Olympus RPG Blog

Olympus Role Playing Group Blog

Browsing Posts in Banestorm

Dramatis Personæ

Brother Mendel (Herodian)
Dane Sardock (Winston)
Gabriel Auditore (Rigil Kent)
Gestlin the Unpredictable (CommJunkee)
Magnifico the Clown (Feste)
Merasiël Alethmist (Melissa)
Rainald North-Hammer (Gigermann)


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Of Break-Outs and Break-Ins

9 May 2014

Continued… On the Bannock arena floor, beset on either side by armed men intent on seizing the Heroes, Dane loosed arrows at the remaining guard to the one side, while Gestlin directed his conjured wind-storm to envelop the guards to the other side, throwing them around like rag-dolls until there was no will to fight remaining in them. The thousands of patrons in the crowded stands had panicked at the storm, and were scrambling for the exits; in the dignitaries’ box, the stranger bearing the cross of the Order of Talos and the arena-master were nowhere to be seen, having already fled. In the tunnels beneath the stands, after having secured the portcullis on Aamir’s behalf, Rainald headed toward the main entrance prepared to fight his way out, encouraging those that would to follow him; Gabriel insured the fallen guards would never rise again, deducing that these were not “city” guards, but employed by the arena-master, undoubtedly ordered to capture the Heroes for the substantial bounty on their heads. But as far as the Heroes could tell, there were no guards remaining to oppose them, so they stood down, and gathered themselves up, and the wagon and horses, and left the arena in an orderly fashion, joining the crowd on the road heading the short walk back to town, after apologizing to their sponsor, Aamir, for the ruckus. The crowd on the road gave the Heroes a wide berth, unsure what to think of what they had witnessed; the guards at the city gates allowed the Heroes through without incident, confirming the Heroes’ suspicion that the attack was the work of the arena-master.

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It was now evening as they made their way to the Gleaming Endeavor at dock, where they were met by Captain Finn asking after the situation. They told the Captain that, lest they suffer an attack on the ship, they would cast off immediately as the wagon and such were loaded, and anchor some distance downriver, out of sight of town, where the Heroes would disembark to see to the rescue of Lord Wallace’s man, Etmund, still a prisoner of the Order of Talos. The dragons were to remain aboard under Radskyrta’s usual supervision, as was Gabriel’s horse, Cometes. The Captain was instructed that the ship should remain moored for two sunsets before leaving for Qazr as-Sawh to wait as long as they dared for the Heroes’ return.

And it was so, at a bell past midnight, that the Heroes came ashore and made their way back to town. They were allowed through the city gates without complaint, though they were armed for battle, and found the fortified compound of the Order of Talos, where Etmund was kept. The streets about the compound were empty and dark, with but a waning moon to light them. Gabriel, Merasiël and Dane climbed a nearby building as before and spied inside the compound, seeing but four guards, two of whom were Templars by their dress. Together, the Heroes planned that the more stealthy among them should scale the walls and open the gate for the others, while Dane should remain aloft where he was to overwatch and support them by bow-shot.

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Silently, Gabriel and Merasiël climbed the compound wall near the stables, within sight of the single entry gate. After the patrolling guard had passed on his way, Gabriel crept up behind the guard at the gate, followed by Merasiël; an ill-timed scrape caught the guard’s attention, and Gabriel stabbed him through the throat as he turned to face the sound, lest he should cry out. Merasiël found the gate key while Gabriel stood the now-dead man up at his post, hiding behind him in the shadows, that he might fool the now-returning patrolman into thinking him unharmed at a distance. But by some miracle, the guard, one of the Templars, saw something amiss and retreated back toward the door of the keep, raising the alarm. Gabriel released the dead guard and bolted for the near-side of the keep to draw their attention, hoping he was the only one seen; just after, Merasiël set immediately to unlocking the gate and opening it for the others; while at the same time, Dane having seen the guard at the keep’s door—the other Templar—turn and appear to fumble for his keys, loosed an arrow out of the darkness, then another, wounding the guard through his mail. Rainald, under the influence of Gestlin’s Haste spell, followed by Brother Mendel, Magnifico, and Gestlin, piled through the now-open gate and rushed toward the backpedaling Templar in the yard; Brother Mendel flung his copper-piece, upon which he kept a Continual Light spell, ahead of them into the courtyard, to provide illumination. Just then, both Templars threw some small object to the ground and stamped it with their foot, and they were immediately surrounded in a swirling cloud of magical mist, such that they could not be seen at all. With nothing more to shoot at, Dane scrambled down from his perch and hasted to the compound’s gate to join the others; Gabriel and Merasiël also charged toward the Templar in the courtyard, now hidden in a shroud of mist, intending to catch him up before he could reach the keep. An unseen blade slashed Gabriel’s unarmored leg to the bone, nearly severing it, and he fell. Then Merasiël was also struck deep in the shoulder, though she managed to stay on her feet, turning instead to Gabriel. Then Rainald was struck hard in the legs, though his armor was strong enough to bear the attack, and he continued skirting around the mist-cloud, straining his vision to find even a shadow of his adversary to attack him. Then as Gestlin commanded Smil-Blam to conjure up a wind-storm to blow away the mist and reveal their enemy, he was also attacked by the invisible blade, and cut deep; as he barely held onto consciousness and his spell, he realized their enemy was using a Distant Blow spell, and called out to inform the other casters, who were now running to the aid of the fallen. The other non-Templar guard had rounded the keep, and now charged over to Merasiël as she helped Gabriel to his feet, and stabbed her with his spear, before Gabriel, balanced on his remaining leg, managed to return the “kindness” two-fold with his family blade, aided by Merasiël as she struggled to remain consciousness. As Brother Mendel passed by Rainald, also rushing to help retreat with the wounded, he quickly cast a Minor Heal spell on his leg wound, and then Dispel Magic on the nearest Templar’s mist, before turning his healing on Gabriel and Merasiël. No longer hidden by the magical mist-cloud, the Templar in the courtyard faced an angry Rainald, who threw his spear before charging in close with his hammer, Gramjarn; they exchanged blows on each others’ shields, though Rainald landed a heavy hit on the Templar’s sword-arm, before Dane finally reached the courtyard and put an arrow through the Templar’s ribs, dropping him to the ground, after which Rainald’s hammer finished him. Gestlin was also healed by Brother Mendel; all having been healed, and the tide having turned somewhat in their favor, the Heroes gathered themselves and determined to assault the keep’s door. To be continued…


Notes

  • Depending how the rescue goes, we’ll be having some words with the arena-master as well—give him the “hard goodbye” before we leave town; either way, though, we won’t be hanging around for long. We expect Proximo’s going to be a bit put-out when he hears of what happened, though it was truly not our fault
  • As usual in these matters, a lot of time was spent planning the assault; ideas included a lot of spells to get everyone over the walls at the same time, but we ended up deciding to keep it simple, and save the spells for when it mattered most. It was reluctantly decided to leave the dragons on the ship, as they aren’t conducive to a proper stealth operation. The assassins got some spotlight time, and would have been more if not for the oddly-prescient guard
  • Fighting in darkness sucks. ’Nuff said
  • The Distant Blow thing was a bit of a shock to the players, especially combined with the mist—normally you get a defense against the “distant” attack, but if you can’t see the attacker, it’s just free damage for them. Technically, Gabriel’s leg suffered injury enough to sever it, but the GM allowed the usual HT roll for Lasting Crippling, which was succeeded. (Gabe’s considering his armor choices differently for the future as a predictable result.) We were pretty much in full retreat—three PCs making consciousness rolls or Crippled—until Gestlin’s player figured out what was going on, and Mendel’s player had the Dispel epiphany—good thing we have a mega-healer in the party 😛

It was strangely enjoyable working alongside someone else.

Gabriel ghosted through the shadows outside the Order compound, three or four steps ahead of an equally silent Merasiël. This would require knife-work in the dark and there was no one in this band of theirs he trusted more for that. Rainald and Dane were fine in open combat, and the casters invaluable at so many other times, but here? Now? He much preferred the company and skills of someone who understood the meaning of stealth.

They reached the wall without incident and Merasiël gave him a questioning look that he answered with a sharp nod. Being the taller of the two, Gabriel laced his fingers together and half-crouched. A moment later, Merasiël was there, her foot in his hands, and he heaved up. She scrambled over the wall with barely a sound, and Gabriel followed, using as a springboard one of the many wooden stands normally populated by vendors during the day. He touched down in the shadows of the stable a heartbeat later, noting without surprise that Merasiël had already drawn Angrist. Seeing someone else carry the weapon that had belonged to him for nigh on a decade was … odd but necessary given her lack of supplies. Besides, it did not mean anything. It was merely a temporary loan. Yes, she was attractive and of elven ancestry and they shared more similarities than not, but that didn’t mean … he wasn’t …

Oh. Oh, dammit. Not again. He shook his head in slight disgust and focused on the mission ahead of them. There would be time to evaluate this later. He wanted to scowl. Well, at least he had not humiliated himself in front of her as he had when he first met Miratáriel so very long ago…

Miratáriel

Twelve Years Ago

He was being watched.

His first instinct was to reach for his father’s blade, but Gabriel shoved the reflex aside and continued his slow plod forward. By his admittedly muddled reckoning, Harkwood was close and with these ridiculous Caithnessers still trying to murder one another in this senseless rebellion, it stood to reason that the small city would have scouts deployed, especially if the rumors were true about the new elven defenders augmenting the guard. If he was honest with himself, that was one of the reasons he’d decided to strike out for Harkwood following that catastrophe at Blythe – in his four and twenty years, he’d only seen an elf in passing or at a distance and curiosity, ever his bane, set his feet upon this path. Abruptly, Gabriel scowled. It was not as if he had anything else to do at the moment.

The feel of being watched never waned as he continued along the well-trod path that should have been a road but most certainly could not be considered such a thing even by the most liberal of definitions, though Gabriel was too busy trying to keep from grimacing with each step he took. His entire body ached, but it was the poorly healing wound in his side that concerned him the most. He had taken it during the mad retreat from Blythe, when the townsfolk fled screaming before the reptilian onslaught and the few men capable (or willing) to stand in defense of their homes broke before the attack. Few were as lucky as he – Fat Tom, his employer, was dead as was every other member of the merchant’s guards – and for that he was thankful. He simply wished the pain would stop.

Did Saurians poison their blades, he wondered as he continued his slow walk? Or even clean them? Filth from poorly cleaned blades could kill a man as quickly as steel. He had done what he could after escaping the battle, but the ragged gash was hot and inflamed. God, but it hurt. He needed a healer. How many days had it been since Blythe? How long since he saw Fat Tom swallow a yard of steel and die screaming? How much time since he escaped those maddened lizards, descending upon his lamed horse to devour it like starving beasts? All of the days blurred together now – he remembered the many fleeing refugees, scattering in all directions, and the screams of the dead and the dying, and the smell of death and blood and shit.

Wait. He smelled blood now. His reflexes, dulled by exhaustion and pain, finally began to rouse and he started to reach for his father’s sword.

“I would recommend against that, warrior,” a melodic voice instructed him. Seeming to materialize out of the very woods themselves was a distinctly feminine form, though he could not see her face, not with that dark hood covering her head and the sun so low in the sky. She carried a bow of exquisite craftsmanship and at a glance, Gabriel could not but to admire her visible grace. It was as if she floated across the earth instead of walked. Never before had he seen anyone move that well, not even his late father who was as close to a blademaster as any man could be without bearing the dragons. He shook the thought away and tried to focus through the haze of fog in his head.

“I’m heading toward Harkwood,” he said through a thick tongue. His head was swimming and he was so hot, which made no sense. Spring was only just beginning and he had not pushed himself that hard today.

“Then you are walking in the wrong direction,” the woman said. She nodded back the way he came. “Harkwood is that way and nigh on two nights travel.” Gabriel frowned, glancing back. Had his fever so dulled his wits that he missed a turn? Where did this trail lead? “You are injured,” the woman said as she glided toward him. This close, he could make out her face – she had strong features, with cool, hazel eyes that studied him with a calculating gaze. There was something distinctly non-human about her appraisal of him. She was an elf, he realized.

“A scratch,” he murmured in response. “Pay it no mind.”

“Scratches do not stink of infection, warrior,” the elf said wryly. ”Come. The day dwindles. I have a camp nearby. We shall attend your wound and upon the morrow, I shall take you to Harkwood.” She turned away, as if his obedience was a fait accompli, and after a long moment of consideration, Gabriel followed. If he truly was lost as it would seem, then having a local escort was a very good idea. Damned Caithnessers. Why could they not place signs or markers as Megalos did?

They passed the source of the blood he smelled on their way to her camp – it was a trio of dead orcs, each with twin arrows standing out of their chests. Their throats had also been slit and, by the look of one of the three, they had died hard. Gabriel paused briefly, examining them with open curiosity, and the woman gave him a look.

“You act as if you have never seen the dead before,” she said in a light voice.

“Not dead orcs,” Gabriel replied. “Men, yes, and Saurians as well, but I’ve had few dealings with orcs.”

“Then I envy you,” she said. There was a volume of grim history in her voice and Gabriel wondered who she had lost. “Come,” she ordered sharply.

Her camp was expertly concealed and located in a very defensible location just within an immense but mostly hollowed-out tree. There was only the one bedroll and the impression he immediately got was one of order. The ring of stones surrounding the small fire formed an almost perfect circle, the three small pots were arranged from smallest to largest, even the bedroll was tight and square in terms of placement. Gabriel took this in, noting how the woman unstrung her bow, then placed it in the very center of her blanket, going so far as to nudge adjust it slightly though he could not for the life of him see what she changed.

“Saurian,” the elf woman said as he was fighting against a sudden urge to just sit down for a week or five. “You said Saurians.” She pushed her hood back, revealing hair the color of ripe wheat. “You come from Blythe, do not?” Gabriel nodded as he eased his own travel pack to the dirt, grimacing as his muscles pulled at the fire at his side. He noticed her frown but it did not register for absurdly long moments. His head began to pound and his vision swam. Did he have any water left? He was suddenly unbearably thirsty.

“I was there when it fell,” he muttered. “I am Gabriel.”

“Of Megalos, by your accent,” the elf mused. “My name is Miratáriel.” She added something else, something liquid and long and impossible for him to repeat, let alone comprehend, and Gabriel blinked again. Was that her entire name? Merciful God, that had to be hard to say fast. He paused, opened his mouth to reply and, without thinking, offered her his hand, intending to thank her for her hospitality.

That, as it turned out, was a mistake.

The movement pulled at the wound in his side and what had been a small fire erupted like an inferno. He felt something tear – likely his poor attempts to stitch together the injury – and the sudden, unexpected pain drove him to his knees with a gasp. A cool hand touched his forehead and he heard Miratáriel speak from a hundred leagues away.

“You’re burning up!” she said and Gabriel tried very, very hard to smile.

And instead, he threw up on her boots.

Remembrance

1 comment

Hmm, Kingfisher Circles the Pond. Yes.

Merasiël mentally followed each maneuver that he went through, alternatively placing a name to the ones she had been working on and mentally noting the ones she had seen but not yet received a name. It wasn’t too difficult, the man was devoted to his art. He practiced every day without fail, and by this point, she figured that she had seen all of his moves—

Hmph, she thought. Haven’t seen that one before. I’ll have to ask him about it later.

Merasiël continued to watch quietly, her arms folded across her waist as she rested against the bulwark of the ship. Around her, the activity on the Gleaming Endeavor continued as though Gabriel wasn’t practicing only a few feet away from them. She came to the conclusion that they were just used to it by now. He has such a gift, she mused. Grace, precision, speed…it’s a pity these traits are wrapped in skin that will wither and fade in a few years. That is, if death doesn’t wait for old age to claim him. But then again, isn’t that true for all of them? They all look so much older than they did in the Crusades. But how many years ago was that? Seven? Ten? When we part next for another span of years, will that be the last I see them?

She shivered, shaking away the dark, unwelcome thoughts, and returned her focus to the sunlight flashing off the blade. One, twist of the blade. Two, arc upward to the neck. Three, The Boar Rushes Downhill.

One, two, three.

Merasiël lost herself in the rhythm of each attack and defense, and thoughts of the past came rushing to the surface, unbidden.

One, two, three.

One, two, th–

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“—ree. One, two, and three. And one, and two, and–no, no, a thousand times NO!”

Merasiël turned away from her partner, a sour expression on her face. “What is the problem now?” she growled.

A balding, poufy man pulled a small handkerchief from a coat pocket and mopped his head. The already soaked scrap of fabric did little to dry the sweat from his brow. He then pinched his nose in frustration and answered slowly through gritted teeth, “You are trying to lead. Again! You are the female, you must follow your partner in the Mazurka!” He wrung out the cloth, his jowls flapping as he continued to complain, “My Lord Tereus, you have asked too much of this old man. I should be guiding the young nobility to their futures, teaching young ladies how to woo the young lords and teaching young lords how to woo the young ladies, not trying to turn a mule into a fine mare! Phah!” He flung his hands up into the air, helplessly. “I thought elves were supposed to be graceful!” He opened his mouth to speak further, only to be cut short by a knife that appeared distressingly close to his neck.

Merasiël spoke from behind his right ear, her voice deadly and quiet. “I am graceful where it counts, instructor mine.” She tilted the edge of her knife into the pale flesh of his throat to emphasize her point. When he made a strangled noise, she released him, and then shoved him to his knees.

“I tire of this, Tereus,” Merasiël grated. “Why must I go through this farce? Let me just knife the old man and be done with it.” The instructor squeaked from his kneeling position and Merasiël growled down at him, “Not you. You will regrettably continue living.”

Lord Tereus approached Merasiël and grasped her by the shoulders. His grip was stronger than one would expect from a middle-aged noble. Merasiël flinched, but resisted the urge to pull away from his touch. “The old man has information that we need. You must get close enough to him to retrieve it. When we have what we need, we will allow you to end his life.” He sighed. “The feast is tonight and you are out of time. Just…don’t let the boy talk you into a dance and you’ll be fine.”

Merasiël sheathed her blade and stepped around him to gather her things. “I still would prefer my method, but have it your way.”

Before she could leave, Tereus spoke once more. “Oh, and you may be there a while before we are ready for you to strike. You’ll need this.” He tossed a pouch at her, which she caught with one hand. She gave the contents a sniff, and made a face at the pungent odor.

“Venena sterilitatis,” he intoned blandly. “It wouldn’t do at all for you to wind up bearing another heir for House Bonet, my dear.”

Dramatis Personæ

Brother Mendel (Herodian)
Dane Sardock (Winston)
Gabriel Auditore (Rigil Kent)
Gestlin the Unpredictable (CommJunkee)
Magnifico the Clown (Feste)
Merasiël Alethmist (Melissa)
Rainald North-Hammer (Gigermann)


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Of Cats and Mousetraps

5 May 2014

Back at their host’s manor, the Heroes deliberated how they might best get a look inside the Order of Talos’ compound. Brother Mendel tried a Seeker spell, but could see nothing; Gabriel remembered from his encounters with the Order in the past that their “prisons” tended to have magical symbols etched here and there, and supposed that it might be a ward against scrying—or possibly more. After a great many ideas were presented and evaluated, they opted for safety, that Gestlin would use a spell to “possess” a small animal—a cat, in this case—that could wander the compound unbothered, and see through its eyes. It would take a great deal of energy to operate so for even a short amount of time, so the casters would have to work together to support Gestlin’s efforts. A suitable animal was found easily enough, and a discreet location found near the compound to do the spell. Gestlin’s casting, with Smil-Blam, went without a hitch. He (as the cat) moved as quickly as he could, darting through windows and those doors that were open, but he had not enough time to make his way to the lower levels to find the prisoner they sought, and the spell expired. They tried again the next day, and though more progress was made, he was still unable to reach the prisoner. Gestlin was, however, able to describe the interior of the compound such that a map could be drawn, which would certainly aid any future attempts to infiltrate.

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9 May 2014

Now seven days after arriving in Bannock, the time finally came for the Heroes to put on their dragon show. There were several gladiatorial bouts that would precede them, but theirs was the main attraction, and those that had ventured outside the estate during the week prior heard much buzzing about it from the locals. As evening drew close, they made their way to the smallish arena just outside the city proper, keeping the dragons under cover to preserve the surprise; they saw a long line of townsfolk down the road approaching the arena, indicating a promising payout for the night’s work. Excitedly, they waited in the tunnels under the arena floor for their turn at the stage, though they remained wary of a potential attack.

Then their turn to perform came, as the sun dropped below the hills, and the Heroes emerged from below to the arena floor. Even as they were being announced, Magnifico interrupted and took over, beginning with a rousing speech to whet the crowd’s appetites. As Brother Mendel began his illusory display, backed by Gestlin’s pyrotechnics, Magnifico began, once again, to tell the story of the Heroes’ exploits in the War in the Otherworld, in grand fashion. Merasiël joined the players this time, dressed in Proximo’s gifted Wazifi garb. Magnifico and Merasiël rode on the backs of Primus and Secundus as the dragons performed a flyover of the grandstands, after which the dragons were secreted back to their cages while their illusory counterparts took over for them, feasting on the illusory flesh of men and Vasa alike as they battled back and forth across stage-center. As usual, the role of Lord Wallace was emphasized, adding the sad revelation at the end that he had gone mysteriously missing after the war.

bs-612-screen1As the show continued, Dane spotted a stranger enter the dignitaries’ box at the top of the stands; the stranger wore the cross-symbol of the Order of Talos, and spoke quietly to the arena’s master. Just then, Gestlin’s attention was caught by someone rattling the portcullis behind him—their sponsor, Aamir Rahmani, wearing a troubled visage. Gestlin ceased his pyrotechnics to see what was the trouble; Rainald noticed this, and knocked on Gestlin’s wagon to alert Gabriel inside that something was amiss. Aamir informed him that guards were swarming the tunnels, come to take the Heroes by force as they left the stage—they could see guards gathering at the side gates to the arena floor, and Aamir had seen a number approaching from behind him. Gestlin bade Aamir raise the portcullis enough for him to get through, borrowed his turban and cloak to disguise himself, then charged down the tunnels toward the steps leading up to the audience seats, intending to get an overview; he slipped aside of the oncoming guards, pretending to relieve himself in the corner, before continuing on. Meanwhile, Brother Mendel was quietly informed of the closing trap, and he used his illusions to discreetly inform those performing. After a brief conference with Brother Mendel, Magnifico excitedly announced to the crowd that they would share the wealth they recovered during the war with the good people of Bannock, as Brother Mendel created the illusion of coins raining down on the stands around and before the dignitaries’ box, hoping to start a mad scramble as a distraction—the limits of Brother Mendel’s abilities, much spent already on the show, meant the scramble wasn’t quite as mad as he would have liked—as they all backed toward the exit portcullis. At the same time, while Aamir continued to struggle with the portcullis by himself, Gabriel slipped beneath and down the steps to the access tunnel, to meet the approaching guards. Rainald moved the wagon to provide cover for the exit, and moved to join him; Dane scrambled atop the wagon and raised his bow to engage any targets within the arena or in the stands. Gestlin emerged up in the stands and approached the edge, and with Smil-Blam, conjured up a small windstorm. The guards in the tunnel were clearly unimpressed with Gabriel’s dragon-mark tattoos, and attacked; Rainald arrived barely in time to kill one of the guards, as Gabriel slew four others in a matter of seconds. Above, as the guards stormed into the arena from the side gates, Gestlin assaulted one group with his windstorm, while Dane loosed arrows at the other group, felling one instantly. To be continued…


Notes

  • There was quite a lot of deliberation over the handling of the reconnaissance of the compound, and the particulars of the show’s illusions, as normal
  • Gestlin was limited to about 11 minutes of possession, so he could only get so far before the spell ended
  • The arena wasn’t filled quite to capacity, but was well attended; our guess was around 3000-4000
  • Gabriel killed four guards in five seconds—and probably would have killed the fifth if Rainald had been a little slower

The Order of Talos. Just the very name set his blood aflame, but Gabriel swallowed his fury, focused on control and did his very best to keep from gritting his teeth. He was only partially successful – Merasiël shot him a second glance, as did Rainald (who also gave him a questioning frown) and even silent Dane looked his way – but thankfully, Gestlin asked a stupid question, distracting the others long enough for the moment to pass. By the time the discussion came back to the Order, he was ready.

“They are responsible for Auqui’s fate,” he said simply, which was certainly true enough …

WhitehallTower

Four Years Ago

Even before he reached Whitehall Tower, Gabriel knew something was wrong.

It was the stillness in the air, the taste of death and blood that was so terribly familiar to him, and his natural instincts went into high alert almost immediately. He slid out of the saddle without thinking and gave Cometes a sharp hand gesture; the charger obeyed immediately, slipping into the concealing copse of trees where he could stay hidden. Not for the first time, Gabriel was grateful for the horse’s abnormal intelligence – this required stealth and the charger was ill equipped for that.

He found the first body just inside the tower grounds. The man was dressed in browns and greens of shades clearly intended to act as camouflage with the local terrain, but the bloody ruin that was the skulker’s throat clearly spoke of Kira. Ever since she’d begun learning the sword from him, the half-elf woman had favored throat strikes, which Gabriel found to be too messy. From where he knelt, in the shadows cast by the bell tower, he could see three other corpses. His instincts were screaming at him – entrance by the main path was suicide – so he retreated and swung around to one of his alternate routes. It was a narrow foot-path that curled up the primary hill and vanished into one of the larger archways. From there, he crept up the rudimentary steps carved out of the rock and exited into the stable. Inching forward, he lurked silently there for another long moment.

An owl hooted.

Freezing in place, Gabriel strained to find the source of the noise. One of the first things he’d done upon coming to this place was to familiarize himself with the local wildlife. Talon had even visited briefly and, after a week lurking, had provided a list of the animals in the immediate area. Owls were not among them.

A second owl answered the first and moments later, another man wearing the forest greens and browns slipped through the main gate (or rather, where the gate would be if he ever got around to building one.) This man was armed with a crossbow and wore a wide-bladed knife that was almost a shortsword at his side. A second man joined him, this one emerging from the kitchen. Both had a hard look to them but from the way they were trying to watch everything at once, Gabriel had to guess that they were spooked.

“What news?” the second man asked.

“Cristof has ordered us to pull out,” came the quick reply. “The assassin was sighted in Wallace the day before yesterday. He should be here tomorrow.”

“And that fool is just now letting us know?” The second man whistled sharply and immediately, another pair of men appeared in the doorways of the small fortress. “Gather your gear,” he ordered. “We’re leaving.”

The urge to act warred with the need for more information, and Gabriel grimaced. Were these men not armed with crossbows, he would think nothing of charging them and putting them all to the sword, but the crusade against the Vasar had showed him how lethal even poorly trained commoners could be with that weapon, so he remained hidden, watching quietly as the four rapidly assembled for departure. Their dead they left where they were – one stripped the corpses of purses and necklaces, but did not bother with their arms – and they filed out of Whitehall bare minutes later.

Gabriel was moving even before they were out of sight. He sprinted toward the stairs that led to the living quarters, keeping low and silent, and ducked through the smashed doorway to find another pair of bodies. As before, these two wore crimson smiles and he paused briefly to give one of them a second look. He knew this man but from where? It was of no matter. Pushing open the door to the main bedchamber, he froze.

Kira was there.

She was seated in her favorite chair, staring at nothing. At a glance, Gabriel could tell that she was dead – a quartet of crossbow bolts stood out from her chest and her throat had been cut – and for the span of a single heartbeat, his entire world narrowed to just her. She bore signs of physical abuse – not rape, but torture and plenty of it. They’d wanted something from her. His eyes narrowed. Auqui. Where was Auqui? He spent long minutes scouring the whole of the tower, but found no sign of the boy.

He caught up with the four men easily enough, but held back his murderous desire to simply pounce on them. Instead, he ranged around them, relying on his superior knowledge of the local environment and his own not inconsiderable talents at stealth. They helped him more than they knew, being so intent on speed that they neglected caution. Up the treacherous hill paths they went, feet pounding. It was tough going and the slowest of their number fell back.

So Gabriel killed him.

It was easy enough to accomplish – the murderer’s chest was heaving like a bellows and his head hung so low that he never saw death’s approach – and it momentarily assuaged the raging torrent of fury swimming in Gabriel’s heart. He slid behind the man, whipped Angrist free of its scabbard at the small of his back, and slit the man’s throat. It was messy, but he could do this for Kira. Clamping his hand over the dead murderer’s mouth to prevent him from crying out, Gabriel then plunged the elven knife into the man’s back. Once, twice, again. He felt his foe go limp and let him crumple to the ground.

None of the other men even glanced back or heard their companion’s death.

Gabriel waited until they were out of sight to quickly pat down his still dying victim. He tossed the crossbow and knife aside, divested the man of a coinpurse, and even tore a small crucifix free, but there was nothing on this fool that stood out. The necklace was of high quality – he had never seen this particular design, but that wasn’t a surprise – but wrought of simple copper; beyond that, the man wore no adornment. Shaking his head, Gabriel rose.

And resumed the hunt.

By the time he caught up with the remaining three, it was clear that they had finally noticed their brother’s absence. Speed was abandoned in favor of defense and the men moved slowly, crossbows strung and at the ready. Gabriel paced alongside them, his dark travel cloak concealing him, but he made no further move against them until night fell.

Dawn found him sitting among their corpses, clutching the three identical cross necklaces in one hand and a bloody knife in the other. The last of the men had already breathed his last and it was his words that made Gabriel tremble.

“Went with the master,” the man had gasped through the pain of his injuries. Before Gabriel started, the murderer had been confident he would never break, claiming that his faith in this … Order of Talos would grant him strength. The Order, he’d claimed, had already cleansed him of weakness and would lend him the fortitude to resist anything.

It hadn’t.

Gabriel rose, expression cold. His fury now battled against his fear – Auqui was still alive. No matter their many disagreements, the boy was still his responsibility and God help him, Gabriel had no plans in failing that. He would see to Kira’s body – she deserved that much – and then, he would hunt down every last one of these bastards. If they were so eager to meet God, then he would arrange the opportunity. This he vowed.

Three months later, he would look upon Auqui for the last time.

Dramatis Personæ

Brother Mendel (Herodian)
Dane Sardock (Winston)
Gestlin the Unpredictable (CommJunkee)
Magnifico the Clown (Feste)
Merasiël Alethmist (Melissa)
Rainald North-Hammer (Gigermann)


bs-journey5

Of Secrets and Spies

28 Apr 2014

bs-kogge3The Gleaming Endeavor cast off from Raphael in the early morning, under sail to Bannock; four days more passed without incident or remark. The Heroes gazed upon the great city of Bannock in the distance as they approached, a strange mixture of Megalan and Wazifi architecture, as it was a religiously-cosmopolitan place owing to its fluctuating ownership by Megalos and Al-Wazif. A number of the Company had never spent any significant time amongst a Moslem community. As the ship was being moored at the docks, and the fees paid by Captain Finn, Dane noticed that their activities were being discreetly observed by a man further down the port quarter. The Heroes decided to split up to take care of some business and return to the ship.

bs-bannock

  • Gestlin and Magnifico followed Brother Mendel as he made his way to the cathedral, where he checked in with the bishop to see if there were any duties he might be needed to perform, and to deliver letters from upriver. He told the bishop of their mission to find Lord Wallace, and the bishop confirmed much of what they already knew on the matter, and promised to aid them as he could. As they made their way back to the ship, Gestlin found himself attracting a large crowd of stray cats and dogs, for no reason he could discern.
  • Merasiël sought out the criminal elements of the city to learn if someone here might have been contracted to take Lord Wallace; Rainald went along to guard her person (leaving most of his money at the ship). After a bell or two, they found themselves at a disreputable tavern talking to an appropriately-disreputable character who knew nothing of the comings and goings of Lord Wallace a year ago, though he recognized the large Northlander bearing the white-on-black tabard, confiding that there was a 50 gold mark (equivalent) bounty for his head, as for each of his four companions—a two-fold increase from the amount heard of in Craine. As the two left the tavern, satisfied they had heard all they were likely to, Rainald called back to whomever it might concern there, “Any man who doesn’t fear death who can strike this head from its place deserves to be well paid, for it won’t come easily!”
  • Dane and Gabriel waited patiently after the others had left to see what the spy at the docks might do. As the man left his post, they discreetly followed behind him through the crowd, unnoticed, and observed an interaction and exchange of coin between him and the dockmaster.

The Heroes met back at the ship and discussed what they had learned. News of the bounty on their heads was unwelcome (though not unexpected); they were lucky to have survived the assassins back in Craine the week before. Bearing in mind the need for security, they considered whether or not it was wise to go on with their dragon show, as it wasn’t necessary to the completion of their mission; but neglecting the show would reflect badly upon their newfound partnership with Proximo and Aamir. They decided to speak to Proximo’s contact in town and see what could be made of it. Proximo’s letter to his friend must have been quite convincing, for upon reading it, his contact was ready to spare no expense; it would take one week to make the necessary preparations to host the show at the local arena, but the contact offered to lodge the Heroes at his fortified estate, in secret, until time for the show. The Heroes accepted his offer.

They were well cared for at the estate, and spent the days behind its walls, relaxing in luxury and preparing for the show. On the third day, a guard announced that a visitor wished to speak to them—it was Shaun (crewman on the Gleaming Endeavor). He was staggered at the lavish accommodations, and between cups of excellent wine hastily consumed, he told that the bishop had come to the ship to find Brother Mendel to give him some news. After a few more cups of wine, Gabriel escorted Shaun to the cathedral, to bring the bishop back to the estate as discreetly as they could. Later, they returned with the bishop, who spoke to Brother Mendel of a nun in his service who, while attending the needs of those imprisoned at the local compound of the Order of Talos, heard the name of Lord Wallace spoken by one of the prisoners, one Etmund Moree, a Caithnesser, whom the Heroes recognized as Lord Wallace’s Master-of-Coin and traveling companion—he was in ill health, and babbling mad.

The bishop offered to show them to the Order’s compound, and Dane left with him to spy it out; he returned later, saying that it was well fortified and guarded by soldiers. The Heroes agreed that Etmund’s presence in Bannock meant that Lord Wallace was likely taken here as well; Etmund must be rescued, for he would certainly know how and by whom it was done. They discussed many possible methods of extracting the prisoner, but knew it would be for naught without a peek inside the compound.

Later, Brother Mendel, Gestlin (dressed as a monk), and Merasiël (who mostly kept to the nearby shadows) went to the front gate of the compound of the Order of Talos and tried to gain admittance to see the prisoner, saying to the guard there that Brother Mendel, a Caithnesser priest, had been requested to take the Caithnesser prisoner’s confession; the guard denied the existence of such a prisoner—they sensed the man was intentionally hiding the truth, though they knew it to be false already—and would not allow them inside. Brother Mendel tried everything he could think of: the guard refused his money, saying he have to come back tomorrow; he balked at being threatened with eternal damnation for refusing to allow the man’s confession, and poked a spear at Brother Mendel through the gate; he stood aside for one of the priests in the compound’s courtyard, when Gestlin made a commotion, drawing a crowd of onlookers on the street, demanding the priests’ aid. The priest went into the keep for a moment and returned, saying the two would be allowed to enter providing they relinquished their “weapons” (wizard staffs); they refused, and left in a huff.

With everyone assembled again at the mansion, the Heroes discussed the situation: clearly, they would have to take Etmund from the Order by force. To do so right away would be trouble for the show, and more time to reconnoiter the compound would not go amiss, so they decided to keep a covert eye on the place until after the show, and make their move then.


Notes

  • Gabriel’s player was out sick for this session; the character was put to use in the background, doing a lot of escorting
  • Rainald is certainly not afraid of a fight, but as our Craine experience demonstrated, someone sneaking into one’s room with a dagger can potentially ruin your day (unless you’re playing something like D&D); the intention is not so much to prevent an attack, but to make it difficult to kill us in our beds. There was talk of sleeping on the ship and mooring it on the other side of the river. We had been of a mind to get to Tredroy as fast as possible, and were perfectly willing to just move on and get to it, but in the end, “the show must go on” won out (and maybe the need for a bit more cash)
  • The Order of Talos relates to Gabriel’s background, as the church order that Zabka belonged to; his official Enemy (as in the Disadvantage)
  • There was much talk of teleporting Etmund out of the compound, but the Heroes’ magical abilities would require close proximity; at this point, we’re still leaning toward Gestlin using Smil-Blam to do a proper Teleportation spell that will take the lot of them back to safety. With the botched reconnaissance, though, it may come down to force anyway—maybe we prefer it so 😉

Dramatis Personæ

Brother Mendel (Herodian)
Dane Sardock (Winston)
Gabriel Auditore (Rigil Kent)
Gestlin the Unpredictable (CommJunkee)
Magnifico the Clown (Feste)
Merasiël Alethmist (Melissa)
Rainald North-Hammer (Gigermann)


Of Devils and Priests

25 Apr 2014

bs-kogge2In the morning, as the crew prepared the Gleaming Endeavor to cast off from Craine’s river docks, Brother Mendel took some time to cast Detect Foes over the the ship; he detected a fluctuating, mild sense of hostility within the spell’s coverage area, and informed the others, including Captain Finn, of his findings. It was decided to wait until after the ship was under way, and then perform a thorough search of the ship, top to bottom, stem to stern, opening every crate or container in the hold, to make sure they hadn’t picked up a stowaway assassin or somesuch. Everyone helped in the search, but they discovered nothing but rats in then hold. Later, Brother Mendel attempted the spell again, and sensed that the “hostility” was still present. With no better ideas what to do about it, they decided to simply remain alert, and make sure nobody stood their watch alone.

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Three days passed, and the ship arrived at Raphael without incident; the Heroes would have pressed on for Bannock, but Brother Mendel had some letters he was tasked to deliver to the Archbishop’s offices there, so they put to port for the day to stretch their legs while the church business was seen to. Brother Mendel went straight for the massive cathedral, and was seen by the Archbishop’s clerk, to hand over the letters. When he asked what further duties the church would require of him, it turned out there was a matter he might be able to help with, and he was given audience to speak to the Archbishop of Raphael himself. The Archbishop explained that he had need of Brother Mendel’s companions, fighting men, as there had been a rash of murders under the last two full moons, the third of which would be this night. None had lain eyes on the murderer save for shadows, though rumors persisted that the cathedral’s gargoyles had come to life. Brother Mendel assured the Archbishop that his friends would come to his aid once told of the matter. And so it was.

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As there was plenty of time before sunset, the Heroes came ashore into the walled town about the cathedral to search the grounds for clues; the Archbishop saw to it they had access to whatever they might need to discover the truth. It was reported to them that there were a total of five souls murdered, two on the first full moon, and three on the second; the Heroes were taken to the places where the poor unfortunates were found, horribly savaged, all high on the roofs surrounding the cathedral—the victims’ identities and stations revealed no clues as to why they had been so targeted. One of the priests, Father Julian, while examining the gargoyles for signs they had left their perches after the last incident, found one to be chipped as if by the strike of a sword; Gabriel climbed out at Magnifico’s request to see it for himself, and thought the damage to be as the priest had said. Meanwhile, Gestlin dug through the mountain of written records in the church’s archive, but found no similar events such as had been described. As the evening drew close, the Heroes had no better plan than to patrol the grounds that night and dare whatever-it-was to come at them; Rainald requested and was granted some horses, to speed their reaction time should someone cry out at a distance.

bs-gargoyleAs night fell, Rainald, Gestlin and Brother Mendel patrolled the street around the cathedral on horseback, while Magnifico (Primus and Secundus at his side), Merasiël, Dane and Gabriel moved around atop the cathedral’s lower-tier roof (the level nearest to the gargoyles). They kept watch for many long hours under the light of the moon (bright enough that even night-blind Brother Mendel wasn’t terribly inconvenienced by the darkness). Some time into the patrol, a commotion was heard at the West end of the grounds that turned out to be a drunk couple leaving the local tavern; they were shooed on their way, for their safety, and the patrol was resumed.

bs-demonSuddenly, those on the ground heard a heavy, wet thump behind them, and turned to find the mangled body of an unknown fellow in the middle of the street some distance away from them. They quickly looked up into the dark sky from whence the victim appeared to have fallen, and Brother Mendel barely saw a moving, shadowy shape pass overhead, and called out a warning to the others. As the Heroes dismounted and ran over to see who it was that had fallen, the shadow-creature flew down like a bolt of lightning, landing on the street some paces ahead of them; now in full view, they could see the creature’s wings and horns, and believed it some manner of demon, and were afraid. It beckoned without words, daring them to attack, and Rainald strode boldly forward, unafraid, and cast his spear at the demon, striking it in the shoulder; though wounded, it pulled the spear out of its body to wield it. As Rainald continued to advance, Brother Mendel followed behind him, and began casting a Banishment spell. Meanwhile, those on the roof of the cathedral raced over to the edge to see the creature, and were also afraid, though Gabriel and Dane found themselves on the wrong side of the building, and had to climb over, and so were delayed. Magnifico, flanked by his dragons, called out to taunt the demon, to draw it to him—he succeeded, and the demon flew up to the roof, and attacked, striking Primus with Rainald’s spear. Merasiël threw a knife and struck the demon in the ribs, but the knife could not penetrate his thick hide. Magnifico threw himself atop Secundus and urged the dragon to leap off the roof, flying down straightaway to the street, as the wounded Primus followed; the demon, even faster, pursued them downward. The demon was met there by Rainald, Brother Mendel, and the now-recovered Gestlin, and the creature suffered blows from Rainald, nips from the dragons, and lightning from Gestlin, while Brother Mendel continued his casting to banish it. Injured, it disengaged from the melée to fly up to the nearby roofs and attack a lone man there, surely vulnerable—it was Gabriel, who plunged his family blade (now named Misericordia) between the creature’s fourth and fifth ribs. At the same time, Dane, now with a clear shot, decorated the demon’s back with arrows, while another bolt of lightning from Gestlin struck him, and the creature fell to its knees, all but finished. Gabriel could just hear a man’s trembling voice come from the demon crying for mercy; though his bloodlust was checked, Gabriel did not trust that this was no trick, and so struck the demon again, and the creature fell from the roof, to the street below, even as the dragons caught up to the roof, as did Rainald, under Gestlin’s Air Walking spell. As the Heroes gathered round in wonder, they saw the demon transform back into a man, at once suffering all the wounds the demon had taken, and the man died.

The Heroes told the thing to the Archbishop, and he recognized the man, one of his priests. He was thankful for the Heroes’ aid, and offered them beds at the inn. He would have them stay for a day or two as they researched what the priest had done, but they declined with regrets, that they might make haste for Bannock.


Notes

  • Gabriel took some time on the ship to “ritually name” his sword (the Named Possession Perk, PU2:19); the casters had been cross-training each other on various spells, but Gabriel and Merasiël started doing some martial cross-training as well. Also, the GM allowed Mendel to retroactively cast a regeneration spell on Magnifico to get rid of his hunchback, which usually takes a month or so to complete; the required time will have elapsed when Magnifico’s player has the points to buy off the Disadvantage, at which point it will “officially” be gone, though he has been slowly straightening over the course of the journey thus far
  • Brother Mendel’s Duty to the Church hadn’t been specifically featured before in this or the previous campaign, but as the ship approached Raphael and we were deciding whether or not to stop, the GM went ahead and rolled it; success was determined to mean he had some letters to deliver
  • The stop was un-planned, but the GM decided to make the best use of it by pulling out GURPS Locations: St. George’s Cathedral
  • Magnifico riding the dragon was a bit of a surprise—hadn’t been tried before—which led to a long period of deliberation about whether or not it was possible, at what Encumbrance level, etc., and required some post-game research; now that it’s been settled, we can likely expect to see it occur more in the future
  • The demon certainly had the potential to do harm to the Party, but we got pretty lucky; in the end, Primus’ was the only injury suffered

Time Lost

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Nine hundred and sixty-one years ago…

A pair of shadows danced in the gardens of Estrilere*, deep within the Great Forest.  Occasionally one of the shadows would detach itself from the murky dark beneath the trees, only to be engulfed again a few moments later.  Guttering lamplight cast an irregular beat for the dance, and the shadows circled round and round in this strange ritual.  Twilight had fallen when they halted at last, and the sources of the shadows were locked in embrace.

“Give….in!  I won this time!”

“Hah!  The Old Elm will lay on the ground before I give in to you!”

Merasiel found herself staring at the canopy of trees above as her legs were swept out from beneath her.  Her breath blew out in a huff as she landed square on her back.  She coughed and spluttered.  She fought the urge to punch the face that suddenly appeared before her eyes, brows knitted together in concern.

Belaguin

“Mera, are you alright?”

“Yes…” she croaked back to him, “…no thanks to you!” With the newfound advantage of surprise, she knotted her hands in her companion’s tunic and arched her back, rolling him over to the side.  He stared at her in surprise as he felt cold metal resting against his neck.  “Did you really think that after all this time you could throw me like that and I wouldn’t be able to land properly?  Hmmm?”

He began to shift and she tightened her grip.  “Ah-ah-ahhhhh.  Say.  It.”

“Fine!  Fine.  You win.”

Again.”   Merasiel grinned widely, released her grip and stood quickly before he could retaliate further.  She lowered a hand to her companion once her dagger had been sheathed and pulled him off the ground and into an embrace.  They held each other quietly for a long while.

It was Merasiel who broke the silence.  Her voice was muffled in the fabric of her companion’s tunic.  “I will miss you, Bela.  While I’m away.”

Belaguin leaned back, gripping her shoulders with his hands, his expression betraying his disbelief.  “What?”

“You heard me.”

“It’s not often you say things like that.  Are you worried about this journey?”

“Of course not.  I really will miss you.”

Belaguin folded her in his arms once more.  “I wish I knew what the elders were thinking.  They’re sending only five others with you and-”

Merasiel interrupted him, pressing a finger to his lips, “Stop.  The visions were clear.  Those five, Mendelel, Gabrielthorn….even Mags must travel to Mortuturesihad.  No more than that and no less.  The elders won’t say why.”

Belaguin frowned and muttered, “They’re sending that fool Mags with you instead of me.  I’m insulted.”

Merasiel arched an eyebrow and continued, “And, when I return, I will not be sent on any missions for a while.  So I’ll have that much more time to show you how to properly fight.”

He ignored the jab.  “Oh?  How long will you be here?”

“I don’t know for sure.  The elders said that when my task is complete, I won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

“Hm, that’s an odd way of putting it.”

“When have the elders ever had a way of putting things that wasn’t odd?”

“True,”  Bela kissed her gently on the forehead.  “For what it’s worth, my little fawn, I will miss you too.”

Merasiel smiled at him.  “Bela?”

“Hm?”

“If you continue calling me ‘Little Fawn’, I am going to have to gut you.”

The pair tarried in the gardens long into the night, talking and making plans as those in love tend to do.  The following morning dawned grey and bleak, and the six companions gathered together to receive the blessing of the elders, say their farewells and depart.  All of their words had been spoken the night before, and Merasiel shared only a brief touch of fingertips with Belaguin.  She looked back once as they rode into the forest, but her last view of Bela and home was marred by the trees.


* Estrelere is completely made up by yours truly.  Approximate location is in the Great Forest close to the southern end of the mountain range that runs through the center of the forest.

 

Mercy.

The demon had pled for it in the last moments of its foul existence on Yrth and, though he concealed his thoughts behind the usual veneer of sardonic amusement he showed to the world, the sheer audacity of the plea still infuriated Gabriel. Mercy? He had little left. And for a demon? There was none at all.

Seated in his usual place upon the prow of the Gleaming Endeavour, he silently continued to study his father’s sword for any hint of damage that might need attention. The blade gleamed in the moonlight and he bit back another scowl. This was the only mercy he had left – a quick, clean death. It would have to be enough for the tyrant that ruled over this bitter existence.

The bells of the cathedral began tolling, the sound so horribly familiar that the memory was almost a physical blow.

WhiteMonks

 

Fifteen Years Ago

“Mercy must always be our goal,” the abbot pronounced from where he stood before the assembled monks and Gabriel felt the truth in those words. He knew it was not the case but it sincerely felt as though the white-haired old man was speaking directly to him. Had this monastery not given him shelter and succor when he needed them the most? Had they not accepted him into their ranks without question, without once asking from what he ran? When he fled from Lady Licia’s house with her false denunciation of rape still ringing in the air, the whole of Craine had seemed to be on his heels and the Church gave him sanctuary without hesitation…

“Let us pray,” Abbot Publius intoned before leading the entire assembly in their devotions. Gabriel’s voice was strong and he felt as though this was where he was meant to be. God had set his feet on this path and at long last, he had found peace. Outside, the sun had begun to slide behind the hills and darkness stretched out to encompass the land. Winter was fast approaching and, from the taste of the air already, it looked to be a fierce one. And yet, for the first time in a long time, Gabriel did not look at the night and think of how best to use the shadows.

“Brother Gabriel,” the abbot called out once the service was concluded and the monks were filing from the chapel, intent on their nightly ablutions before they retired. “A moment, if you please,” the white-haired man said with his kindly smile. Gabriel said nothing – he was but a mere lay brother, after all, and speaking was not necessary – instead bowing his head slightly and waiting until they were alone. “Close the door,” Publius instructed. “I have a task for you, my son,” he said once Gabriel had done so. “You are aware of our nightly patrols?”

“I am, your grace,” Gabriel replied. He did not quite understand the purpose behind it – six monks, garbed and hooded in white, would walk the streets of Craine every night. They sang no hymns, sought no donations, offered no prayers or blessings, and simply … walked, torches held aloft, as if to ward off the night. According to the other brothers, it was an ancient tradition, but none of them could explain the reasoning.

“Good.” The abbot smiled. “I would have you accompany them tonight. Your skills may be needed.”

The words caused Gabriel’s blood to run cold. His skills? Did the abbot know who he was, know what he had trained for years to do? No, that was not possible. His father had been the only one who interfaced with the Houses. He had given no family name when he entered the monastery and his father’s sword was hidden away where no one would find it. There was no way the abbot could know.

“You might need this,” Abbot Publius said as he reached behind the altar and drew out a familiar item.

Father’s rapier.

“Do not let any but the patrol see this instrument,” the abbot instructed as he offered the sheathed weapon. “We are men of God, after all, and they must not think we stray from the path of righteousness.” He waited, the rapier held out.

Gabriel … hesitated.

Since before he could walk, he had wanted to be that blade’s master but in the years since his father passed, it had seemed a heavy burden. Now, he feared that would be too heavy. His concern and confusion clearly showed on his face as the abbot offered another warm smile.

“Consider this a test, my son,” he said. “The path you have chosen is not an easy one and we must know if you have the fortitude to see it through.” Relief thundered through Gabriel then – a test! He understood. The abbot wanted to ensure he would not fall back upon old habits when facing a challenge, that Gabriel’s faith in God was absolute.

He took the rapier.

Avoiding notice as he made his way through the cramped dining hall that led outside was easy enough for him, even though he was so out of practice at clinging to the shadows. Brothers Donalt and Greigor were arguing again, which was enough of a distraction for many of the other monks that they barely even noticed his discreet exit. The sullen one, Zabko or Zerba or something, glanced briefly in his direction, but Gabriel had exchanged fewer than ten worlds with the man in the last year so he was unsurprised when the brother went back to his stew.

“You’re late,” a gruff voice stated when he slid through the door. There were five monks waiting, hooded and garbed in white as he was, but Gabriel did not immediately recognize them. One was tall enough to be Markus, but the Northlander who’d found God had been sitting next to Donalt. Gabriel had no opportunity to reply as a lit torch was thrust into his hand and the others set off. Irritated, he shifted the rapier down from he’d strapped it on his back before quickly darting into the night to catch up with the other monks.

An uneasy silence seemed to accompany them as they wound their way through Craine. To Gabriel’s surprise, they avoided main thoroughfares, opting for crooked alleys and rough-hewn side streets. The few city guards they saw hurried along, ducking their heads or saluting awkwardly before scurrying away, and a ball of ice formed in Gabriel’s stomach. Automatically, long dormant instincts and reflexes stirred, forcing him to fall into Cat Crosses the Courtyard. It looked to be an arrogant saunter, though in truth, his entire body was poised and ready. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“Here,” the man who was not Markus said as they drew up outside the main cathedral. He turned to Gabriel. “Find the bishop. Kill him. And plant this device near his body.”

Gabriel blinked.

He was very aware of the eyes of the other five men, as well as the tension in their bodies. They were waiting to see his reaction and his instincts screamed that the order had been no jest. The large monk was holding out a cloth badge that bore Duke Bran’s sigil. An assassination of the city’s highest member of the clergy with such incriminating evidence … there would be blood in the streets. Civil war. The pieces fell into place for him and he almost scowled. Abbot Publius would no doubt help quell the madness, regardless of whether the duke fell or not, and in gratitude, the Church would no doubt elevate him to oversee the diocese that was now empty of its former master.

“No,” he said softly. “I will not do this thing.”

They attacked without warning or hesitation. Hidden blades flashed out, the steel reflecting in the bright moonlight, but found nothing but air as Gabriel had already thrown himself back. He hit the ground, rolled, and came to his feet in a single, flowing motion that became an all-out sprint almost before he was fully upright. There were sharp cries of surprise that pursued him, but he ignored them as he continued his headlong dash for the nearest alley. Feet pounded behind him – they were close but losing ground thanks to his speed – and he could hear grunts of exertion from those who had spent more time indoors than out.

He reached his target five or six steps ahead of his closest pursuer and opted for continued evasion. Using the corner of one building as a springboard, he jumped up toward the roof of another, his fingers howling with discomfort as he found a grip and hauled himself over the edge mere heartbeats before the nearest would-be murderer could reach striking distance. The clatter of metal against stone echoed loudly in the night – one of them had thrown their knife but missed – and Gabriel fought back the urge to cry out an insult. Instead, he scrambled to his feet and darted forward once more, heart thudding with both fury and fear.

The urge to retrace his steps to the monastery and give Abbot Publius a red smile roared within his chest, but he ignored it as he vanished into the darkness. Was it mercy? Or simply self-preservation? Bereft of his Assassin, the abbot would no doubt sound the armcry and perhaps even raise the whole city against him. It was not entirely out of the question that the others would still carry out their foul deed and then seek to pin the murder on him. That thought gave him pause, and he circled back around to the cathedral, using the ‘thieves’ highway’ upon the rooftops  to avoid returning to the street, where he found a host of armed guards spilling out of the magnificent church. There were even a quartet of Templars and they surrounded the angry-looking bishop.

“You are sure it was he?” the man asked in a fierce tone that carried even at this distance. One of the Templars nodded. “Then send a squadron. Bring me Publius’ head.” He scowled. “Along with the rest of his body, if you must. I would have … words with that upstart.” Gesturing, he turned back to the cathedral. “Should he resist, then you have my permission to be merciless.”

Gabriel slumped back against the stone roof and greedily gulped in air. He looked up, begging silently for a sign. Anything that might show to him that he had chosen the correct path.

Rain began to fall.


“Mercy,”Gabriel murmured, his eyes still locked upon the straight, shining blade of his father’s sword. The demon had pled for mercy. And Gabriel had given it to him. “Misericordia,” he corrected himself, slipping into Latin.

Yes. That was a good name. As good as any.

He smiled and went back to work with the whetstone.

Dramatis Personæ

Brother Mendel (Herodian)
Dane Sardock (Winston)
Gabriel Auditore (Rigil Kent)
Gestlin the Unpredictable (CommJunkee)
Magnifico the Clown (Feste)
Merasiël Alethmist (Melissa)
Rainald North-Hammer (Gigermann)


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Of Slaves and Assassins

24 Apr 2014

After splitting up the ransom for the Templar captain and his cohort, the Heroes headed out for Proximo’s estate, to perform their demonstration as promised (they had briefly considered leaving immediately for Tredroy). As they crossed the river, they spotted a cage-wagon further up the street, laden with human(oid) cargo, headed the same direction; they happened to notice a familiar face inside the cage amongst the other unfortunates, specifically, that of their former war-companion, Merasiël. They all rushed up to the wagon to confirm that it was she, and it was; she recognized the Heroes immediately, and claimed she had been wrongfully imprisoned through a case of mistaken identity, and sold into slavery. The slave-cart driver demanded these well-armed strangers surrounding his cart step off and allow him to continue, and he was getting a bit bothered as the Heroes tried to convince him to let their friend go free; he gruffly explained that these slaves were the lawful property of Proximo, and were being delivered to him now. The driver being distracted by the Heroes’ argument, Gestlin impulsively activated Smil-Blam and cast Blink on Merasiël; she appeared outside the cage, next to Gestlin. The slave-driver immediately became irate, and bellowed for the guard, saying that the Heroes were “stealing” his slaves. A pair of guards left their post at the bridge to answer the call, to find a heated argument between the slave-driver and this gaggle of armed adventurers over “ownership” of one of the slave-driver’s stock, confused all the more by the cries from the other slaves in the cage to be released as well. However, as Brother Mendel turned to the guard to plead the Heroes’ case, the guard-supervisor must have mistaken him for some old antagonist of his, for he immediately drew his weapon and took up a combative stance—he surely would have run Brother Mendel through had he not been backed by his fellows—and demanded the gaggle immediately disperse; whatever Brother Mendel said to try to calm the man seemed only to make it worse. Rather than fight the lawful city guards over what was, technically, a crime they had committed, the Heroes convinced the guard to escort the lot of them to Proximo’s estate, where the matter would be settled.

Proximo met the entourage at his gates. After the guards’ explanation, he was a bit put out at the Heroes’ apparent betrayal, but Brother Mendel spoke to their good intentions, and their desire to make due recompense, and Proximo’s demeanor was cooled. They gathered together ten gold marks to compensate Proximo for the loss of his property, and satisfied, Merasiël was set free (officially this time). Brother Mendel asked how the necklace had worked out; Proximo admitted it appeared to have worked as advertised, and thanked them for the worthy gift. With the slaves taken inside, and the driver and guards now gone their way, the group moved to the south garden of Proximo’s estate. Neither Proximo nor any others present were told of the nature of the demonstration prior to its performance, that it was to be an illusion. As soon as they were ready, the show was begun: this time, rather than their usual recounting of the story of their adventures in the Otherworld against the Vasa, Magnifico and Brother Mendel prepared a performance consisting of the opening of a portal to the Otherworld a few paces before the viewers, where a great battle raged between Men and Vasa, before a pair of full-grown dragons (of the sort they had encountered there) descended upon the field and slaughtered all present without discrimination. The carnage was magnificent, the illusory performance encompassing sight, smell, sound, and even the heat and such. As the dragons appeared, Magnifico screamed that they had lost control of the portal, and the fighting spilled through to engulf the audience. The other Heroes were in on the play as well: Gabriel drew his sword and “fought” the invaders before tumbling out of the way of a fireball; also Gestlin cast magical strikes through the portal. Rainald, standing at the back to ensure things didn’t get out of hand, had to interrupt Merasiël before she could leap into the fray (as she had not been clued in). When Proximo’s face revealed their success—that he believed what he saw was real—the illusion was allowed to dissipate.

Proximo was greatly impressed, calling for food and drink to be brought out while they discussed the details of future performances. Merasiël sorely wanted her gear returned, especially her ancestral blades, and Proximo promised he would see if he could get them back for her, though they would need to buy them back; on request, Merasiël was taken inside to bathe, and was given some new clothes (which were of typical Wazifi fashion). The Heroes then inquired what news Proximo’s contacts had discovered regarding Lord Wallace’s disappearance, keeping to themselves what they already knew; Proximo revealed that one of his ships had picked up some shipwrecked sailors in Keyhole Bay, bearing an “important prisoner,” and taken them to Hadaton, where they later departed, presumably for Tredroy. He had also heard that the Templars had taken Lord Wallace captive, confirming what the Heroes had drawn from the Templar captain, though Proximo knew of no other details. Then, the Heroes talked of wanting to go to Tredroy, and Proximo was happy to make whatever arrangements were needed to make it so, and would deliver the happy news to Aamir Rahmani as well (he was away from the estate, but still in town). It was decided they would leave Craine immediately on the morrow, providing Merasiël’s weapons could be found in that time. Proximo penned some letters for his contacts at the show’s tour cities, encouraging them to make all the arrangements there in his name, and gave them to the Heroes. They parted company in good spirits.

After returning to the Gleaming endeavor and informing Captain Finn of their intentions, the Heroes retired back to the Crimson Mug Inn for the rest of the day. Some time later, a package was delivered to them: Merasiël’s knives; another eight gold marks were ponied up for their redemption—she was very thankful for their return, but rather depressed at how much money she “owed” the company as a result of her misfortune. In the evening, after much drinking (including some spectacular spills by Gestlin, resulting in his spending far more coin than he intended to compensate for lost drinkage and wet clothing), the company retired to bed. Sometime in the middle of the night, most of the Heroes awoke to the sound of someone creeping in their room; as they started out of bed, they saw the flash of steel in the darkness, as an assassin leapt forward and attempted to knife them:

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  • Rainald went for his nearby hammer, but dropped it when his assailant landed with a knee across his throat. He managed to avoid being stabbed as the two struggled; he got two hands around the attacker’s throat, and got one of his arms slashed nearly to the bone in the process. Merasiël had not been similarly visited, and arrived at Rainald’s room, flying in behind the assassin to stab him in the back, just before Rainald snapped his neck with his hands. Rainald tossed the now-dead man aside, and Merasiël made sure he wouldn’t be getting back up, before rushing down the hall to help the others.
  • Gestlin rolled clear of his would-be murderer and managed to cast Stun on him; as the assassin tried to recover, Gestlin cast Sleep, and the killer fell to the floor unconscious. Gestlin then quickly threw open the window shutters and checked to see if it was clear, then cast Apportation on the sleeping attacker and levitated him out of the window, and up.
  • Brother Mendel tried to go for his staff in the darkness, being night-blind, and got cut by the effectively-invisible assailant; as the killer was atop him, Brother Mendel managed to Command him to “roll off,” and the assassin involuntarily obliged. Scrambling to his feet while Brother Mendel fumbled for his staff, he was trapped by the arrival of Gabriel and Magnifico at the doorway behind him; the killer fled between them into the hallway to escape, but was not fast enough to get clear before Gabriel could run him through multiple times with his family’s rapier.
  • Dane briefly considered reaching for his bow, but grabbed his shortsword instead; he and his assassin exchanged steel, back and forth, both landing weak blows here and there. The would-be murderer had his back to the room’s window when Gabriel, now finished with the one in the hallway, arrived at Dane’s door to join the dance; the assailant went for the window, but was not fast enough to reach it before Gabriel could run him through.

Brother Mendel tended the wounded, including himself, while the others summoned the guard and reassured the other guests that it was over. Gestlin had the only surviving assassin still fast asleep and floating outside the inn window; Magnifico bade him float the assassin close by, so that he could cast Mind Search on him. The unconscious killer could not resist Magnifico’s spell, and they learned that he was sent by the Assassins’ Guild on behalf of an unknown client to claim a ten gold mark bounty on each of their heads—excepting Merasiël, who was not known to be with the Heroes until earlier this day. Having learned what they felt they could, Gestlin floated the sleeping assassin back out of the window and high into the night sky, after which he let the man go, dropping him to land at the feet of the guards as they approached the inn.


Notes

  • This session marked the return of Melissa from her hiatus. The character, Merasiël, is a timelost she-elf rogue/assassin-type the Heroes met before she was timelost—when they time-traveled back a thousand years to locate a mighty artifact. Now stuck in her future, she fought beside the Heroes in the Crusade, and as did most of them, disappeared to go their separate ways for seven years or so afterward, until now
  • The attempted “rescue” of Merasiël was a comedy-of-errors. Rainald’s first reaction was to ask “How much for that woman?” Once Gestlin jumped the gun, and Blinked her out of the cage, it was pandemonium. Then the guards showed up: Brother Mendel rolled an 18 on Diplomacy, while the guard rolled a 4 on his Reaction—if it were Mendel by himself, he would have certainly been attacked. Once things were smoothed over with Proximo, it was back to Rainald’s idea 😛
  • We would have liked to go straight to Tredroy, given the information we got last time, but it appeared that it would be faster to sail around Al-Wazif and upriver to Tredroy than to cross the desert “as the crow flies.” Given the route would take us past Bannock, we figured we might as well go ahead and do a show there—it’s on the way, and we would likely stop there anyway
  • The assassins caught everyone unarmed and unarmored, and could potentially have killed someone, especially if they had ended up in the right rooms to start (like Magnifico’s). As it was, we pulled it off anyway, though not without injury
  • As a GURPS player, though my opinion is that the Neck Snap Technique is a bit too “cinematic,” I’ve always been looking for an opportunity to use it. Finally, I found my opportunity, and rolled max damage—swing of 2d+2=14, ×1.5 for the neck location =21 HP; the poor bastard died instantly. Satisfaction, for once 😛