Olympus RPG Blog

Olympus Role Playing Group Blog

Dramatis Personæ

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


bs-bannockcompound-night

Of Blindness and Recovery

10 May 2014

Continued… The Heroes collected their light-coins and dragged the bodies of the slain guards, and the one dead Templar, to the shadows of the keep, as Brother Mendel finished healing his wounded comrades. They began to look for a way into the keep that did not involve the front door, which they knew to be guarded by another Templar wizard (wounded by Dane’s arrows). Gabriel, his leg restored, climbed up to the keep’s second-level balcony and tried the doors there, but found them barred from the inside. Just then, another guard rounded the keep’s corner nearly on top of them; Rainald threw his spear, striking the man in the shoulder, before drawing Gramjarn to charge; at the same time, Merasiël sprinted and rounded behind the guard, stabbing him in the kidneys, and he fell. Rainald dragged the guard’s body over to his fallen brethren, while Merasiël climbed up to the balcony to aid Gabriel. Meanwhile, the others examined the keep’s windows at ground-level and found them also barred from the inside. Gestlin cast Apportation to remove the bar on one of the windows, on the slim chance he might succeed, and was surprised to find it had worked; he then informed the others of the open window.

The Heroes crept through the now-open window into the compound’s refectory as quietly as could be managed. Merasiël went through before, and helped her less-stealthy fellows, but a misstep while aiding Gestlin resulted in him stumbling over one of the tables. The scant light in the room came from the night sky through the window and a crack of light under one of the doors to the interior of the building. In remedy, Gestlin passed around a few Night Vision potions to the others; Rainald drank one, knowing not what it was, and was surprised at the result. Gabriel and Merasiël listened at the “lit” door, and heard hushed voices beyond; dropping to the floor to peer through the crack under the door, they could also make out a swirling mist beyond, much like they encountered in the courtyard outside at the hands of the Templar—their enemy was clearly prepared for an attack. Quietly, the Heroes concocted a plan: Brother Mendel would cast Dispel to remove the magical mist, to be released once the door was flung open by Gabriel at Brother Mendel’s command; at the same time, Gestlin would cast and hold a Fireball, hoping to target the Templar wizard once the mist was cleared; the others took up positions around the door, ready to rush in and attack. With everyone in position, and spells prepared, Brother Mendel signaled Gabriel to open the door.

bs-bannockcompound-insideA familiar “thwack!” preceded a crossbow bolt struck deep in Gestlin’s chest; by will alone, he held onto his Fireball without dropping it. Nearly simultaneously, Brother Mendel loosed his spell, which instantly negated the swirling magical fog that concealed their enemy in the adjoining, well-lit room—three mercenaries, one at the far end bearing a crossbow, and a Templar amidst them, all hastily equipped, having obviously been roused from sleep. Rainald and Merasiël charged through the door, followed by Gabriel, but were met at the threshold by a shield-rush to prevent their advance; Merasiël managed to slip past and circled ’round to flank the crossbowman; Rainald met force with force at the threshold; Gabriel tumbled over Rainald and through the shield-wall, and bore down upon the Templar, who appeared to be casting a spell with his sword; Dane, seeing the blockage at the door, found the other, and through it, hasted toward the enemy’s other flank. Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash of light centered on the Templar, unbalancing all save the two mercenaries that had their backs to him; Rainald, and Gestlin (still holding the Fireball), were effectively blinded for a few moments. Rainald held fast at the threshold, blindly swinging Gramjarn in front of him, while the mercenaries tried to find the gaps in his armor with their spears; some wounds were exchanged, in spite of the difficulty, to both sides. Brother Mendel healed Gestlin of the bolt-wound but could do nothing for his blindness, nor for Rainald. bs-614-screen1Meanwhile, the Templar’s second spell backfired before he abandoned his spellcasting altogether to defend himself, backpedaling before Gabriel’s continued press. Dane appeared through a side door to the flank and began to loose arrows at the enemy. Merasiël had bolted ’round behind the crossbowman as he reloaded his weapon, and slashed his throat, though not deeply enough to kill him outright; he turned to face her and produced a shortsword, but in that instant, Merasiël saw an opportunity as Gabriel backed the Templar toward her, and quickly plunged her blade deep into the back of his skull. At the same time Gabriel, Merasiël and Dane finished the crossbowman, while Brother Mendel had struck one of the mercenaries with a Sunbolt, wounding him deep and setting him aflame, Gestlin’s and Rainald’s sight was returned (though blurry as the others’); Rainald brought down his hammer upon Brother Mendel’s target, breaking his arm, while Gestlin finally loosed his fireball past Rainald at the other, throwing the mercenary mightily backward and killing him instantly.

All enemies lay dead or dying; those not dead, Gabriel hurried along. The Heroes made a quick check of their foes’ persons and found little of use or value, but Brother Mendel picked up the Templar’s hand-and-a-half sword and determined it to have some magical properties, and so kept it. Gestlin having scouted the building earlier in the week (through his Possession of a cat) knew the way, and pointed the group to the basement stairs; Gabriel and Merasiël went ahead, and found a padlocked-and-barred (from the outside) door, which Merasiël picked open. The two proceeded into the total-darkness cautiously, and discovered the prison there, reeking of filth and sickness; Merasiël retreated, reminded of her own past encounter with such a place. As the others filed in behind them, bringing light, Rainald stayed at the top of the stair to keep watch, joined at the bottom of the stair by Merasiël. There were a handful of pathetic folk in the cells there, maltreated and malnourished, one of which answered to the names “Etmund” and “Wallace” by retreating further into his cell, muttering; the man they barely recognized as Etmund Moree, Lord Wallace’s Master-of-Coin, was so traumatized by his torturers that his mind was utterly broken, such that he could hardly respond to the Heroes’ questions—Brother Mendel cast a Forgetfulness spell upon him, hoping to unburden his mind of any recent torturous moments, though it eased him only a little. Gabriel was adamant that all the prisoners should be released, and set about opening their cells and arming them with the mercenaries’ weapons, though naught was truly expected of them but more cowering should they meet their captors in battle—it was all the Heroes could do to coax them into leaving their cells at all, they believing their release a test of loyalty by their masters.

Too late to hide, Rainald spotted another man—a priest, perhaps—stepping into the hall before him; as the man cried out to his fellows, Rainald moved to throw his spear, but the butt of the spear struck the wall behind him, knocking it from his grasp—he toe-flipped it back to his hand, to try again, but the alarm had already been raised. To be continued…


Notes

  • Magnifico’s player had to sit this session out on account of a case of houseguests; the character mostly just hung back for the duration
  • Gestlin rolled a Critical Success on his Apportation of the window, not even really expecting it to work at all (-10 for not being able to see the bar)
  • Merasiël rolled a Crit Fail to assist Gestlin through the window
  • This session was mostly fighting; wrapping up last week’s tussle, and another. Having already figured out the Dispel trick to get rid of the “mist,” fighting the second Templar wasn’t as bad, though the “flash-bang” was a well-placed surprise (no defense against the -3 DX is pretty rough). At least this one wasn’t in the dark
  • The Templar ended up rolling a Crit Failure on his second casting; result=took a point of damage
  • Merasiël was in a position to ambish the Templar from behind, but was engaged with the crossbowman and did not want to turn her back to him; the GM coaxed her into it with free CPs. She actually didn’t do enough damage to knock him down at first—a point shy of a Major Wound—until a few rounds later, we remembered the knife she used was of Fine quality; the GM retconned the result
  • Rainald ended up rolling two 18s; one on a Block defense that made his shield unready (which he just ignored), and the other on the spear-throw at the end

So much for the element of surprise.bloody_dagger

Merasiël ducked around one of the compound guards, tumbling past his sword to seek the cover of a nearby column. She paused once there, remaining just out of view of the templar and his bowman. The horrible events from outside the manor a few minutes ago had been a painful reminder that the shadows, not the open battlefields, were her home. It was easy to forget this when fighting beside Rainald and Gabriel. The pair simply waded into the fray, comfortable in the knowledge of their own skill, or at least, the skill of Mendel to get them back on their feet should things go badly. She didn’t remain where she was for long; her target would soon reload his crossbow and she needed to remove him from play before another feathered bolt struck down another of her companions.

A quick sprint to the safety of another column left her within attacking distance and still out of view. She slipped from the shadows and stepped behind the bowman, placed her blade on his jugular and sliced neatly across. While the cut was not deep enough to kill, her distraction proved a success; no more bolts would fire from his crossbow this night.

As the battle raged on, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Gabriel had forced the Templar to retreat to a position that was close, leaving his unarmored head within her reach. It would be so easy, she thought, but dare I risk turning my back to my other enemy? When a brief vision of her unconscious form lying on the floor bleeding out passed before her eyes, she buried the thought deep within and turned away from the injured crossbowman. Two steps found her on the Templar’s back, bracing one foot on his hip, her opposite knee in the small of his back and grasping his shoulder with her left hand. Blade met bone with a sickening crunch as she buried Angrist to the hilt in the back of his skull.

As the Templar fell to the ground, Angrist slid out easily, and words floated to her ears through the red haze of battle.

“Marry me.”

It took a moment for them to register, and she simply stared at the man in white that now faced her, blood and brain matter decorating the stone floor beside her feet. Is he…serious? Did he really just ask me to marry him in the middle of an enemy compound after I opened a hole in someone’s skull? Sounds of the continuing battle going on around her threatened to capture her attention, and she masked her confusion within a scowl and curt answer before turning away.

“No.”

Gabriel’s grin in response to her rejection did little to ease her mind.


“Lady Misthal, you enchant me. Thank you.”beckinsdale2

Merasiël smiled as Edward lifted one of her hands to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. “Whatever for?”

“For coming to my rescue, of course! All of the insufferable noblemen, their wives, their,” Edward grimaced, “daughters. This feast is supposed to be a joyous occasion…celebrating my glorious return from Megalos. But I must confess, I did not feel like celebrating. Not until I met you.” He paused for a moment, staring at Merasiël’s reflection in the rippling water of the fountain beside them. “Stay with me.”

“Lord Edward?”

“Stay. Please. Call it the magic of the Elves, call it an impulsive boyish fantasy, but you truly have placed a spell on me. We’ll have a room prepared, and before you answer, I must tell you that will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Merasiël lifted a hand, gently caressing his jawline, “So sudden…”

“I will beg if I must.”

“Yes. I will stay with you.”

Edward’s enthusiastic grin in response to her affirmation did little to ease her mind.


Hyrnan, August 2013 ce, Estate of Lord Bonet

Two months.

Two long, painful, boring months of idleness had been spent playing the part of the “Lady Misthal from the Great Forest” and Merasiël’s already miniscule amount of patience was nearly gone. For his part, Lord Tereus had been correct in his belief that insinuating herself into the comings and goings of the household would be easy. Lord Edward had been sent away to court at a young age, and while he was there he developed quite a fascination for elves. Merasiël had but to appear at the feast celebrating his return that evening with her ears on display and the young Lord had been hers. She had been welcomed into the household that night, and subsequently his arms within the week. From there, gathering information about Edward’s father had proved to be more difficult than she expected. Edward was…persistent with his attentions and she had very little time alone. If Edward himself had known anything of his father’s dealings, he kept silent on the matter. She had gathered what information she could and waited for further instructions.

She occasionally received word from Tereus, usually in the form of cleverly coded messages hidden within deliveries. Merasiël had responded to each; delivering what information she had learned since the last contact on the comings and goings of the elder Lord Bonet as well as some of his allies, but Tereus was still not satisfied. Lord Bonet kept his darkest secrets close.

Until the day that the elder Lord announced a visit to the Megalan capital. And, Merasiël was happy to hear, the younger Lord Edward would be joining him.

“Lady Misthal, Lord Bonet has summoned you.”

Merasiël thanked the servant and adjusted her dress, expecting to once again spend the morning listening to Edward tell tales of court and recite horrible Megalan poetry. To her surprise, when she arrived at Edward’s suite, it was the Elder Lord Bonet waiting for her, and not Edward.

“Lord Bonet, this is a surprise. I hadn’t—”

“Enough,” he cut her off mid-sentence. “I know what you are up to.”

Merasiël swallowed. He couldn’t know, she thought. I’ve been too careful. Too conservative. “I don’t understand, milord.”

“He speaks of you near constantly to me, telling me the most fantastic tales. A strange, beautiful, wandering elf, from a destroyed homeland far to the west. One who happens to appear in my home the very day my son returns and bewitches him. He announced his intentions at breakfast this morning to propose to you.” His voice hardened, the lines on his face deepening along with his scowl. “I had heard news that elves had near taken over Harkwood and were insinuating themselves into noble bloodlines there, but I hadn’t expected their reach to go this far.”

“Milord, I swear to you, I had—”

“ENOUGH!” he bellowed. “Not here. Not in my home. And not in my city. Your…kind is responsible for that abominable Blackwood. And I will not have your kind ruining Hyrnan as well!” He pointed a finger in her direction. “Now, I leave on a ship bound for Megalos on the morrow. Edward will be going with me and when we return, he will have a proper wife. I want you gone from my household within the week. Do you understand?”

Merasiël buried her smirk of satisfaction behind a deep curtsey and forced her voice to be as trite as she could possibly manage. “Yes, Lord Bonet.” The door slammed after her as she was escorted from the room, but she barely heard it. Her mind was already a-whirl with plans.


Edward hadn’t been allowed to speak to her of course. As the litter creaked its way down the drive early the next morning, Merasiël risked one brief glance out the window, but thankfully the morning fog prevented any view of the occupants. She half expected him to come running back to the manor like a madman, professing his love, but as the morning drew on, the road remained silent and Merasiël remained alone. The staff, under instruction from Lord Bonet, had abandoned her and she was forced to make do for herself for the day, dressing herself and getting her own food from the kitchen. She preferred it, as she did not like their constant attentiveness and it left her with plenty of time to think. She knew that the elder Lord Bonet kept at least one guard outside his personal offices at all times. But Merasiël had her own way of getting places, and she had long since found her way to the roof.

As day turned to night, the house grew gradually more still as the last of the staff finished their chores and retired. With Lord Bonet away, some tried to stay up a bit later than usual, and voices and laughter drifted up from the windows of the servants’ quarters long after the rest of the household had gone to sleep. Nonetheless, there was still work to be done the next day and one by one, they all quietened down. When Merasiël was sure the only ones awake would be the guard, she crept to the window and opened it. She had abandoned her dress this night, donning a pair of dark trousers and shirt she had stolen from the laundry when no one was looking. They were a bit baggy, and she had secured them as best she could with her belt. She slid her sheathed dagger on the belt almost as an afterthought. If all went well, violence would not be necessary. Pity.

The two months she had spent learning her way around the manor paid off. She scrambled to the roof, dislodging only a leaf or two of ivy in the process. She held her breath as one leaf drifted close to one of the guards, but he either did not notice, or chose to ignore it. Once on the roof, she paused to catch her breath. She was weakened after two months of living a life of idleness, and every muscle in her arms was complaining about the exertion. She gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain and grasped hold of the ivy on the opposite side of the house, this time to descend to the windows of Lord Bonet’s third floor study.

The window was unlocked. Merasiël frowned as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. This isn’t right, she thought. As worried as he is about his secrecy, this window should be locked. Taking extra care to be quiet, she ignored the voice in her head telling her to leave and stepped into the dark room. Enough starlight filtered in from the windows that she could make out the locations of the furniture, and she she crept to the desk, and began her search. While she could see, the darkness caused her some difficulty in actually making out the details of what she was looking at, but she dared not light a candle.

Wait, she thought, squinting in the low light. Here it is. She tilted the paper so that the starlight aided her vision. Yes. Every single one of them is named. What do these numbers mean out to the side? She was so intent upon her study that she missed the sound of footfall approaching in the hall. The only warning she had was the shuffle of booted feet as the guard came to attention and the click of the lock turning.

To be concluded in part III…

With a loud clash of metal, Rainald met the guard’s attack with his own shield and held. There were two of them, armed only with what could be donned rapidly and still with sleep crusting their eyes, plus the Templar and the crossbowman. Merasiël was already in the great room, having tumbled past one of the soldiers, but Gabriel’s attention was on the Templar. He was holding his weapon aloft, lips moving in what could have been a prayer but was more likely as spell. Gabriel grinned wolfishly – this was just like fighting the Vasar all over again.

Well … almost.

Blademaster

Eight Years Ago

The hills were black with bugs.

They flooded down toward the vanguard from both sides of the mountain pass, their great legs eating up vast distances in great chunks. War horns – human, elven, dwarven, Huallapan – sounded as the crusaders fell back into practiced formations. Already, flags were flashing as the commander of this host – Sir Dane Sardock – issued rapid commands and instructions for placement. The slap of bowstrings echoed around them and hundreds of charging Vasar stumbled as arrows slammed home. Enough of the creatures fell that their surprise assault was blunted just long enough for the last of the crusaders to fall into place.

To Gabriel, the noise of the battlefield was of little importance. He focused on control, mentally envisioning a flame as he fed all of his emotions into it. Around him, the soldiers of the infantry formation he was ostensibly in command of shifted anxiously, muttering and grumbling with poorly concealed fear. More than a few glanced in his direction – he was, Gabriel had to admit, the least armored of them, though to a man, they had witnessed his lethality in battle – and he let their gazes wash over him without visible reaction. Here, in this place, in this moment, none of that mattered. Inhale control. Exhale emotion.

“Hold!” the serjeant bellowed, his words resulting in the soldiers firming up their shield wall. In all matters, he was the true leader of this company, not Gabriel, and no one thought otherwise. The Vasar drew closer …

Boom. The bugs smashed into the braced pikes and spears with a teeth-rattling crash. Blood and ichor flew as the creatures struggled to overwhelm them. Men screamed. Metal clashed against chitin. The screams of wounded and dying warriors, human and not, filled the air like a shrill cacophony.

And still, Gabriel stood, unmoved, unreacting, unyielding. His eyes flickered over the Vasar’s numbers. Where? This many could not be controlled easily. So where? There!

He sprang forward, using the bent back of a soldier kneeling to reload his crossbow as a springboard to hurdle up over the shield wall. Cries of surprise rang out behind him as he landed in the middle of the Vasar formation, rolled forward and then darted up. He twisted around one of the bugs, spun around another, and kept running. A moment later, he reached his target.

The Alpha shrieked and hissed in surprise as Gabriel attacked. He opened with Arc of the Moon and the bug threw itself back, narrowly evading his decapitating strike, and then tried to retaliate with its glaive. Gabriel caught the surprisingly light weapon thrust with his rapier, expertly redirecting it into the dirt. With the bug momentarily out of position, he flowed into a favored strike. The Mongoose Takes a Viper put the creature even further out of place and his rapid follow-up thrust punched through the armored chitin. Again, the Alpha shrieked, though this time it was in pain, and the Vasar it was psychically connected to visibly trembled. Even as the bug staggered back, Gabriel struck again with Snow in High Wind – ichor flew as the Alpha dropped to its knees. It had just enough time to look up at him before The Thistledown Floats on the Whirlwind took its head.

Instantly, chaos erupted amongst the Vasar attacking his unit. Some went insane with fury, attacking anything, including their allies, within range. Others simply froze in place and stared stupidly at the crusaders who were killing them. Yet others simply continued on with what they were already doing, in some cases utterly ignoring their now insane brothers stabbing at them from behind.

It was … glorious.

“Push now!” the serjeant roared. Spears and pikes and swords flashed. Gabriel eyed the results, nodded, and flowed forward, his sword dancing. Stones Falling Down the Mountain became The Tower of Morning. The Leopard’s Caress crippled the leg of a bug, opening it up for Kissing the Adder. The Falling Leaf caught a glaive attack, and he slid easily into Watered Silk, leaving behind another twitching corpse. “Well done, my lord!” the serjeant exclaimed as Gabriel almost leisurely flowed from Lightning of Three Prongs to Low Wind Rising. The soldiers advanced another step, allowing him to step back behind their shields. He glanced to the west where Rainald was assigned and smiled – the North-Hammer was in the midst of the battle, laying about with that ridiculous hammer of his, but it seemed he too had opted to target an Alpha at the first opportunity. On the other side of the northman, the unsmiling elf woman, Merasiël, was attached to another formation, but they were too distant for Gabriel to see.

He shook his head, pushing the random thoughts out of his mind, and went back to work. There was killing to be done.


“You dance the forms well,” a dark-haired stranger said later that evening. The camp was in a jubilant mood – the Vasar ambush had cracked like a nut thanks to expert placement, and the thunderous approach of the Royalist detachment led by that mountain of a man, Malfoy, had sent them scattering. There had been casualties, of course, but they were few compared to what could have been and the field was littered with slain bugs. Even better was the sheer number of local Huallapans present who had witnessed the decisive victory. They chattered with awe and excitement, many already pleading to join the army.

“Not well enough,” Gabriel admitted with a scowl. His arm still stung from where a Vasar glaive had eluded his defenses and scored a cut. Mendel had given it a look and then ordered it wrapped, but was too busy with the truly wounded to waste his magical skills upon such a tiny scratch. Rainald had mocked its very existence – loudly – and then tried to convince everyone within hearing distance (and some beyond) that he could have held the bugs himself.

“So say we all,” the stranger said with a smile. He was wearing the arms of a Megalos footman, but bore a single-edged long-blade that curved slightly instead of the usual broadsword so prevalent in this army. The man stood with both hands clasped at the small of his back, but at a simple glance, Gabriel knew he was in the presence of a true blademaster. It was in the man’s posture, the easy, poised way he stood, or perhaps the cool composure in his eyes. Likely a combination of them all. “Who trained you?” the man asked.

“My father,” Gabriel replied. “He never formally tested for dragon-mark and died before he could finish my training.”

“By what I saw, Friend,” the dark-haired man said, “you have seen to that yourself.” He unclasped his hands and offered one. “I am Gaius, late of Quartedec.” The gauntlets upon his arms bore the unmistakable sigil of a dragon-marked master of the sword and the tattoo upon the back of his ungloved hands.sparkled in the sun.

“Gabriel, late of Wallace.” He clasped the man’s hand. “You are far from Quartedec, Master Gaius,” he added.

“I was traveling through Caithness when this expedition was assembled.” The master flashed a smile. “What sort of swordsman would I be if I made no efforts to join it?” His eyes flickered with amusement the moment he saw Auqui practicing nearby. The dark-haired half-elf girl who had somehow attached herself to them both- Kira, Gabriel thought she was named – was there as well, watching with those laughing eyes of hers. “You have students,” Master Gaius said with something undefinable in his voice.

“The boy lost his father some years back,” Gabriel replied slowly. He frowned – Auqui was being sloppy with the forms again; he would never be as good as he wanted if he didn’t learn to focus! – and continued carefully. “Instructing him … he and I feel into this arrangement by circumstance, not intention.” Master Gaius nodded. “The girl … she has asked to learn the blade but I have not answered.” Girl. Was it accurate to call her thus? She was half-elf and could easily be twice his age.

“Still,” the dragon-marked master said, “your name is well known within the camp. The men of Caithness accord you the respect of a blademaster.” Gabriel dipped his head slightly in simple acknowledgement of this fact.

“Kill enough of them and even Caithnessers will take note,” he replied wryly, earning a short bark of laughter from the blademaster before him. “I was about to have dinner,” Gabriel added. “Would you join me?” The dark-haired man shook his head.

“Alas,” Gaius said, “I have other duties to attend.” He drew his weapon in single, fluid move, falling into a ready stance even before the blade was out. For his part, Gabriel had already spun away, his own weapon whispering free of its scabbard. “Let us see if you are worthy of the acclaim I hear,” the dragon-marked man said. He flowed forward.

And they began to dance.

Never in his life had Gabriel been this hard-pressed, not even when he’d first touched a sword and his father began to instruct him. The Kingfisher Circles the Pond narrowly batted aside Courtier Taps His Fan. Master Gaius was faster than anyone he’d ever faced, even those damnable dark elves, and the whole world constricted to this single moment. Twisting the Wind met Kissing the Adder. Sounds fell away, leaving only the void. Ribbon in the Air nearly disemboweled him, but Watered Silk almost took Master Gaius’ left eye. They circled.

“You dance the forms exceptionally well,” the older man said. “I had my doubts with that shorter blade …”

He attacked even before he was finished speaking – Lightning of Three Prongs – but Gabriel was retreating, slipping sideways to counter with The Mongoose Takes a Viper. It slid past Master Gaius’ defenses and would have struck home had the blademaster not twisted away desperately at the last instant. Again, they circled.

“What is this madness?” someone who sounded a great deal like Wallace bellowed. Gabriel gave Master Gaius a questioning look and the older man nodded slightly. Together, they stepped back from each other, lowering their blades in smooth, practiced motions that almost mirrored one another, and finally bowed slightly.

“A test, Your Grace,” Gaius said. He sheathed his sword. “I wished to see the talents of your young knight firsthand.”

“By trying to kill him?” Wallace was glowering, though most of the warriors around him looked either bored or annoyed that he’d broken the contest up. Rainald was definitely irritated and stood in a ring of men that Gabriel knew to all be inveterate gamblers. Money had not yet changed hands and now seemed unlikely to do so.

“Without challenge,” Master Gaius said simply, “one cannot test their limits.” He bowed his head quickly, first to Wallace and then to Gabriel. “Another time, young blademaster,” he said with another smile before gliding away with an easy grace that hinted at lethality.

“Many apologies, my lord,” Gabriel said, directing his words to Wallace and successfully pulling the man’s attention away from the departing Gaius. Departing from a man of his rank without seeking his permission could be considered as something of an insult – the fact that Gaius chose to use the arrogant saunter that was Cat Crosses the Courtyard indicated it was obviously intended as such – but Gabriel did not want Wallace to act without thinking. Again. There was already enough trouble with the royalists, especially if the rumors about the lord and that Simonton merchant girl had any basis in truth; they didn’t need to create even more trouble with the much needed Megalan mercenaries. “I will see that this does not happen again.”

“Damned fools,” Wallace muttered as he stomped off. He was flanked by Dane who offered only an amused shake of his head, and a moment later, Gabriel stumbled back a step when Rainald stabbed a meaty finger into his chest.

“I lose much silvers on you,” the burly northman grumbled. Gabriel blinked.

“We did not finish our duel,” he said.

“Five moves and dead,” Rainald retorted, gesturing sharply with one hand that held up four fingers. “Less probably, then with the dancing off and stealing more of my deads.” He glared halfheartedly and Gabriel frowned, mentally translating the big man’s words into something understandable.

“Your deads,” he repeated. “Your kills?”

“Yes, this. You know I mean this. Next time, making better, lítillbróðir.” He walked away, bellowing for someone to break out the ale in that ground-rattling voice of his. Or perhaps he was asking for the privy. With his accent, sometimes it was difficult to tell.

The feel of eyes upon him drew his attention and Gabriel almost winced at the too-bright gaze of Auqui. As before, the boy was staring at him with stars in his eyes, so desperate for glory that he refused to look at the hard work still ahead. Try as he might, Gabriel still had not instilled in the lad the understanding of what it truly meant to be a blademaster. The constant work, the fanatical devotion to the Art, none of that sank in. All Auqui saw was the end result and he wanted it now.

“Snow in High Wind!” he snapped, suddenly cross. To his credit, Auqui responded quickly enough and with adequate grace so as to not entirely look the fool, but Gabriel scowled as if disappointed. “Arc of the Moon!” he ordered as he drew closer, his critical eye noting the weaknesses in his student’s form. The young woman, Kira, drew her own weapon and followed Auqui’s lead – she had a natural grace and speed that the boy needed to work for, but her inexperience with the stances resulted in sloppy forms – and Gabriel blew out another frustrated breath. “Terrible,” he muttered, including both of them. “One quarter speed,” he said as he assumed the ready stance himself, nodding when they did the same. “Cutting the Wind,” he instructed as he flowed into the proper stance.

There was a lot of work to do.

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)


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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.

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  • 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