the candle for the kit. Of all the poisons in the world, it had to be one of the rarest and hardest to cure. "Possibly Blue Whinnis as well. He doesn't have long, so do as I say if you want him to live," he told his fellow cleric, knowing perfectly well that she would despite his peremptory tone. "The shaft needs to be removed and a poultice applied to draw out the poison and slow it. Also the tourniquet needs to be kept tight throughout and his brow kept wet to cool him. The poultice will need to be changed every few minutes too. This won't stop it initially but it will buy me time to make the antidote."​

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As he explained what needed to be done, he was sifting through his kit for the necessary tools and herbs he would need to save the man's life. The hardest part was going to be removing the arrow without further nicking the artery. One false slip and he would send the poison faster into the man's veins. He removed his gloves and nodded to Tredora to help him keep Jarmaath's leg still while he began to carefully cut around the shaft, noting where the artery was as he did so. It felt like an eternity had passed before the arrow slipped gently out of the wound and discarded disdainfully to the side, only one close call where the hooks of the arrow had tried to rip into the flesh to cause more damage.​

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Zanaek knew black lotus extract was deadly but extremely rare, it sapped ones stamina until the body gave in to the stress and shut down. He had seen it once before in his travels, a traveling Shou monk had shown him a young boy who suffered from its effects after having been unfortunate to be pricked by the plant's deadly thorns from play. The boy had survived thanks to the monk, but had never been the same afterward. His constitution had been weakened and he knew the boy would live a sickly life because of it. He had hated the fact that there was little he could do for the boy except offer his sympathies to the parents and advice to see a temple cleric that could restore the boy's vitality. He didn't know if the family had done so or not. He had left a few days later to continue on his travels, a little more knowledged on poisons and how to neutralize them, but disheartened over the fact he could do nothing.​

A bloodied hand dove into his haversack and removed his herb pouches and the Tormite pursed his lips as he quickly ground the herbs into a poultice and applied it to the open wound, packing it into the flesh as deeply as he could. The extracts from the ground herbs would draw the poison from the surrounding tissue and the nicked artery and keep it from further seeping into the man, but it would not stop what was already in the blood. Tredora's skill as a cleric had bought Jarmaath time with her quick thinking and recognizing he had been poisoned. The tourniquet was the only thing keeping the poison from spreading quickly.​

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"Black lotus... why did it have to be the most deadliest and rarest of poisons?" he cursed as he prepared more of the poultice for Tredora to change with. His fingers found the herbs and extracts and an empty vial, his mind racing through his knowledge of how to counter the poison. Yellow mountain flower petals, a sliver of a beehive husk, an ounce of troll fat... ****! His fingers hesitantly hovered over the tiny vials, his mind trying to remember what he could substitute the missing ingredient with before his fingers moved once more and extracted a grass pod from his selection. Note to self, find a troll to kill.​

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Zanaek began mixing the ingredients while keeping an eye on his patient. He didn't like the way Jarmaath looked and began to silently whisper a prayer to Torm to give the man the strength to fight the poison a little longer. "Talk to him," he commanded gently upon seeing the worry and fear in the priestess. "He may not be conscious but he will still hear. Don't let him give up." He changed the poultice while he waited for the antidote to seep, counting the sands of the hourglass as they painfully fell and doing his best not to listen in on what was being said by Tredora.​

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The sands ran out five minutes later and he lifted the concoction to his nose to check, wrinkling it from the unpleasant smell and knowing it was ready. Nothing good for us ever smells or tastes good, he mentally noted. But at least it smells better than what's coming off Jarmaath. He stepped forward with the small vial, a translucent yellow liquid glowed in the lamplight before he brought it to Jarmaath's lips and with Tredora's help he was able to force the man to swallow the potion. Brindol's lord coughed and choked on the liquid for a second before his shallow breathing returned.​

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He repeated the process for the second poison he suspected was in Jarmaath's system and force-fed the liquid to him once more. With the second antidote coursing through him, Zanaek knew it wouldn't be long before the man regained consciousness.​

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Picking up the candle again and bringing it closer to the man's face, he observed quietly for a few minutes before prying open an eye again. The pupils were not as dilated as before and responded better to the light. His pallor seemed to be returning and for the first time that night, he allowed himself a small smile. "He will live," he pronounced a moment later and once more changed the poultice. "But the poison has done its damage. He will be weak and more susceptible to illness unless..." he trailed off and glanced at his haversack in thought.​

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Quietly he moved back to it and conjured a scroll from its magical depths and carefully unrolled it to glance at its contents. "Yes... this should do." He glanced at the ailing man and approached again. The words of the incantation would be familiar to his fellow cleric as he spoke them aloud before placing a hand on Jarmaath's brow. The familiar glow of divine power flowed from the scroll and into the nobleman before slowly fading, the words of magic disappearing from the parchment as their power was spent.​

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Satisfied with his work, he simply said, "Now we wait."​

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Ariel Elandinai
The Cathedral of Lathander, Brindol


Ariel entered the cathedral and scanned the area. She turned and began to move, her steps soft and silent as she pulled her wings in closely around her shoulders. While Ariel had trained many years for battle, and had been in a few skirmishes, she had never truly seen a battle like this before. Especially with grounders involved. So much blood now soaked the floors, and the place looked even worse than when the demon had taken over. Ariel noted with barely contained reserve, a broken statue, with what looked like a grotesque offering of limbs, to an unknown deity, taken from patients which Ariel guessed nothing more could be done for them. Ariel clenched her jaws tightly, her teeth nearly grinding. With so many healers and magic around them, Ariel had never seen such things before. Even the hospitals of home, were light and bright. But here it was dark and moist, and the dead and dying were being weeded out from those who might survive their wounds.She noted the long swathes of cloth covering unmoving forms which now began to fill the pews. She had never been involved in anything that would be considered a true war before. And that these people stood and fought for their homes as well.. Ariel felt much respect for these grounders.

Ariel was silent as she wound her way through the temple, the odd lighting of potions and small fires lighting the way. It did not take long to find Zanaek, his form stood out among the others easily. He was bent down dealing with someone on the steps. As Ariel drew closer, she was saw the pale face of Tredora Goldenbrow., deep dark circles under her eyes. Another person from the temple stood over them, holding and oil lamp over them. A few steps more, and Ariel could see that the person laying on the floor was Jarmaath. Not wanting to disturb them, Ariel stayed silent as she drew close, watching as Zanaek's nimble fingers moved to deal with the serious injuries. Ariel's nose caught a faint whiff of something, like something long dead and rotted, but had no clue to what it was. So she simply watched as Zanaek quickly worked. Suddenly, he pulled out a scroll, and began to read from it. 'His wounds must have been serious indeed.' Ariel thought to herself as the powerful words released the magic bound within them, their energies flowing about. Quietly, Ariel sheathed her sword.

"Now we wait." Zanaek spoke aloud, towards the Lady Goldenbrow. Ariel scanned the area around them for a moment, before she moved behind Zanaek, and gently brushed his shoulder. She offered him a silent smile, before looking up at Lady Tredora, and giving that woman a long nod as well. She could understand well how the lady felt. More than she cared to admit at the moment. She looked back down at Jarmaath. Those cursed archers had done their job well. Taken down the leader of the city was a moral blow as well as a physical one. Hopefully, their plan would fail, and Ariel hoped that the scroll that Zanaek read just moments ago, would do its job well.

"Good job, Arel'sha." Ariel whispered softly, her lips near his ear, before standing up once more, her wings moving back now. She resisted the urge to flap her wings a few times, to clear the air. Instead she looked around her, at the rest of the scene playing out around them, as she kept a keen ear open, in case another of the party called to them. Right now, she could only offer Zanaek her company, so she did, while kept watch over the small group. And pray. She could pray for Lord Jarmaath if nothing else. It was not over yet.



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Cathedral Square,
Night, Brindol, Elsir Vale
Thirtieth of Kythorn (Midsummer’s Eve)
Year of Scattered Lanterns (1368 DR)

No matter what else came, Skadi would remember what happened next.

As she stood there, in the centre of the square, Winterfall’s icy beacon raised against the dark, time stopped. Every mote of dust was painted with moonlight; the smell of burnt oak in the ashes of the Warehouse District floated, suspended, in her senses; she felt the smallest current of wind play across her face as though fixed there. The universe’s weight came onto her shoulders, it seemed, but from heart to sinew she suddenly felt an answering strength with it, taking the weight, distributing it as a fine suit of armour would, and then she was overtaken by a sensation of being at a centre, at the weight’s point of force. At the centre of a balance. At its fulcrum.

Isak, she realised, dimly, had spoken of it, just as he had so many of the paths she’d walked over the years. Sometimes – and rare it is - we’re given a great blessing. We’re given a moment where Tyr’s purpose shines brighter into the mortal world than most will ever understand. It happens to the true, but it does not happen to all of us. If it happens to ye – and ‘twill not unless ye train yer heart, let it fill with Tyr’s light -- then ye will find that one moment where law and logic and prayer pass away, and all that remains is being one with all things, being at the Fulcrum of all things, to feel like Tyr feels, he had said, with that same smile he had given when both she’d beaten him and freed him, he had added And if ye find that moment, child, wherever I be, know ye’ll have made me a proud old man, for ye’ll be a cleric of Tyr, anointed so in a place where no priest of this world can anoint ye.

It lasted for a second, an eternity.

A raised voice from the square answered her, drawing her out of the moment. “Elias! Good king Elias!”
It confused her for a second until she shifted her arm a little – and remembered she was wearing the lion-emblem armour out of Rhest, the armour that had been worn by Elias Kharmantle, first king in Rhestilor, first king in Brindol three hundred years gone, the king who had warred against Urikel Zarl and first made Elsir Vale.

Within the Cathedral, Kerden Jarmaath’s eyes opened. He drew a long, shuddering breath, cut off with a staccato of coughing. Zanaek heard Tredora choke off a sob even as she moved to stop the lord of Brindol from getting to his feet. Jarmaath blinked, gasping for breath as he got his elbows under him, hand reaching for his sword—
“Kerden. Kerden. It’s all right. You’re in the Cathedral.”
“The archers. My leg--”
“They are gone,” said Tredora, glancing at Zanaek and Ariel for a second. “The Company is here. Saer Grahorn withdrew the arrow. It was poisoned; he saved your life.”
Jarmaath focused on the cleric of Torm for the first time, realisation and gratitude crossing his features in a moment. But his brow darkened just as quickly. “The West Gate. Has the relief force gone—”
“No,” said Tredora. “The Lady of the Balance is out in the square, collecting the men back together.”
Jarmaath bit his lip as he tried to get his feet under him, and fell back, breathing heavily.
Tredora was at his shoulders, lifting him off the floor. “You are in no condition to fight,” said Tredora. “You’ve been pushing too hard, Kerden. I warned you. Too many late nights and too many potions to hold off exhaustion. Even with spells of restoration, the body can only take so much.”
“Gods damn it.” He looked back down the aisle towards the doorway of the Cathedral. “…you say she’s there collecting the men?”

In the Square, the words spread across the square like a cast net. Armed and armoured men and women were streaming back towards her, flowing into formations, sergeants adding their curses and shouting to bring order to chaos. Over it all, though, were the words: Elias! Elias Kharmantle comes back to fight for Brindol! Elias for Kerden Jarmaath! And more words, like a murmuring heartbeat: Heroes of Drellin. Heroes of Brindol. Heroes of Elsir Vale!

The telepathic contact whispered into Skadi’s mind: Lady of the Balance, hear me. I thank you. For everything you and your people have done. I ask you to do one more thing. Everything rests on the west gate now. I cannot lead the men there, and I do not know where Captain Ulverth is. It must be you. And your companions. Take the men; lead them.

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Sa'adi Adim

It was childish, perhaps, but Skadi's first reaction was one of indignation- It was her, not Elias, and being mistaken for a man, even a long-dead, semi-legendary king, always stung a little- but was quickly followed by relief. Who cared what they thought she was? The troops in the square were rallying. Jarmaath was not dead. Tyr was with her.

She lifted her face to the sky, felt the cool night breeze under her helmet. All would be well.

If they could hold the west gate.

Looking down, she identified the commanders on the crowd by their heraldry and motioned them towards her.

"We're going to the west gate. If that falls, all is lost. Marshal your squads- my companions and I will lead you there." She paused. "If you can spare a scout or two, we need to find Ulverth. If not, we'll seek him after."

Raising her voice, Skadi looked around.

"One more battle. One more gate to hold." Her voice grew louder, rising above the tumult her previous speech had caused. "To the west gate!"

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Zanaek Grahorn

Cathedral, Brindol

There was a sense of relief at feeling his Arel'sha's touch on his armored shoulder and hearing her whispered praise to him. He had forgotten what awaited them outside of the cathedral and finally stole a glance at his surroundings, noticing at last the pain and misery of the other injured. It pained him to see so many dying and there was little he could do. The oath he had sworn to so long ago beckoned him to forget the conflict outside and tend to the wounded. His skills as a healer would be better used here, his mind and soul tried to reason, but he knew that all he would do was delay the inevitable should the west gate fall.

He was needed to keep those who could still fight alive and standing so those whose cries echoed in the cavernous nave did not become permanently silenced. "Arel'sha," he gave her a pleading look, "How can I walk away from them? How can I just save Jarmaath and not the others?"

He knew why he should but couldnt bring himself to do so. It had been so long since he had to heal without magic that he had forgotten what it had felt like. The exhilarating feeling of seeing someone recover because it had been his hands and knowledge that had saved the person and not Torm being channeled through him.

"I want to stay," he whispered but his voice held uncertainty. He looked to Jarmaath, listening to the exchange between him and Tredora with half an ear. His eyes returned to Ariel for guidance. She was his anchor and inspiration. His angel that had descended from the heavens so long ago that there were some nights that he wondered if Torm had indeed sent her to him.

He knew he would be lost without her.

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MOTTI: Thou shalt not 'tempt to frighten us with words so like a man of magic, Vader. Nay, thy sorc'rer's act is tir'd and overdone. The sad religion thou dost cling to hath no pow'r to conjure up the stolen plans. Nor dost thou have a third-eye's sight to make--

 

The Cathedral of Lathander,
Night, Brindol, Elsir Vale
Thirtieth of Kythorn (Midsummer’s Eve)
Year of Scattered Lanterns (1368 DR)

"Ariel. Zanaek," came Corrath's voice over the Rings. "We need to go. Skadi's moving out with the relief force behind her. If the West Gate hasn't already fallen, they're going to be hard put to it down there with what the Hand was sending before we left."

The avariel and the cleric could hear it, too: the confused shouting from the men had been replaced with barked cadences from sergeants and the rhythmic drum of the reserve's bootheels heading out of Cathedral Square and down the hill, towards the west gate.

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Ariel Elandinai
The Cathedral of Lathander, Brindol

Ariel stood next to Zanaek, her arm gently entwined around his, as she watched him looking about the room. She did not need to be a mystic, to see the pained looked that crossed his features. She remembered when her owm mother, when she flitted about dealing with the injuries at home. When you are few in numbers, any injury is made to feel like an emergency. At least, it seemed that way to Ariel. Sometimes her mother would be gone for days, when some of the warriors had came back injured. The same pained expression, made her feel as if her heart had suddenly been gripped within a vice, when he looked at her. "Arel'sha," he gave her a pleading look, "How can I walk away from them? How can I just save Jarmaath and not the others?"

She wrapped her wings gently around him, ignoring Jarmaath and Tredora for the moment as she offered him a gentle touch to his cheek. Ariel smiled softly. “We save who we can, when we can, Arel’sha. You must still yourself, and listen what is in your heart.” she whispered softly, as she gently moved her hand down, to touch his chest. She gently gave him a small kiss on the check, and then swept her wings back.

"I want to stay," he whispered uncertainty, as he looked to Jarmaath and Tredora. His eyes looked back at Ariel, and she could see the confusion within his eyes. She gripped his hand tight. Your heart has been good. And with the touch of so many in pain around you, the healing part of you wants to stop and give comfort. To breathe life into an area touched by so much pain and suffering.....” She looked around the room., before looking back at him. “I saw it so many years ago, when you started on your path. The Goddess showed me. And if it is Torm’s will..then that is what you should do..but remember..”

Ariel looked deep into his eyes. “You know what is coming. I would be of little use here. I must rejoin the Company. That gate must be held, .. WILL be held. The great worm must be stopped. ..”

"Ariel. Zanaek," came Corrath's voice over the Rings. "We need to go. Skadi's moving out with the relief force behind her. If the West Gate hasn't already fallen, they're going to be hard put to it down there with what the Hand was sending before we left."

Ariel gave a dark look and frown, as she brought up her hand. “Understood.” she said replied back into the ring, while looking back up towards Zanaek. Outside, she could hear the sound of boots,, now in a marching cadence, as they headed for the gate.

Ariel looked up at her Arel’sha. So,they were to catch no relief it seemed. So be it. She tried to erase the annoyed look on her face, and then simply gave a deep sigh, her wings flapped slowly.

“It is time.” she stated softly.


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