This tale was begun on the 11th of November 2000 by Helgraf Dragon. The most recent update was on the 14th of December 2001. Participants to date are Helgraf, Bubbac II, Lumina, Tailrace, St George's, Halfelven, and Chiaroscuro, in no particular order.
There are two sections to this tale. The first, a long prologue giving background information about the setting was posted solely by Helgraf. The second section is the multiple participant plot thread and tale itself.
Thus Began Helgraf:
First, an OOC note:
As I mused under the Debating thread, I am going to lay out a prologue of sorts - both to provide background material and to give a sense of things known. Once I've got this fleshed out, I'll look to starting the actual thread, in which y' may participate or not, as you will.
The general rules for semiserious threads will apply - I think they are summarized rather well in the opener to A Grave Matter (the uncompleted Musashi thread):
1) As mentioned, this is a serious plot thread.
2) Human chars, and no superhuman powers. In AD&D terms, nothing higher than level 9 kind of power.
3) Ideally, new chars for this.
4) This isn't in Britannia, nor any related world. A new place that isn't a fanfic / rip-off of any existing fantasy work.
5) Err... ok, it's cheesy, but... have fun? :)
6) OK, I've finished writing it. I may have gone a bit overboard on the anti-silliness of it, but what's a bit of dark fiction between friends? :)
Prologue:
The Assembly and the Forces
Within the Assembly there is an arrangement of personages. Leading the Assembly together are Ishtar and Shebes, Lord and Lady, who shaped the Forces to bring the world into being. Following are the Upper and Lower Deities - not separated by power, but by distinction. The Upper Deities spheres of influence tend to touch on the more cerebral aspects of life; whereas the Lower Deities tend to be of a more 'practical' lot (as viewed by humans) - Gods of the Smithy, Crofters, Planters and the like. The balance of the Assembly are the untold masses of spirits for whom, as a gift, Ishtar and Shebes manipulated the Forces to create a place of beauty where they might go forth, to experience life in all its glories both great and terrible.
The Forces are those things which can be neither created or destroyed; only shaped and changed. They are the constants of our world and all that we perceive from it. The known forces, in the tongue of humanity are Life, Death, Chaos, Law, Thought, Emotion, Matter, Energy, Time and Space. Of these things was the world we call our home created, guided by the hands of Ishtar and Shebes, designed to last beyond the measuring of Time.
The Spirits of the Assembly come to this world and take on mortal forms, to live, to grow and learn. When their mortal form dies, their spirit rises to join the assembly once more. While in the assembly, the spirits have access to the memories of all of their time spent upon this world; but by the wisdom of Shebes it was decreed that each time a spirit should return to this world that it should, for the time of its stay, have no memories of its past existences in other forms.
Of the 'Natural Races' (A brief overview)
It is believed that most Spirits of the Assembly, upon initially choosing a form, whether it be of plant, animal, or the various 'people races', tend, upon returning, to choose such a form again. Of those who take on 'peopled aspect', there are many variations, though sages have recorded five overall groups.
Spirits whose aspect is close to the mountains take on a solidity of form and mass which echoes these tastes. Their form echoes their nature, and they go by different names; the ones most closely associated with the hard rock are called dwarves, sometimes earthfolk, or mountain men, it matters not. There is a contentment to let things be that do not affect them; they are slow to rouse, but, like a landslide, don't stop once they're going until whatever was in the way has been removed.
In the same manner, those spirits who feel kinship with the forests, on taking peopled aspect, become the manifold clans of elven; their types as varied as the trees they love. The long years of the great trees are theirs, coupled with the changing nature of life within the forest; they are fleet of foot and quiet of mannerism, though not nearly so stoic as their distant mountainkin. For obvious reasons, many of them excel at woodcraft - though whether they whittle or shape still living wood depends on individual tastes and talents.
Where hill and forest meet, in those cases where a spirit has aspects of each of these natures, come forth the shy but unpredictable gnomoi. Considered by many to be 'fey marked', for their temperaments when not in danger tend to vary, a reflection of the dual nature of the spirit within, they keep to themselves not so much out of a desire to be alone but by experience of learning that few others can appreciate their mindset. They are too mutable for their mountain kin, too animated for the elves tastes, and far too focused for the likings of the dellfolk.
In the dells and valleys, by streamsides and lake shores, with a love for the water but not for the sea, the quiet dellfolk live out their lives indulging in the simpler pleasures of good food, fine drink and the simpler trades of woodwork, pottery and agriculture. There is some joking speculation that the dellfolk are those spirits who have had a rough time of it in a previous life and are 'taking a vacation' this time around; and frankly, there is little to argue against the point. Even their height, smaller than the mountain folk and less muscular by far, seems to argue in favor of a group trying not to be noticed. As befits such a lifestyle, though they are of no great strength or durability, they excel at crafts requiring a sure and steady hand and the patience it takes to build ships in bottles.
Humanity comprises the largest group of spirits who take on 'peopled aspect'; whereas the other races are generally comprised of dual-aspected (tri-aspected in gnomoi case) spirits, humanity culls all those who favor 'thinking races' but have no other ties; as such they have neither advantage nor limitations of another heritage to deal with and make their own way; surviving and thriving in oft surprising ways. Of all except perhaps the dellfolk, humans are most likely to gather and build towns and cities; the dwarves, elves and gnomoi tend to draw their dwellings from their surroundings.
Excerpts from "Sentience under the Lens - The 'Natural' Races", the definitive work of Abhrim Shaddos.
Dwarves : (Sapiens Lithicus)
... society is heavily regulated, courtship is a mandatory issue with a minimum time period of seven years. For reasons not entirely clear, births of dwarven females are rare, such that only three in ten births are female. Consequentially, dwarven women are protected, sheltered - some might say too much so. Dwarven females do not possess facial hair despite tall tales to the contrary. The courtship and marriage laws may well derive from this scarcity of females. Dwarves who marry will not marry again if their spouse dies; although this may seem impractical in the case of the females, further limiting an already limited breeding stock, it is a matter of custom. Those who have lost a spouse are easily recognizable by the band of black cloth worn around the upper left arm, tied into a complex knot which cannot be undone without destroying the cloth.
It has also been bandied that those of dwarven stock are resistant to magical energies. This is not true; the simple fact of the matter is best summarized in the words of hat famous sharp-tongued rogue Belanus; "It's not that dwarves are more resistant to magic so much as that they resist everything - including fashion. Chain mail vests are soooo . . Earl Carnudian." A corollary to this is that since they resist the effects of disease and other conditions which wear down the body, their lifespan can run to near five times that of a human - some have lived for half a millennium before finally moving on.
... Dwarves tend to prefer the studies of alchemy, artifice and geomancy, among the learned magical arts. They breed very few sorcerers, oddly enough, most of these come from their very limited female population. Their natural gifts almost always involves earth and stone; though in tales long ancient there is talk of a sect who draw power from molten rock itself, living far below and away from their other kin.
... In craft arts, there is no gender division; any with the talents and endurance can learn the arts of metalcraft, stonework, arboreal and agricultural work and engineering. There tends to be a bias skewed towards females in the healing arts; not because of cultural expectations but because of the mysterious 'earth-bond'; a secret the dwarves would say nothing more about.
A dwarf's word is binding not only on him, but on his family, and in some cases his entire clan. Oaths are binding for seven generations - or more; one more reason why dwarves are reluctant to give their word if they are unsure of those whom they would pact with.
... Physically, they stand between four and five feet tall, females on average a full hand (4 in) smaller than the males, but just as broadly built. It has been jokingly stated that dwarves emerge from the mountain stone itself; this is due partly to their extremely dense muscle mass, and their tendency to have, proportionally, very little neck and very broad shoulders, all of which give them the blocky appearance they are famous for. Their eyes tend toward grays or very dark browns, nearly black. Hair coloration tends to run to darker shades, though exceptions are more common than with the eyes. Living as often inside the mountains as atop them, they have developed an ability to gather any available light to magnify their vision; in situations where humans would be utterly blind, dwarves can still see (albeit without colour) to distances of sixty feet. Only when there is absolutely no light whatsoever is this ability lost - in those rare cases, they are as blind as a human in the same circumstances.
Elves : (Sapiens Arboreus)
... society is loosely regulated, mostly to keep their children safe until they are old enough to fend for themselves; which is to say, once they've past their first century. Courtship is not legally mandatory, though a similar process often proceeds informally over the course of years. Remarriage in the event of the death of a spouse is not unknown, though it is still a somewhat rare occurrence. Although elven births tend to be balanced more or less along human norms for boys and girls, it would seem they are either somewhat infertile by nature; the birth of elven children is a rare occasion indeed, to be celebrated throughout the forest where it occurs. Despite the claims of some more mischievous elves, neither gender actually grows leaves in place of hair - though the elves have discovered a plant, one humans name skullcap ivy, which will create the desired effect.
Elves lifespans vary somewhat, just as certain trees are more durable, and thus survive the long years better; however, despite fanciful tales to the contrary, elves are not 'linked' to their trees - they will not die or suffer physical injury if you were to destroy their forests. This said, even the shorter lived elves will typically outlast seven generations of humankind; the longer ones can outlive the toughest dwarves, and a scant few claim to be well over two thousand years old.
Among the learned magical arts, elves tend to prefer the studies of enchantment and alteration - they share a talent for artifice with the dwarves though they tend to specialize in woods and lighter metals. They breed few sorcerers, these fall into two major categories; the first are a society of healers, the second draw their powers from earth and water.
Elven society is more or less evenly divided in most aspects; including soldiering (when necessary), craftworks (mostly wood, but some metal, some fiber (mostly rope)), healing and the like.
... Physically, they stand on average a hand (4 in) taller than the average human male; some tend toward willowy thinness, others have a more human weight distribution. Their eyes tend toward greens and blues. As with dwarves, hair coloration tends to run to darker shades, and again, exceptions are more common than with the eyes. Living in dense forest, often with full canopy, they have developed an ability to gather available light to magnify their vision, their eyes also manage to retain color within these ranges, though they are more adversely affected by heavy darkness than a dwarf; they typically can see twice as well as a human can.
Gnomoi : (Sapiens Terran)
Gnomoi society is, like many aspects of the gnomoi, a dual natured thing. It encourages the individual to stand out, but at the same time looks down on anything 'too energetic'. Relationships tend to be informal affairs, much like the gnomoi themselves. There is a lot of 'family arranging' that goes on, but in the end, those being set up are watched as closely as any benefits that might accrue from the arrangement itself. With this attitude, remarriage in the event of the death of a spouse is fairly common if the gnomoi in question has not become completely opposed to the idea - and even then, most gnomoi tend to work through the 'single stage' as some refer to it. Gnomoi do seem to work best in pairs. The Gnomoi sense of humour is probably one of the things which keeps them from more easily making friends - their sense of humor is often considered in poor taste by the other major races. Gnomoi typically live between two and three times a normal human lifespan.
Among the learned magical arts, gnomoi tend toward enchantment and illusion. Their sorcerers, tend to draw power from the wind and earth.
Like Elven society, gnomoi society is more or less evenly divided in most aspects; including soldiering (when necessary), craftworks (specialty goods, gem and jewelry work, whitesmithing), healing and the like.
... Physically, gnomoi, male and female, are about a hand (4 in) shorter than the dwarves; their body mass is distributed in a more dwarven manner, though it is not generally as . . dense. Their eyes tend toward greens and browns. Hair coloration tends to run to lighter, sandy shades with few exceptions. Living in rolling lightly forested hills primarily, they have developed an ability to gather available light to magnify their vision like elves, but not quite as keenly, seeing only half again as well as a human.
Dellfolk : (Sapiens Rustica)
Dellfolk believe in "Just enough laws to keep people sensible", beyond that, they look askance on additional regulation, preferring their self-admittedly simple freedoms. Like in gnomoi society, marriages are arranged, but among the dellfolk genealogy is a passion - many can, and will, with only a little encouragement, trace back their family lines for generations, and tell you all the scandalous gossip about their half-sisters, distant cousins and relatives by blood, all with goodnatured smiles. They are prolific breeders, the only one of the major races whose growth rate is proportionally equivalent to that of humanity; their lifespan tends to be about half again a human's. They appreciate the value of comfort and understand the need to just sit back and spend a day on the porch, watching the sun trace through the heavens and perhaps enjoying a smoke or a bit to nosh on while whittling or working at some other hobby craft.
Dellfolk are unusual in that they have almost no wielders of 'learned' magic - but a substantial number of them have a natural gift for sorcery - nearly half can perform simple 'household' magics of three of the four elements, and a fair percentage are capable of greater invocations. Unlike the other races save humans, they do not seem to favor any particular element. However, by and large these powers are used to further their own simple lives - a dellfolk sorcerer may well use his knowledge of earth and fire to create fireworks to entertain at a party rather than harmful manipulations.
As befits such a lifestyle, though they are of no great strength or durability, they excel at crafts requiring a sure and steady hand and the patience it takes to build ships in bottles. Some of them dabble in the nonmagical aspects of alchemy, some in cooking, others in building rafts, though this is about as close as they'll get to waterborn travel willingly. They are quite adept at throwing contests, whether it be darts, stones, knives, or wooden disks.
Physically, dellfolk males average the same height as gnomoi, and females half a hand smaller. Their body mass is distributed in a manner closer to human, and if they tend to run to the paunchy side a bit, well, who can blame them? Their eyes run the gamut from green to blue to brown, with occasional odd shades, like black or an almost yellow tint of green. Their hair tends to ruddy colours, reds and browns are not uncommon. Rumors of hairy feet are mostly just that - it does occur, but is by no means the standard for the dellfolk.
Humanity : (Sapiens)
I expect you know about as much about humans as I do. Which is to say we're subsegregated into several different groups, so far as beliefs, marriage customs, laws and the like are concerned. Having no natural affinities, we do not have the various gifts which are the heritage of the other races, but we are free to choose our own way. We study all the known branches of magic, and those with the sorcerer's gift can master three elements, a feat only the dellfolk can match. We are the average of height, build and coloration against which the other races are measured. We are all the more dangerous because of our unpredictability and freedom of studies.
And yet our greatest assets are also the source of our worst disasters. Having not the guidance of the earth in our blood, we are capable of great miracles and great disasters and have already seen both in our span upon this world.
What will become of humanity, I wonder...
End Excerpt
Excerpts from "Sentience under the Lens - The 'Corrupted' Races" the follow-up work of Abhrim Shaddos.
It has often been wondered, given the nature of our world and what we are led to believe about the Assembly of Spirits, just what the place of certain creatures in this world is. Those races known as 'corrupt' are generally believed to have once been akin to the natural races. What brought about the changes then?
If we accept what the priests tell us, the corrupted became as they are through various, though related methods, the core of which concerns various forbidden practices; blood magic and necromancy, in particular, are often singled out as the causative agents which led our brethren to the dark states they now dwell in.
For reasons further unknown to us, some of these corrupted have managed to breed; creating further generations of these, alike in form to their sires yet uncast of the acts of their forebears. What spirits would come to willingly live within these creatures, if truly they be abomination before the eyes of the Assembly? And if they have no guiding spirit, then what forces guides and influence them? I do not feel the answers as quite so simple as we would be led to believe. But that is a discussion for another time. Below, I present commentary on the major archetypes of the corrupt that have been found in our world.
Children of the Reavers
Major Subrace(s) : Goblinfolk
Origination(s) : People who killed for their own benefit, uncaring for the lives of others, so long as they received what they felt they deserved/were owed.
Description(s) : Two primary types - The larger speci have developed somewhat animal-like features, primarily of either canine or porcine nature, though both features will not be present in one type. They range within 3 hands smaller and larger of human height, and tend toward thinness partly due to rough diet, but mostly due to constant infighting with one another and members of the other primary type. And with other corrupt races. And with the 'civilized' ones.
The other primary type is far smaller, ranging within 2 hands height of the typical dellfolk, and given their reduced physical capacity, often tend toward a crueler streak of personality to compensate; as well as a tendency to rely on traps and that ilk to supplement their own natural combat skills.
Other Notes : An intense dislike of sunlight means Reaver-Childer tend to be nocturnal, some breeds exclusively so. Nearly all save the smallest practice some form of forge-craft - the smaller breeds have also developed uncanny skill in the creation of various herbal applications running the gamut from medicine to food to poisons.
The Coldhearts
Major Subrace(s) : Two-legged (with or without tails) Lizardfolk
Origination(s) : Believed to have been the result of men who, seeing in great lizards, qualities they desired for themselves, researched dark magics, then performed unspeakable acts of sacrifice and debauchery. The Coldhearts are distinctive in that those whose became them did so full willingly, and well aware of the nature of what would befall them.
Description(s) : With almost as many different types as there are scaled beasts upon land and sea, the lizardfolk can be difficult to quantify, but those most commonly encountered by humanity resemble either bipedal crocodiles about half again the size of a human, or man-sized specimens with a snakelike scale arrangement; which includes the occasional need to molt. As before the transformations, they and their progeny tend to have very specific goals and no remorse whatsoever for what they must do to accomplish them or for anyone who tries to get in their way.
Other Notes : The majority of the Coldhearts, despite their name, cannot tolerate extended periods of cold; which tends to put them into a torporlike state. Skills will vary by the needs of the individual tribe.
The Twisted
Major Subraces(s) : None (See Origination & Description)
Origination(s) : Here, at least, there is patent proof and evidence the priests can use to support their beliefs. The Twisted were all once former mages, sorcerers - and in a few cases, even priests, who sought unnatural power over themselves or others, and turned to the forbidden practices of blood magic to achieve their goals. What they discovered is that, no matter how careful one may be, eventually this dark form of magic changes its wielder, reflecting in the physical aspect the changes that have occurred in the mind.
Description(s) : For obvious reasons, each Twisted one has a unique appearance; each one is changed by his or her use of Blood Magic in differing manners based both upon the ambitions of the user and which rituals are used. The transformations are physical, and although the initial changes may be concealable, eventually undisguisable alterations occur, and the Twisted, if it has not already done so, is forced to flee whatever society it was a part of as a measure of safety.
Other Notes : By the time a Twisted can no longer pass itself for human (or elf, or dwarf, or dellfolk or gnomoi), it has often gained fell powers indeed. It is often far easier to drive one away than it is to slay such an abomination.
The Imprisoned
Major Subrace(s) : See below.
Origination(s) : The fear of death still exists in the society of man, despite what the priests tell us of the afterlife and the return to the Assembly. It was perhaps inevitable then, that some would seek to find a way to cheat death - to carry on in this world. These attempts often failed, but even when 'successful' they resulted in the creation of the Imprisoned; souls trapped in dead bodies until even the vestiges of the corpse have passed into dust. Trapped between life and death, most come to hate both, and themselves in the bargain, becoming little more than insane murderers. Those that joined themselves to this fate willingly, and with greater preparation are also trapped, but they exploit the strengths of this cursed state, using the additional time to complete goals left unfinished in life, or to partake of revenge for which they had not the utility beforehand.
Description(s) : As a corpse. The specifics depend on the state of decay upon animation and the amount of time which has passed in the meanwhile, and, to a lesser extent, on how much damage the body has sustained in battles and the like since animation.
Other Notes : In a rare few cases, a Twisted will become one of the Imprisoned. The combination of necromancy and blood magic is a truly potent one - it is best that such be destroyed as soon as possible after reanimation, before they can become too familiar with their new talents.
The Tale Begins:
Of More recent tidings :
There have long been those who have doubted that the stories of the priests have held the whole truth. Recent events in the Darkheart Duchy seem to support this. On the outskirts of the Durnin Woods, several people witnessed the opening of a 'hole in the air', like a piece of the night sky, complete with the twinkle of stars. It were past noon and halfway to dusk when this happened, and the strange occurrence. was made still stranger when a figure came through the gate; and then another. The crowd which had gathered stared cautiously at those who had emerged, for although some did little to attract the eye, others bore strange rainments indeed. A man was sent to fetch the village Loremaster as the strangeness of the afternoon continued to unfold...
Muir was one of those who gathered around the new gate, beady eyes looking everybody up and down. Tinker, wizard, spy and criminal, she had been employed by most of the human powers, several gnomish ones, and a dwarf or two to get rid of people who were mucking around where they weren't supposed to be. She had a definite gift for making people disappear by seemingly unrelated and plausible circumstances, but as often than not it was the employer who vanished without trace. Not that anyone admitted to trying to employ her. It was definitely a risky gamble... the skill of the gnomish woman was nearly without peer, but she was eminently unpredictable.
Her other gift was for explosives, both magical and otherwise. And for staying alive.
She was in the Duchy on business, buying supplies of a rare magical reagent. Trouble attracted her like a moth to a torch, and it was not surprising to find her lurking around. Most people, at least those who had a vague idea of who she was, gave her a wide berth.
The arrival of the Loremaster, an older, ruddy-skinned dellfolk who was showing the first beginnings of a receding hairline, gave the crowd of gawking farmers something else to begin discussing among themselves. Hadine Lessvolker rarely emerged from the small cottage where he conducted his business. His presence, so soon after being sent for, naturally led to the propagation of even wilder notions than before.
As he approached, a bubble of space slowly formed around him, allowing him to move freely toward the hilltop and the still present anomaly.
"Strangers, indeed," he mumbled to himself, removing a prism from one of many thoroughly overstuffed pockets, and peering at them through it.
Elsewhere in the gathering crowd, Jarred looked up at the gate and thought *it probably doesn't lead back home, but maybe the people in that world would know a way to get me back.* It had been nigh ten months since a friend *former friend*, he corrected himself, a wizard on his home world, miscast a spell of teleportation. He didn't know why or how it went awry; all he knew is that it deposited him here. His talents as a thief -- *rogue* -- had been put to the test in this world. At home, he never had to resort to his craft in an extralegal sense, but as he had arrived here penniless, and knew nothing of this strange world, he had little choice.
But now, for the first time in ten months, he saw what could potentially be an opportunity to return home to the streets of Scorion. He would find his old comrades and set out once more on reckless adventures. If only these people coming through the gate could also open one to his own world.
One of the said 'strangers' looked at his new surroundings, and mused "And all I wanted to do was travel to Faerun to study at Candlekeep."
This 'stranger' was Jonathan B., a human from Earth that wanted to learn the ways of sorcery and of clerical spells.
He carried no weapons, except for an unusual staff with a horseshoe at one end, and a brass carriage piece at the other.
"Obviously," he muttered, "This is not Faerun."
From the group of newcomers, a figure clad in a heavy garment of black which seems to reflect the sunlight dully steps forward, and turns to face the others, his back to the villagers. A few words in a language the villagers do not understand, and four others move forward from the group. They begin conversation amongst themselves.
The Loremaster steps closer now, his gaze sweeping over the five who stand alone. He reaches into another overstuffed pouch. Small wrapped candies spill to the ground as his hand takes up the space they formerly occupied, searching for something...
A young man in brightly coloured clothes stares at the small Loremaster a bit longer, then turns to the equally strange-looking person with the unusual staff.
"Excuse me, sir," he says quietly,"but would I be right in thinking that you are not from this place? Your clothes seem most peculiar, if you don't mind me saying so."
He looks down at his own finely-cut garments; which despite their richness do not seem overly out of place in this land. "Of course, I'm perhaps slightly overdressed compared to some of the others around here, but I can explain that. I was going to my cousin's wedding when I came upon this strange... thing. I don't know what it was, but when I touched it, it seemed to encircle me - then I found myself here. It was terribly exciting.
"Anyway, what I meant to say is that I'm not from this place either. But it seems to be a very exotic land - look at these funny little people all over the place. Most strange. This certainly isn't Jasmonia!"
He looks about him again, then turns back to the oddly-dressed man. "Here, I should have introduced myself. I'm Torm Centaurium, Master of Aspenford." He looks again at the group of strangers. "I say, this does look as if it will be fun!"
The five strangers in the oddly reflective raiment look up; those with the sorcerer's gift feel the elements being manipulated in a manner which is painful to look upon. Not seconds later, those five disappear, leaving behind wispy plumes of smoke and a stench not unlike eggs turned to rot.
The Loremaster's expression changes from one of interest to one of clear upset. Brandishing the prism he had been using before he spake in the tongue of the Diviners . . .
Over the crowd and strangers both, an odd tingling sensation that seems to reach up from the ground, through the legs until it reaches the top of the forehead.
As the initial effects of the spell pass, those on the hill find themselves capable of understanding the words of the villages below, as well as one another's; conversely, those present seem also capable of understanding the multiple strange languages which have been heard from various members of the arriving group.
"Now that that's been taken care of, perhaps you newcomers could accompany me to my dwelling and we can discuss matters in a calm and levelheaded manner, before some fool runs off screaming about demons and the like," the Loremaster inquires, removing a small whitewood burl and hanging the stem of same upon his lip.
Not actually waiting for a reply, he points to a few people in the crowd, seemingly at random; among them Torm Centarium, Jarred, and Muir, though he does not name them. "You, you - and yes, even you; come along. I'm not going to do all of this myself, not on these short legs!
Jarred didn't need the aid of the spell to know that none of the people were speaking his own native tongue. *I wonder if I'll hear it ever again*, he idly wondered, then shook off such pessimistic thoughts. At the very least, this spell would aid him in asking if any of them know how to get him home.
In the meantime, Jarred briskly followed the crowd, not because he was pointed out, but because he knew far better than to pass up an opportunity like this. Being an offworlder himself, he was sure he would be allowed to remain with the group despite not being chosen for it.
The Loremaster heads back toward the nearby village and his house; an unusual three story affair whose lower two floors are built half into the side of the adjacent hill. A tree supports and seems to form part of the walls of the third floor. The windows are of glass, revealing that the Loremaster either has other talents at his disposal or is comfortably enough off to be able to afford the glass.
He walks up to the front door (which is sized for normal folk) placing an open palm against the grain of the wood. A moment later, it opens, the small set of bells behind it ringing quietly. He heads inside, and directs visitors to the cloakroom.
Jarred instinctively surveys the room and notices that, even for a wizard's abode, this place had some truly strange articles in it. Not that he would consider taking a single one; wizards were never wise choices as targets. But the array of items made the thief think that this Loremaster, whoever he was, had traffic with other worlds before, either personally or indirectly.
The house of the Loremaster was indeed an odd lot; larger on the inside than the outside would have it seem, but not because of any obvious magic. No, the fact was that both the living tree and the hill had been expertly hollowed out and the space used for additional rooms and storage. After passing through the cloak room, one finds oneself in a hallway done in muted colours with three doors. Those to the right and farther down the hallway are padlocked; the one through which the Loremaster passed is immediately to the left and standing open, allowing one to view the interior of that chamber from the door.
Said chamber has both a high ceiling and a low floor - a small set of stairs descends from a small landing just inside the door, leading down to a large, earthen floored room which is dominated by a large ovaloid table of dark wood currently flanked by a number of wooden chairs of like material, each cushioned, some showing signs of obvious prior use. The table is sized for human-sized people, but several of the chairs appear suited for smaller folk, though cleverly designed so as not to demean them for their lack of height. There is a cast iron chandelier suspended from the ceiling with tallow candles merrily aglow, casting light and shadows everywhere. The walls are undecorated, save for a mural worked into the one opposite the door one comes in through, which bears a large mural done in stark colours, a sharp contrast to those used elsewhere in the building. It depicts stars and planets, though there is something peculiar about the arrangement that strikes an odd chord in any viewing it.
The Loremaster can be heard (though not seen) in an adjacent chamber - there is the sound of items being rummaged through. A chair for each person present slides back from the table far enough to permit comfortable seating, and the Loremaster's voice calls from the back.
"Take a seat, all of you - I just need to retrieve some things, then we can begin..."
Jonathan, having followed the others to this room, wonders aloud, "Is this a place of learning?" After noticing a few non-too-pleased looks from his fellow travelers he sighs, "I was only asking.", and takes a seat close to the door.
The chair he chose had, strangely enough, cushions that were in his favorite colors: "Amethyst" and "Blue". The others noticed a similar theme to their own chairs as they went to them.
(In all the stories I have read,) Jonathan thought to himself, (Nothing comes close to this reality...)
Muir's chair was undecorated, and she sat in it somewhat sullenly. She was not fearful for her own safety... one of the "perks" of the curse on her head. Some might see it as a blessing. Attempting not to think any directed hostile thoughts, she wondered aimlessly what sort of employment this would be.
If it involved anything explosive, that was a plus. As a thought exercise, she looked for weak points that could take down the cavern if given a good push. All of those she saw were warded; her somewhat magically-trained eye could see that much.
The gnomoi woman waited for the old dellfolker to finish in the other room. Patience was not her strong point.
A so far overlooked figure (understandable given his small size and dark clothing) slunk in on the party's heels and sat in a chair upholstered in dark green. He twitched nervously in his place, constantly turning the silver ring which adorned the index finger of his left hand. The magic he had just been exposed to was making him nervous... an apprentice sorcerer, and a mediocre one at that, he was unused to seeing it be treated so mundanely.
Quick blue eyes missed nothing, though as he surreptitiously examined his fellows in the room. Running a hand through his dark thatch of hair, he pondered his options and muttered for what seemed like the millionth time since he tumbled out of the portal, "How the hell was I talked into volunteering for that?"
Finally, the diminutive form of the Loremaster emerges from the side cubby he had been secreted away in, carrying a box within a swath of dark cloth. He pulls himself up into his chair at one end of the oval and sets the box, cloth and all, upon the table.
"I suspect you all have questions; I'll tell you up front I can only answer some of them, and you may not be satisfied with the answers I can give. In fact, some of you will likely have a hard time believing the answers, particularly if you are firmly steeped in the worldview espoused by the priests. Nevertheless..."
"Most of you who live not on this world were drawn here, as opposed to reaching your intended destination. It is possible that one or two of you actively sought this realm out; or used the Conjunction to escape places less . . beneficial to your natures. I know not, nor care. All that matters is that I knew you were coming, though not who would arrive, or indeed when. Unfortunately, the Conjunction that brought you has done far worse - the five who congregated, then disappeared from the hill were, one and all, powerful sorcerers and practitioners of forbidden arts. Unless they can be restrained once again, much of this world will be at risk. Of more pragmatic matters, none who pass through the hole in this world created by the gateway will be able to return until all those who came through have have gone through - alive or dead."
Torm appears puzzled. "Nobody can go back through everyone has gone back through??" he mutters under his breath.
Not having chosen to sit, Jarred stands in the corner nearest the door, thinking *I wonder if that applies to someone who spilled into this world through a miscast teleport mere months ago. But maybe this... conjunction.... will facilitate a method of return.*
"Of secondary concern," continues the Loremaster, "Will be keeping word of this discovery from spreading. The people of this world are not quick to accept even the possibility that there is life beyond this realm - it strikes to the very core of their belief systems, and the resulting unrest would provide no benefit."
"Trust me, Loremaster, I've spent ten months here already; I can keep my origins a secret." Jarred states.
He looks over each person in turn at this point, perhaps gauging something, perhaps just waiting to see what questions might arise...
."Sir," the Earthling began, "I am a student of games and the magic within them. What is is the magic system here, and how does one go about to learn it?"
(More importantly,) he thought, (Where is 'Here'?)
As Jonathan awaited the answer from the lore master, he held on to his staff protectively, as if in fear someone may steal it from him.
The Loremaster tilts his head to one side, his eyes turning to the speaker, staring at him, almost as if staring _into_ him. It is a sensation which sends chills down the spine, to say the least.
"There are two primary distinctions of magic here - three if you count the forbidden arts. Sorcerers are those who have the gift of elemental power since birth. Their magic is inborn and flows almost as naturally from them as do words; though there are limits to how much power they may channel. Most such can work one of the four classic elements with great skill and a second with lesser facility; dellfolk and some human sorcerers can master two realms and draw from the other two with lesser facility. The other form..."
Torm raises a hand. "It would seem to me, Mr, um..."
"Well, it would seem to me," he starts again, "that you are aware of other worlds. Are you not from this world, yourself?"
The Loremaster holds up a hand; not a dismissive gesture, but as if to ask Torm to bide a moment or five. He then continues to address the question of magick. "The other method of magic requires one to be apprenticed to a teacher and spend much time learning how to gather and channel the power necessary. Though it lacks the pure ease of use of sorcery, it is also more versatile; I myself have studied the art of divinations and the sciences of runic magic and material transformations."
"As for your question," he comments, turning to face Torm more directly, "I am borne of this world; my awareness of the existence of other realms is solely because I, like yourselves, was Chosen, and given a task to perform; though mine were not so difficult as I fear yours shall pr..."
His voice falls silent as a strange wind arises in the room, eldritch energies swirling in a cyclone. The energies coalesce into a human form (complete with clothing and equipment). It is a man dressed in the style of a workman or Tinker.
"Oh, dear pardon me for the entrance. I must have got caught in an either crosswind or something. Hmm, well now I appear to be stuck in this form.... Ahh, call me, uhh... George. I heard most of what you said... The odd nature of this conjunction of yours must be affecting me. I'll sit down then." George grabs a seat looking somewhat embarrassed.
The Loremaster mutters under his breath as his apportation shift does not appear to have worked; however, he says nothing of the unusual arrival.
"To more pertinent details of your current location: You are currently in a small village within the domain of Viscount Amandar de'Loralino. He, along with three others, are loyal subjects of Duke Aeris Darkheart, third son of the King; collectively these lands are all part of the Darkheart Duchy, and in a greater sense, the Kingdom of Norvesia. To our benefit, much of the surrounding land is light to heavy woods; word will be some time in spreading. The state of roads in this Viscounty is not good - aside from the one connecting the Viscount's keep to the port city of Arbrecht, there are little more than trails, subject to mud, bandits and worse."
Quietly, the Loremaster opens the wooden box on the table before him; a box (for those who know their wood) of sandalwood which had no apparent latch before its lid slid back. He reaches inside, and removes several thin silver chains, each with a small sardstone charm with a complex glyph worked into it, lined with a powder that shines silvery; and passes them to the person to his immediate left. "Take one, pass the rest around - I'll take back any left afterward. Yes, they're magical; they will allow you to understand other languages - you will hear the other language, then the translation about a second behind. It will take a bit of getting used to; I suggest you put them on as soon as possible. In time, if you have the knack or the patience, you will be able to learn languages this way, so eventually the item will no longer be necessary."
The Loremaster collects the remaining talismans and places them back in the box; it then closes again, seeming once more to be seamless.
Taking a charm from the bunch passed to him, the young apprentice studies it carefully before putting it on. The approach to magic on this world is new to him, and he can't help wondering if he might learn some way to help him use his former studies. Although he makes up his mind to ask more about the magic here as soon as everyone has their charm, he is interrupted.
Jarred accepts the offered talisman and dons it, then asks the question that had been preying on his own mind for most of the meeting. "Sir Loremaster, could someone who had arrived by means other than this... conjunction?... return to their home through it?"
A reply was forthcoming, but the first to speak was not the dellfolk Loremaster, but instead the young man who had inquired about the realm's magic.
"Some have tried that when they came to my world 'accidentally'" the young human Jonathan said as he held his staff defensively, "but few of them were able to leave successfully."
As he said this, a small orb came into view next to him...
The Loremaster tilts his head to one side, seeming, for a moment, caught offguard by Jarred's question. "You managed to breach the barrier prior to the Conjunction, you say? Most unusual . . most unusual indeed. I would know how long you have dwelt among the people of this world; we should speak later regarding the particulars of your problem - I cannot, in fairness, guarantee that it would work with my current knowledge of the circumstances."
Jarred merely says, "Very well, then. I look forward to this talk."
"If there are more questions before we pursue a course of action, this would be the time for them..."
"Sir, can you detect hidden talents that some of us may possess?" the human from Earth asked, "If so, could you tell me if _I_ caused this orb to appear beside me?"
The orb appeared to be a representation of 'Earth', the human's homeworld; however, his was joined by several other orbs that appeared next to most of the other occupants of the room, excepting the Loremaster.
Without warning, the young man slumps down in his chair.
The Loremaster stares at the small orbs that have appeared in the chamber, casting a soft glow at odds with the candlelight.
"How odd. I do hope they won't persist; it could prove troublesome to travel unnoticed with one of those following about."
At this point, a chill wind blows, extinguishing all the candles, leaving the room dimly lit by only the glow of the strange orbs. A voice, low, melodious, but tinged with a near-imperceptible quality of vagueness which unsettles the ear, begins to speak.
"We remember your kind, Loremaster. You trapped us, long long ago. Oh, but we have learned since those days. In that void in which you placed us, to be held forever; we learned and we grew. And now this world will be ours."
In the air, a pool of crimson fluid dances; those with good eyes can see it is actually an incredibly complex pattern. The Loremaster's eyes widen in terror; but even as he spits out a string of syllables, tracing a symbol in the air with his fingers, he seems to slump, then slide; shrinking. No, not shrinking. Dissolving; the sound of fluid spattering on the floor accompanies his thoroughly gruesome death, leaving behind his now ruined clothes. Amidst the reek of pooled viscera, his belt of pouches lies still a moment, then slips to the floor below with a soft thud.
A second voice, female by register but seeming somehow lifeless, echoes now.
"This should prove interesting. Come, ye chosen. I long to see what the Outer Circle has brought to stop us."
The room descends - for a moment at least, into silence. The candles flicker back to life.
"The fight may not be as thou wish it to be fiend!" Jonathan B. exclaims as he stands. "My comrades and I may find a way to regain his help, and to stop your plans as well!"
Jonathan B. tries to cast what protection spells he may have learned
whilst playing games on his homeworld, but...
"Is that it?" asked the female voice, "A simple shield?"
Laughing, the creatures go away to make their battle plans.
A couple, if not more of the 'travelers' glared at Jonathan.
Grinning sheepishly, he sits back down into his chair, and holds on to his staff.
One of those gathered, a dark haired dwarf wearing ring of chain underneath a dark tunic embroidered over the left breast in the pattern of a rose in silver coughs. It is the first noise to break the silence since Jonathan's shielding spell and the voices had ceased. Most were still seated in stunned amazement, wondering what would occur now.
"Perhaps we should scour this place for anything which might be of benefit to the mission which we seem to have been drafted for. Perhaps, even, introductions are in order; for though I know some of your names by association and some by your word, we are clearly yet still ill at ease. If we're to work together, that will have needs of changing."
"Why should we bother? You saw what they did to the Loremaster - how are we supposed to stop the likes of that," another rebuts, his terror evident in his tone.
The dark haired dwarf rounds to face his detractor. "And do y' really think those monsters will just leave be? They'll be doing horrible things regardless; a' least we hae been warned o' their presence and might be able t' do somethin' aboot it before they cause too much destruction. Or," with a withering glance, "y'can go back to yer hovel and cower under the sheets while the world dies around y'."
The young man again rises and introduces himself, "I am Jonathan B., from the Planet Earth. I have recently tried to find a way to get to Candlekeep to begin my apprenticeship with the lore masters there,"
"Why go there when there may be countless other places to learn the craft you seek?" asked one of the 'travelers',
Some of the others nodded in agreement, "What are you trying to learn, Mr. B.?"
"Both sorcerer and clerical spells, so that I may heal and protect not only myself, but also those that I may consider 'friends'." Jonathan answers with a grin.
The dark-haired dwarf strokes his chin. "Priests o' these realms dinnae cae magic; save tae the purpose of their divinities, and e'en those rarely, so I'm not sure tha' ye could learn such. Healing, on the other hook, be a specialized art o' its own. Some disciplines hae minor gifts to mend the body, but tae put a man back t'gether when he hover on the edge o' deeth wi' magics be a skill held by onna a few of deepest studies. I fear yer advancement in sooch arts whilst in these realms may come to little aught. An' for sorcery, I kinnae speak f' if you hae the gift in y' or no. Time will show."
From his spot in the corner, Jarred speaks up. "Name's Jarred. Aye, I'm a rogue, as you may guess, but not a thief, not for a long while. I didn't come here the same way you did, but I'm hoping to get back to my world using whatever this Conjunction is."
The young man scuffles his feet on the floor nervously to announce his presence. "I'm called Vai'ar. Or just Vai'. Whichever. Supposedly I'm an apprentice sorcerer, but I'm not really very good at it. Although we treat magic differently... much more formally. Anyway, I sort of volunteered for this experiment my master was doing... and I landed here. What knowledge and ability I have is at your service."
"What you know of magic would be greatly prized by me, Vai'," Jonathan replied, "perhaps on our journey you could teach me what you know?"
Before Vai' could give his response a 'local' spoke up.
"Muir. Among other things." The short gnomoi stretched, and then smiled in a disturbing manner at the gathered group. "If it involves blowing anything up, I'm on it... although be warned, I don't seem to have much luck with fellow-travellers. This looks an interesting enough project, and has some personal interest for me." Her semi-cruel smile faltered a moment, but then returned.
Muir got to her feet, pacing around, looking over the myriad protective enchantments that were spun over everything. Every spell had a weak point... one just had to find it, apply the right pressure, and the spells would collapse. Much like buildings, actually. She was very good at tearing things down, but not so much with rebuilding.
"To tell the truth," the Earthling said, as he scratched his right ear in thought, "We could probably learn from each other what could be the correct combination of skills to get this quest finished."
"Y' may hae the right of it lad; an' yet it may prove that we will need th' aid o' oouthers tae see this through. All comes down tae what arises.
"As f' myself, I am Micah Argentaisen, of Hearthhold Earthfast Undermantle. I dinnae claim to know what strangeness brought y' here, or how y' might go back when tis done, but as a veteran of the siege of Darkhold Tempestthrust, I kin tell y' the key to victory is to keep yer enemy reacting t' you - s' h' dinnae hae the time to plan properly, or to execute his own plans agin' ye. 'owe'er I also ken tha' only fools, heroes and dead men go in w'out at least a plan of what they intend ta do."
"What d'ye intend, war council," he inquires quietly, looking slowly over the assembled group. Torm finally manages to speak, having fought off the nausea brought on by the Loremaster's messy demise.
"I agree with you, on the subject of plans," he said slowly. "But it would also be most useful if we knew who our enemy is (not to mention _why_ he's our enemy) before we can go out and find him. Certainly I don't think we should stay in this place for long. Anyway, I don't suppose you would have any ideas on who this enemy could be - you being a native after all. Oh, by the way, I'm Torm Centaurium, Master of Aspenford. From the world of Jasmonia."
The dwarf runs stubby fingers through his beard, his expression thoughtful and intense. "I dinnae know much save clan legends - fae e'en among my folk, it hae been a long time indeed since the days when the blighted walked these lands, but I will share what little that be," he comments, then clearing his throat. "What most disturbs me is the legends mentioned only four..."
"And one by one were each of the four in turn were cast by their own pride into the void of things that are not. Hahneles, K'chalt, Invictor, and the Whisperer each cast through who could not be brought down by force. And the way was sealed, that the world might never know the blight of their presence again. And the waytokens were smashed, that the doorway never again could be opened. And where the gateway had stood, there much riotious life of greenery was brought forth, that the site might be lost in antiquity and never found by the overly curious."
"Hahneles the snake; with but a dram of blood could impel any man or woman to do her bidding, to her the twisting of minds came as natural as the coiling of a serpent and so it was with her form, though most saw only the sinuous shape she presented, their minds accepting the deceit as an easier truth to swallow while their bodies were compelled."
"K'chalt cared not for the whims of the individuals, so long as his dictates were obeyed and he was otherwise undisturbed. The pursuit of power through the study of all art, no matter how dark or noisome, was his passion. His was the face most often seen, deep within a battle formation of troops who feared his displeasure more than dying at the hands of their own kin; driving on a host of men who had been enhanced by his art, yet would die all the sooner to pay the price for it."
"Invictor cheated death and sought to give everyone else the same _gift_ he had found. To this day we still find pockets of unresting dead, remains of his efforts."
"The Whisperer manipulated people like pawns on a chessboard; his means were similiar to Hahneles, though his reasons for doing so were different. She sought her own gratification; his goal seemed to be change, though for what purpose and toward what ends is unclear. However, he was not above bribery, kidnapping, assassination, torture or worse to achieve his goals."
"I expect it won't be long before they have returned to their old habits..."
"If there were four to begin with as you say," began the human from Earth, "Who, or What is the fifth?"
A couple of the others nodded in agreement. They too wanted to know this little anomaly.
By this time, all of the orbs have dissipated, but suspicions around the table were still aroused.
Muir cleared her throat, voice sounding like icy gravel. "I think I may know..."
"The Elder of the Grey Hills is an ancient elf... guarding a small patch of hills near my ancestral village... his workshop, if you will. The trees there and animals are cursed... they retain their original minds, but their form is twisted, their being cursed as to cause grief in others. This may be a disease, a poisoned fruit... the being itself is not harmed, but the workings of the Elder's curses doom the subject more thoroughly than outright death. They have the knowledge that, willing or not, their actions harm those who they love... and however far away they go, his dark magic sustains them so he can watch. The animals and trees are only barely aware of his intervention, but even they project an aura of self-loathing that guards the hills from most who seek to adventure within..."
"I do not know if he was the fifth, but he would be a logical ally to the blighted..."
Muir stares at her own hands a moment, flinches, then seems to retreat into herself.
Hearing the gnomoi's speculation, the dwarf's expression becomes grim. "You raise a valid point. I doubt not that those who work in such means will find themselves drawn to the five like moths to a flame; though some will no doubt be consumed in struggles for dominance, others will likely come to serve them, hoping to serve their own goals thereby. Perhaps we should pay this Elder a visit. It could prove informative; barring that, it would be one less evil to face later.
"What say you others?"
Jonathan B. stands in agreement with the dwarf. "That would be an excellent learning experience, but what are the dangers of this Realm?"
Micah Argentaisen nods. "I suspect," he begins, getting out of his chair and moving toward the small cubby the Loremaster had previously occupied before his unpleasant demise, "that our host, Hadine Lessvolker, has made certain preparations vis a," his voice trails off.
He pulls his head back from the cubbyhole. "I think you may want to take a look at this."
Inside the cubby, which is larger than it appeared from the rest of the chamber, several outfits in varying sizes are suspended on small metal hooks from dowellike wooden poles set along the walls. Additionally, there are several wooden tubes with ivory stoppers on a small table, and a silver signet ring whose design resembled an infinity symbol bisected diagonally by a rapier. Next to the ring, a piece of parchment unrolled and held open by the judicious placement of an inkwell and a paperweight at opposite corners.
A small mirror hangs on the wall opposite the door. In the reflection, the amulets depicted in the reflection swathed in a pale blue radiance.
Jonathan takes a look at a particular amulet. "The Cat and the Dragon.." he says in awe, "How did he know that these were...my favorite totems?"
Then the earthling looked at his staff's reflection in the mirror... It glowed, like the amulets, in a pale blue radience.
"It appears that you staff is magical after all, Mr. B." says a fellow traveller, "May I have a better look at it?"
It remained to be seen what might progress from the inspection of Jonathan's now revealed as magical staff, as at this point, the paper which had previously been held open by inkwell and paperweight pulls itself free from its constraints. Hovering in the air, the lettering upon it begins to glow softly, and a voice those assembled recognize as that of the deceased Loremaster begins to speak.
"To those gathered by Fate. *cough*"
"If you are hearing this, then I am dead; my divinations indicate highest probability by one of the four when they will have escaped during the Conjunction. *cough*"
"I ask your forgiveness, for I suspect that, had you spoken to me recently before my death, that I have lied to you. Know it was neccesary; I am sure that when I was speaking to you, we were being spied upon immediately prior to the events which led to my demise. *cough*"
"You will need knowledge of your enemies, and with my passing on, this will prove difficult to acquire. Know that after the Imprisonment, the order of Loremasters... (pause) ... Yes, I was not, and am not, even now, alone in the knowledge of worlds beyond my own, went into hiding. We concealed our numbers and our mission, knowing that if anything could thwart the careful measures that had been taken to imprison the four, it would be the massively powerful magic-warping properties of the Conjunction. Since that time, the knowledge of those days, kept secret from all others, has been passed from master to apprentice down through the centuries. *cough*"
"I give you leave to take what items you may need from my belongings here; the faint breeze you just felt was the warding spell accepting you into its parameters. After that, I know not what plans you will make, nor how you intend to address the many issues this crisis brings upon us, but know and remember this name: Alias Asoli; for she, too, is a Loremaster, and may be of some help if you can win her trust. *cough*"
"I pray the Forces bless you, for you shall surely need their aid."
The parchment falls to the ground, the paper now blank...
"We will keep you in our memories, Loremaster." Jonathan B. says as he kneels respectfully, holding on to his ensorcelled staff.
His four companions, although abit miffed at him, also knelt in n reverence, and the staff glowed even brighter than before!
'For this quest I have journeyed with you, Jonathan B.' said a mysterious voice, 'And on this quest you will learn alot more than you bargained for....'
The companions were stunned into silence by this event, and the voice continues...
"Long has it been since I was ensorcelled with the magiks that you require, my wielder," the staff floats out of Jonathan's hands to the center of the table, "I shall be able to help each of you in turn, should the need arise. All attempts to steal me may lead to the death of the thief, or just leave him or her unconscious for a little while."
"Talking wood. Now I've seen everything," snorts Micah. He then wanders into another part of the house, looking for anything which might come of use. A collection of small gewjaws and knickknacks begin to accumulate in his beltpouches.
Jonathan B.'s staff hovered over the table, shining its light upon everyone in the room...
"I once knew your master, young mage," it said to the Apprentice, "Although he may have said that he lost me, I had done my job in that realm and had to move on."
"Thus you came into Mr. B.'s possession." replied the mage,
"What does this Earthling have that I don't?!?" "He has talents that even _he_ doesn't realize yet. *chuckle*"
Time passes as various members of the group investigate the house; some taking things, others perhaps opting not to. In the end, they gather again in the chamber where the Loremaster expired. Having few leads to work with, they decide first to track down this ancient elf the gnomoi woman Muir had spoken of, to see what knowledge might be gained. It was quite likely they would be forced into battle with the elf; certainly his deeds seemed to paint him as a villian of some notoriety; but it was a risk most judged as being worth the potential reward.
The journey would take some days; at night Micah would tell more stories of this world, its peoples, its beliefs, its legends and heroes. As the terrain became more rugged and the treeline thicker, they soon began to rely on Muir's memories more and more to guide them toward their destination. It was during this part of the journey they came across one of the elf's other victims...
"What the frell happened to this... this... animal?" Jonathan asks no-one in particular.
"The Elf has turned this once beautiful animal into a
hordac." his staff replies, "The dark forces unleashed here have turned the Elf into what is called a 'Drow Elf' in Faerun; however, this one can stand being in the sunlight for a few hours before becoming ill." The small, dark figure shuffles up, curious. Blinking rapidly at the sight of the thing on the ground, he slows, sniffing and then coughs.
"Well...I don't know anything about a 'Drow Elf' or what it might have to do with sunlight, but this /looks/ dead to me. And inedible." He thinks for a brief moment before adding, "I believe there are those who call /my/ people 'elfs,' but..." He shrugs, a brief twitch of the shoulders. "Unless someone's more skilled with medicine than I am, it seems to me we should still be seeking this ancient elf and his knowledge."
"I agree," Jonathan replies, "He may know more about the fifth enemy a lot better than we do."
A few more weird creatures gaze at the approaching adventurers, some reporting back to their master....
A long, ferretlike creature swings down from a treebranch, holding on with its tail and chitters vehemently at the group. Small flecks of golden-brown foam dot its fur.
Jonathan notices the creature and asks "Do the people here know about 'rabies'?"
Noticing his companions confused looks he continues "On Earth, where I am from, animals that are foaming at the mouth are considered 'mad' because of rabies, a deadly virus/disease."
As Jonathan muses, several more of the creatures' heads pop up from the bushes to either side of the group. They are of similiar shape and form, but the foam that flecks their fur is the colour of tarnished silver. One of these leaps through the air at Muir, but never quite arrives, seeming to become bloated and then explode just before it hits her.
The other hordac are still for but a moment before they, too leap forward at the group...
Jonathan raises his staff in self defense and casts a "Shield" spell around himself and his companions.
Most of the creatures spontaneously combusted just like the first, but some of the remaining hordac made it to the companions.
There is a very ... unusual ... sound, something like water and air being sucked into a drain only in reverse. The 'spontaneously combusted' hordac, save the original one who attacked Muir seem to be pulling themselves back together. And now they look seriously ticked off.
Micah growls as he smashes one aside with the flat of his axe. "If'n y' have any suggestions on how t' fight these things, now would be a good time!"
The Earthling searches his memory for spells and tries a couple of them.
"REPOND!" he shouts, but the only thing that happens is that both the creatures and the companions look at Jonathan curiously. "It worked in some of the Ultima games I played." he explained and tried the other spell that came to mind.
"GRAV HUR!" the Earthling shouts as he swings his arms into an 'X' formation and a shockwave knocks the 'rabid' hordac back into the forest.
"I hope that helps some." Jonathan pants, "It is a delaying tactic at best and I can not cast another for another hour."