Age of Ice and Blood: A Pathfinder System Heroic Fantasy Quest

[DragonParadox]

In Bloody Scales ​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Though you have taken many a perilous wagers in this world, this is not one you are willing to contemplate and so with sword of bronze and flame raised high you give your answer, and so you strike the foe's head from his shoulders, blood strutting upon you dreadfully warm.

"Sidu!" the tinker fey calls, a word, a name ripped from his lips in agony, but agony does not keep him back as he draws back his cloak as he had done when he had fled before, but as the smoke gathers this time another speaks: Esha and her words are hollow yet filled with spite, a darkness not seen but felt. The last you see of the thief as he vanishes are his eyes turned red and blood without pupil or iris, blinded by the woman his ally had almost killed

One more shot rings out from the hideout, dispirited it seems to you and then as the Lawgivers make themselves known again the shooting stops, though the winged guards are quick to press their attack now that the most dangerous of foes are dead or gone. You bite back vitriol that would do little. At least you have the spear... at least you hear Swift Pebble in your mind telling you she is coming back.

Then at your feet you hear a dreadful gurgle and looking down you see that it spews out of the troll's neck stump as the hand of flesh reaches out for its head. More from sheer instinct than intend you bring the sword down again, severing the hand, but fire does not seem to be enough to end it.

"Here, let me," so saying Esha reaches out with one slender hand still covered in her own drying blood and touches the twitching mass of flesh and steel.

Color leeches out of the world
Sound is sliced from being
in the stillness all seems wrought
Only to crumble

The troll does not move anymore and you are gladder than you aught to have been that Silver tosses his head in his own unease, giving you a chance to turn your gaze aside while you gather your wits. It had not been the first time you had seen someone kill with magic, not by far, but always there had been some intermediary, ice or fire or silver light, this had been different. Even in your own mind you do not have the words to say how, or even if those words exist in any tongue you speak.

Before you can consider the matter any more deeply Zaia calls you over to the two other bodies, the ones that had attacked from behind with blades of True Iron. "These are not fey..."

And indeed he is right, though the hooded figures are no larger than the Little Folk of Glimerdale they have about themselves none of the arcane grace, the spark of unreality that even the least of the fey seem to share. Instead they seem like some odd joining of man and lizard, for their faces are scaled, all white and grey now marked with blood and with an odd black symbol across the cheek like a three sided claw.

Spoiler: Dead Kobold

"Dragonspawn..." Esha breathes as Swift Pebble comes to stand beside you, "For someone so worried about the hand of the Old Ones the thief seems to have been quite willing to deal with them."

"Keep away from that!" the sharp voice of the head lawgiver comes from above. "You have your spear, the Wingless shall see to the rest!"

"We slew them in honorable battle, should we not look upon the face of our foes." It does not take knowing the man as well as you do to know Zaia cares not a whit about how honorable or not the fight might have been, he is curious about these new strange creature.

"You were given leave to seek justice, not scavenge where you will. You have what you came here for!" The pixie actually sets foot on the ground between Zaia and the corpse, the first time you had seen one of their kindred other than their lord set down at all.

"We were not the only ones to be robbed," you point out reasonably. "In exchange for passage to this realm we swore that we would return that which was taken from the workshop of the smith..."

"Yes... yes, go in there, the craven-fools have all fled and they took little with them in their haste," he waves vaguely at the hideout, in marked contrast to the swiftness of his words. "Take what you can from the pile, but this was not stolen from any smith, nor did any child of the deep earth forge that." With a single finger he points at the cold iron blade, as though worried that it would taint him in its mere nearness.

It is only now that you realize there are markings on it, similar in shape to the one on the face of the 'dragonspawn'. Perhaps they have some magic of their own, but it is the misery not the power that draws you. Where did such beings come from and why were they here?

What do you do?

[] Press to keep some spoils of the battle from the kobolds, be it a body for Zaia to study or one of their weapons

[] Leave the matter be, there is still the matter of Mengin to settle and she is in the hands of the Wingless still

[] Write in

OOC: Turns out seeing someone burn up the last scraps of a defeated foe for power looks creepy. Who knew... Seriously though, it is fun to write a non-magical's view of magic.

 

[DragonParadox]

Spoils and Severing​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Though you would learn more you hold your peace, the head had proven miserly with their secrets before. Why risk the anger of the city's law giver over such dubious gains? In that thought you are unlike Zaia you know, but he shall have to live with his disappointment as much as the rest of you do. Looking out over the pall of smoke that stains the ceilings of the city black you wonder at what secrets hide there that would tempt the fleet-winged fey to dive in their depths, you wonder more at the mechanisms and tools that are brought out from the house of their thieves. There are things of spun glass as delicate as a snowflake and thin strands of copper like the web of some depended spider dipped in blood, wheels and cogs and levers and paddles, but also other stranger creations: a codex of bronze plates that when held move swiftly one after the other such that the images placed there move as if alive, boxes with crystalline eyes and shrouds of black silk trailing them, arcane mourners of secrets best left unspoken

"Do you think all of it belongs to the smith?" Tom asks, not without prompting as he picks up a plate of jade adorned with tracery of gold. That thing alone might be worth a thousand Icari in Orinilu, assuming one found a buyer untroubled by its obviously arcane nature.

"We do not have anyone to ask, alas," you tip your head to the small piles of packs and belts that had been pulled from your dead foes. What was done with the bodies you do not know, but you are curious indeed at the sight of the thunder weapons. They seem to you unremarkable, tubes of brass on stock of wood or bone, though a crossbow that size would not have done near as much harm as those things had.

When you ask to acquire one the guard laughs and says that the fire-powder that is used to send the bullets flying is beyond the arts of men to master. Judging from the look Zaia gives the little fey and then the 'fire caster' it is clear he does not think much of the proclamation.

Still, no matter who has the right of it the thieves personal belongings are kept out of your hands even as the guards seem to care little what you take from the mare's nest that was the hideout; weapons, spare clothes, anything that gleams and anything that might offer some clue about the thief.

Time enough to sort through it all when you see the light of day again, in the meantime you have a promise to fulfill.

***​

It is not as fate would have it an easy one. Megin you discover is, or rather was, the patron and tribal guardian of a people who dwelt among the craggy peaks of North Africa, what was in your world called the Atlas Mountains, a harsh land that can support little more than bands of hunters that scavenge in the high ranges, but as the land is isolated from the outside world so too is it the home of rare herbs and roots which are much coveted in the lands by the alchemists of the Agber, one of which they call the apple of the earth and which they prize above all others even being willing to pay its weight in gold for the plant.

Yet the mountain dwellers will not share this thing, even for so high a cost for in it also is the secret to the great vitality of the Kings of Horses, the breed of Megin, which are as much spirit as they are flesh... or at least so they were, The hunters were relentlessly hunted with the aid and complicity of their neighbors and many of them perished in battles by day with weapons of bronze and in night raids by the Ihouri, the hollow puppets of the alchemists.

In desperation the herds had given over some of their foals over to the Tinker Fey to serve in their dark places in exchange for the arts by which the strangers could be driven out of the mountains.

"So it was for three thousand turnings of the Great Clock, what you could call eight years, a fraction of the ten thousand years of service which was asked for," the Wingless proclaims with the surety of a judge passing down a just verdict.

But here Swift Pebble interjects speaking for the one whose thralldom was being put to question. "But many more days have passed under the sun and it is in the mind of Megin that her people, kin of blood and oath are scattered, the aid was not enough to help against the invaders."

"Aid was given, no matter if it ended in victory or defeat," the Wingless proclaims. "Else every smith who sells a weapon to a warrior soon to be defeated is to be demanded weregild."

"But... but they were hurting her," the otter-kin pleads, to one unmoved.

"She refused to do the work given her and so she was punished by the contract that was made between her and the Guild of the Striders."

What do you do?

[] Try to buy Megin's freedom
-[] Write in what you are willing to spend in principle

[] Leave the matter be, the last thing you want is to be party to the intrigues of the Lost Ones, hard enough dealing with the merely mortal

[] Write in

OOC: You did not roll at all, but because of the bonuses of your previous decision (or rather the lack of maluses) you did not fail entirely.

 

[DragonParadox]

A Tale of Two Horses ​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Some even among the Slow Kith thought that the Freeborn were stupid because they did not pay heed to the way of many words, because they were more of flowing mane and running hooves than of the words spoken and scratched, but that was not so. It had been the kin of Megin and no son of man that had broken the chains first, it had been they who saw the lie in the light that snared, for their eyes were not set towards the horizon where the masters had set their false way, but to the side watching for danger. Danger was the one who built the pen and not just the screech of the Death Wings above. The Slow Kith thought their name came only from the fact that two legs could not match six, but that was not so, in the noise of man much could be lost that the Freeborn yet recalled, the wisdom of the Old Mares passed on as you would pass the best place to find water and food...

Ware the stone houses for they stand against the passing of the seasons, dead stone and poisoned earth, ware the shifting paths down in the valleys that promise water and respite but wind ever lower for there are deep sunless places where no grass grows, ware the traveler than comes bearing gifts and promises for they are often not what they seem.

The Grandmothers had tried to warn the Slow Kith, they had stampeded through the man-fields, they had left marks and spoor where the spirit seers would see, but men saw what they wanted to see. They had not driven out the strangers until they had come sixes of six and more and what use was that?

So one had to be sacrificed, one had to go down the long winding roads to sunless places, the price to be paid for the peace of the land, the sacrifice that went willing... only Megin had not been willing, not really. The First of the Herd send her here because she feared a challenge that her stiffening legs and fading sight could not match. You go down to be lashed to the gears of the Dwellers Below and made to work where sun and moon did not shine old nag...

***​

Silver did not understand money, not really. You could not eat it and you could not drink it. It was shiny enough, he supposed, and pleasing to the eye when it flashed in the light, but the little disks were hard to wear and be proud of so the notion that they would only spend so many of the coins and no more was bewildering, because he did not know if he should argue for more or leave be. What was one of those even worth?

In his heart Silver desired companionship like he had for a brief time with Mane of Fire, companion to Ziku of the Southlands, for it was a sorrowful thing to have company of the mind only with those whose shapes were so unlike his own, there was so much he could not share... What cares man for the taste of wildflowers? What cares beast that it reminded him of home?

But there was trouble, there was always trouble when it came to such deals he had learned as much before he came into the sunless land. When a thrall escaped the chains of her master it wounded his pride, as surely as if he had been struck about the head and addled with it. All the more so when it was a 'mere beast' who escaped.

The Miller looked nothing like any miller Silver had ever seen before, he was small like all the folk of this city, but made round like a wheel of cheese with fine living and he was pale like it. He had a pair of faded green eyes and a third eye of brass in the middle of his forehead, apparently it helped him see 'stuff'. Silver didn't like the way he giggled when he said that last bit, nor did he like the way the little man was looking at him. According to Roland-Friend the strange creature had promised not to break the peace of the city while they were here to talk about Megin but... Silver listened close.

"What am I supposed to mill the 'wort with then eh? Can't use a machine, that'll ruin the whole batch, can't use common beasts or they'll breathe in the stuff and there goes my profit."

"Can you not hire assistants?" Roland asked. "If it is a matter of paying for them then we are willing to reach some agreement..."

"Hire!" If possible the little man's voice got more annoying as he waved his pudgy fists about like one beset by flies. Silver wished a swarm of biting flies on him, one fit for a whole herd. "Then they'll know all my secrets. Nay, I need a beast, one clever enough to not snort in the dust, and that means I'll have to go as far as Ironthorn and then deal with their lot..."

"Dreamwort," Silver did not hear the word, but he read it on the lips of the maybe-mate of Roland.

But then she looked at Roland and said a thing unheard. A moment later Swift Pebble passed it on. "He's making dream-dust. It is frowned on in most of the realms of men that she knows of, though she is not sure if the same is true of this place..."

Having caught the Miller working with what might be an illegal substance do you try to press him into negotiating using this as leverage?

[] Yes, try to get a lower price that way

[] No, you do not even know if the dust is illegal here, pay as much as he asks, it is in your budget, barely (lose 1,300 Gold)

OOC: I hope the horse interlude is as fun for you guys to read as it was for me to write.

 

[DragonParadox]

The Perils of Precociousness ​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Perhaps Antonio will think you a fool for it, perhaps you shall live to regret the loss, paying more for a horse than one might for a galley in full sail... and yet it isn't for a horse, no more than Silver is 'a horse'. Megin is one who had come to you to be freed, possessed of reason and free will which priests said were only the province of men and in the dawn of time angels and demons. The priests were probably wrong, you think as you watch a gnarled old fey with a bell on his hat like a jester, though the bell is curiously silent, lean down and place a piece of bread into a beggar's bowl.

Lost 1,300 Icari

Neither virtue nor vice are found only in the form of man and if one were to allow the nature of angels or demons to all that is not man in this world why then you would o bad of such dreadful company. No you are not wholly certain what it is that surrounds you in this place nor why it is that some beasts speak with the tongue of man. You could not say for certain what makes the clockwork parts that clatter all about turn, but you know enough to get out of the way if any of this folk were to turn a weapon on you and you know also that the pot over yonder that spills out smoke that smells of savory pottage belongs to a cook and a skilled one at that so you shall not resent them the use of arts unknown...

Your musings on the nature of the world are taken off track by the unexpected presence of a sin in your ranks, even if it was the sin of too much curiosity.

"Where did you get this?" Esha's words are low and urgent, her eyes fixed on a whisker-quaveringly guilty looking Swift Pebble.

"You said it was bad, that the Miller was bad, I was... I wanted to know what it did and then we can burn it promise."

'it' is an otherwise unremarkable grey powder that shines when seen out of the corner of one's eye. There's about a handful of it in the otter-kin's bag. A handful for you that is... for her it must have been quite a few surreptitiously stolen handfuls and the dust itself, the stuff of dreams.

Gained 8 Doses of Dream Dust

"We aught to give it back," Tom says at once, ever the stout soul in such matters. Stealing fits him as much as a lady's scarf a bear, but others are not so sure.

Zaia looks grim as a mourner at the foot of the grave when he speaks without breath. "I doubt that one who deals in such dark incense would be inclined to take it back with a doffing of the hat and a 'by your leave'. At best he would ask for more coin in recompense, at worst there are worse things he could ask for as our new companion can attest."

By now Swift Pebble herself had caught the tenor of your concern and is contrite if not in a panic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make trouble, I just thought... since he was bad and we were going away from here soon anyway we could take some of his too-many-things. Then, then Zaia-healer could look at it and learn new things and... and..."

What do you do?

[] Get out of the city and back to mortal lands as fast as you are able

[] Haste will draw suspicion, linger, learn and buy as you had planned to before this revelation

[] Try to make things right with the Miller

[] Write in

What do you say to Swift Pebble?

[] Write in

OOC: Yeah, so it turns out if you hire on someone who is by her own people's measure is young and curious to be the rogue of the group and teach her the skills to sneak into a place and steal stuff, she is going to sneak around and steal things from the bad people, just as much as she is going to dive into battle at the drop of a hat. If you guys had given some sort of warning then she likely would have taken fewer risks, but as they say hindsight is 20/20, the question is what to do now.

 

[DragonParadox]

Stepping Softly ​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

"It is I who should have noticed and warned you..." you cut off the otter-kin before she can tie herself in knots any more. "From now on when you have such an inclination to battle or... exploring, tell us about it that we may all give counsel." As chastisement for stealing it is admittedly rather mild, but you shall not weep for the loss of one who takes thralls by treachery or force. "Come, we must not linger past the day." This last you say aloud and hope that you are heard.

Thus you flee, though outwardly you hasten only a little, just enough that any watchers would call it the fear of mortals who do not wish to be caught in the otherworld past the hour when time itself comes unarmored. Down the narrow corridors you go with hand upon the hilt of the sword, but none are bold or desperate enough to bar your way, up the winding stair of brass and stone that rings hollow to the step and then through the first circle of the city, back to the gate under the gleam of trapped lightning. You feel each gaze upon you keenly by the glow of trapped lightning yet there is no buzz of lawgivers above and no sight of any thugs from the Miller and his lot.

For her part Megin is near to outpacing you and Silver and little wonder for it, the marks of whip and scourge are all the clearer now. Inge asks if she wants them removed to which your new companion replies only, "Did well enough on my own, they don't hurt now."

"There is more to pain than flesh," Silver sighs, but only for your ears as you pass the great gate.

The sounds and sights of the city follow you a long while down the tunnel, but eventually they fade and with it fear of pursuit. Ahead a welcome figure looms...

"Back so soon," the troll asks. "You know you've two more days in the city or..." the words fade into the sound of grinding stone and it is only a moment later and in far lower tones that he adds, "Or you could stay and chat again, I've some gems I plucked out of the mountain to trade for it."

So saying he opens his enormous fists to show raw gems that shine like blood, like the foaming sea and like the starless night. Small they seem in the hands of the toll-troll, but large they would be in the scales of any mortal merchant. The stony lips twist into an uneven smile at once childlike and wise. He surely knows that men are easy to snare by greed, but his motives are you are almost assured kindly.

Dare you risk the wait?

[] Tarry a little while only (Gain a small pile of raw gems)

[] Tarry a fully day (Gain medium sized pile of raw gems)

[] Tarry as long as you can before the turning of the seasons starts to turn (Gain a large pile of raw gems)

OOC: The troll appears to want to spend time with you which is how you make friends, it is not just about the gems, but since he is fey he has to give you something in return for your time.

 

[DragonParadox]

What's in a Name ​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Though it might be unwise of you you linger, and in your mind resolve to tell Antonio you had done it for the gems, truth be told you are more saddened that the poor guardian had been left here to his own devices with none of the company he obviously craves. And so it goes, you talk around the rough stone table, excusing yourselves of partaking of the food of the faerie.

The guardian is halfway between excited and worried when you speak of the battle with the thugs, tsking over the folly of one of his kin replacing 'a perfectly good arm' with too-quick-moving metal, not to mention falling in with the wrong lot, that being the wee folk. "Too clever for their own good they are and dealing with dragon's slaves.... dragon's slaves I ask you, what good ever came of trading words with their lot? If you say the wrong thing the wyrm will act like you've spat in their faces and if you say the right thing and make a friend, why it's like you made friends with the mites in the cupboard. No one is going to hold their lot to account..."

"The dragonspawn?" Zaia asks. By now he had entirely given up in even pretending he is not writing all this down, having realized that the fey, or at least this on,e does not take it in ill spirit.

"The dragons. No one takes the dragons to account, why would they? They dwell in the deep dreaming where the world flows perilous-strange... well some of them do at least, thems that don't sleep under stone in the land of man. You met with one of those in the sun-lands, right?"

"Aye, and that's were the spear turned black," Tom replies , hefting the weapon with just a touch of pride.

"Must have been a young one then, not really that much magic out in the sunlands from what I hear," the guardian answers, then scratching his chin with the sound of stone on stone grinding, he adds. "Enough of it for the dragon's slaves though, you watch yourselves, not all their slaves have scales either, they can go down every hole."

It is not very mature of you, truly it is not, but the thought of four foot high reptilian beings 'going down holes' in the way they said it in London Town makes you snicker under your breath.

"What?" the troll asks bemused.

Esha gives you a sly smile. How the hell would you explain raunchy humor to a troll?

As it happens the answer is very slowly, with a lot of false starts and with enough embarrassment that you are concerned by the end if if will stain your cheeks red for the rest of the day. Still, in the end you manage it you think from the queasy fascination of your new friend. Still, he looks a little worried as well when he talks about the white-scaled ones, almost like he wants to hear about your strange mortal 'customs' to distract himself.

By now, more certain of yourself, you gently prod him to see if he would share why.

"Remember I told you that we drove back those that said they were kin of the Dragon-to-Be and drove them back?" he says at last and then he is silent. "Well someone really high up must have let them in later by secret ways. Doesn't bode well fer us or fer ye lot, doesn't bode well at all."

"Do you think that the master of the city paid tribute after all?" Esha asks, expression turning grave.

"Don't know fer sure, it's probably dangerous to find out it is..." Just as you are about to leave, rising from your seats, or in Silver and Megin's case walking towards the river again, the troll turns to you and says. "I'm Mynid, Mynid the Wayguard now, conjure by it if you have need and I'll deal with you fairly."

You freeze in your steps, unsure of what to say or do, for one of the rules you had been given was 'don't ask a fey their name unless you want blood'. How are you to react to one of them giving their name freely.

"How was he even able to offer that without asking for an exchange?" you ask Esha urgently

"Mortals do not have names as the fey do, there is no equivalent exchange," the sorceress answers, her mind voice softening perhaps in spite of herself. "You could hand him some blood if you wanted to make it as close as can be, but I don't think he gave us his full Name, enough to conjure, not enough to bind."

What do you say to Mynid's offer?

[] Write in

OOC: Well, you made both the not being followed and the friends with a troll roll so now you have to decide how to react to that. For the record the poor troll was really lonely, not a lot of people come down this way and only the mortals really have to talk to the gate guard, letting most fey by is rolled into his standing contract.

 

[DragonParadox]

Into the Sunlands ​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

"I am Roland de Verley, Knight of the Fellowship of Saint Nicholas, and I would be glad to call you a friend, Mynid the Wayguard." You clasp hands with the troll, the gesture seeming almost absurd in the mismatch of mortal flesh and living stone, though if he thinks any less of you for offering nothing more than the feather-light names of humankind he does not show it. Thus in a rush you add: "If ever your duty allows it, know that you would be a welcome guest among the Fellowship. We spend much of our time at sea, which is perhaps not the best environment for one of your stature and hardy constitution, but we have our base, Wayfarer's Respite, near the city-state of Orinilu, and maybe will build one more on Korman in the coming years."

"Hmm," the echoes off the jagged edges of all the stones about you, as though all of them had been given voice. "I never thought of going out into the Sunlands. 'T would be a perilous thing, and not just from the eyes of man."

"Ah..." Esha breathes, so softly you almost did not hear it, some flash of understanding. "I do not think the sun would do our new friend much good," she sends, by Swift Pebble's intercession, but before she can explain Mynid does it for her.

"My kin draws on the nature of stone, it makes us mighty at war and gives us memories like the mountains, but like the faces of the mountains, ever frozen facing the sky, we become as dead stone in the light of the sun." A long moment passes and, just as you are about to take your leave, he adds. "Still, perhaps it is worth the risk after all. Better to have company under peril of the sun than down here safe with naught but dumb stone for company."

"It can be... scary stepping out of the shadows," Esha says and you know that she does not mean the darkness of deep places or of the night. Darkness can just as easily be in the minds of people, be they unliving monster or deathless fey lord.

Whether Mynid shall defy his lord or find some other way to visit you do not know, but what is certain is that more then the jewels he has just given something hang heavy between you.

***​

Up and out you may it along the narrow way whence you cam unchanged, save that it is not morning that greets you on your return, but a sky all ablaze with stars, their shapes still unfamiliar to you, though the breath of mortal air alone is enough to assure you that you left the smoke and flame of the forges behind you... at least for the moment. It occurs to you rather belatedly that it is odd for one of the tinker fey, who seek out apprentices and servants, to bring about their craft and the adulation of his fellows to bask in triumph would linger here in the world of men, known only to a few.

Perhaps he has his own reasons unsaid not to go down to Glimerdale and reasons also to send you down there to recover his work. After all if someone had asked you what it was you would have plead honest ignorance. Still. you are not about to confront him on the point when Tom bears his spear again and you had come out of the whole affair with an ally in the fey lands.

"Well then, what will you have fer yer reward, brave ones?" the tinker-fey practically buzzes, once your tale had been told and the boxes and crates of bizarre treasure had been deposited back in his care. "I can give you some thunder weapons, though be warned dust will be hard to come by without trading with spirits of the earth. Else some sturdy weapons, blades and crossbows will see you right."

"We do not seem to be lacking for weapons, master smith," Zaia motions to all of you with a sweep of his arm. "What of knowledge that enriches the seeker while leaving the teacher no worse off?"

"You got a season or two to spend with it?" comes the suspicious reply. The spirit kin sizes up Zaia as though he were a particularly obstinate lump of copper.

"Ah... no, we cannot, wise one," the alchemist replies, not without regret as he shifts in his seat, looking to his left and his right. Perhaps he is even a little guilty to have asked for something that would most likely serve him alone.

"Well I could send one of my apprentices, but be warned he's a wild one and more hasty with his tools that even you that are born of flesh..."

A fey smith would be of great use to Wayfarer's Respite, but you are reminded of the strange gleaming you had seem among the treasures you had recovered, and something the spirit of fire had said in he north. "What of metals that are not copper and bronze, or even iron or silver? Have you any of those to share?" you ask, reasoning that one who dwells in the deep reaches of the earth or trades with those who do would have access to such treasures which could be forged by a mage smith in a mortal realm.

"Oh... sure, sure that would work as well," he grumbles, as much as a voice so small even can.

Choose one reward:

[] Fire-dust weapons, hard to use harder to maintain these are nonetheless peerless weapons for their task and which can be found only among the earth kindred

[] Simpler weapons and more honest, but still masterfully crafted

[] An apprentice of the smith to take with you in your service for three years service

[] Rare metals of the earth

OOC: And we are done. I am thinking about making your next vote the level up one.

 

[DragonParadox]

The Rougher Edge ​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

The fire burns low in the cluttered shop as every gadget, every gear casts shadows in the fading light and in that darkness there is a light, not ruby red but blue like, bright and searing in the eye. It moves with the sound of hissing and moving pistons that would have been alien before your visit to the city of the Little Folk. Now it is merely unnerving... and then it is a touch more than that. The being that steps out to meet you with the clump of too heavy boots is as much black iron as flesh and the part of him that is flesh is stitched together like a child's doll, though no child would bear such a countenance without bursting into tears. It... he cracks his neck with the sound of metal scraping metal.

Spoiler: Gremlin Smith

"So that's to be my fate then, for daring to dream of iron and not just brass and bronze?" Before you can reply to the complaint, for Ro does not seem of a mind to do so, he waves a gloved hand upon an arm of iron. "Oh, never you mind, I'm happy to go instead of drone-buzzing about fixing what was lost. No doubt it would come out as my fault in the end."

"Pleased to meet a fellow student of the world," Zaia says extending a hand, very deliberately bending his knees so that he would reach lower without seeming to try too hard.

"Hmm... an alchemist then, pleased to be making your acquaintance," the strange being speaks a little faster, as others of his breed you have met. "At least you are one to be trying to make new things, too many mortals have their heads screwed on the wrong way around, looking over their shoulders at the glorious ancestors. Feh... if they are so glorious why are they dead? I'm Mog by the way, Mog the Ironsmith."

His master, or you suppose now former master, coughs in clear doubt at the proclamation, though Mog does not seem to care, taking the old man's hand in his and then stomping out the door... where he almost gets kicked into the ground by Megin after he tries to ride on her. To be fair he is carrying bags almost larger than he is and clanking with metal that pretty much have to be carried by a horse if you are to make good time...

"Not all those who walk on four..." you break off, recalling Megin herself. "Not all those who walk on more than two legs are beasts."

"Yeah, yeah," Mog waves the matter off, picking non-existent dust off the leather of his right glove. "So, who is going to carry this?" he lifts up the bags with wry strength not wholly his own.

"What do you need that for?" Esha ask carefully.

"My own work," the little gremlin speaks slowly as if addressing a child. "Now..." Unfortunately for him you will never find out now what as something inside one of the bags flashes with the same cracking blue light as his eye lashes out and strikes Tom in the chest, shrouding him in a veil of its power.

"Fuck!" Tom slurs the curse as he forces his lips to move.

"Numbing power, how fascinating," Esha's tone is now as sharp as the gremlin smith's, as one speaking of a particularly clever toy.

"Is there a problem?" you ask worry and anger in your voice as in your mind. The damn thing had hit Tom.

"None that you won't find worse in a thousand other places," Mog scoffs even as Esha shakes her head with a smile.

"I suspect our new companion thinks my way of using power without proxy or mechanism is primitive and wasteful. I would counter that I never unintentionally hit someone with a numbing spell."

At that Mog clicks his teeth so violently together you are half concerned that he bit his tongue off. "Let's just do the binding and be off."

What do you do?

[] Bind the gremlin into service and move on

[] Try to smooth things over
-[] Write in how

[] Set down the law
-[] Write in how

[] Write in

OOC: Meet Mog the Imjarvi Gremlin smith. For the record, Roland does not know anything about the types of gremlin so it's not in the update, but Esha rolled high enough to know what manner of being he is.

 

[DragonParadox]

The Rush of Days ​

Day of Rule, 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

"I hope that you shall be in our company a long while..." you begin, not wanting to pierce the younger' smith's pride. Is he younger? you wonder all at once. What does the turning of the years have to do with the nature of the deathless spirits that most folk are content to speak of only round the fire or the feast table, spinning tall tales? Do you think yourself wiser for being a stranger or for the battles you have won? Not the last, surely not the last, you have seen too much of battle to think that battle won today assures tomorrow's victory. If anything can be said to do that... "One should never forget that what we do together and by our words and arts we each must be considerate to the other."

Truth be told you are not sure how to take Esha's arched brow, but she is quick to tip her head and say. "I hope my words did not wound and that in the fullness of time we can work side by side." Not an apology and not an untruth, balanced precariously at the edge of both.

For his part Mog snorts. "Things packed in a rush often shift and sputter." Seeing him settle a little you turn your eyes back to his master... his rather relieved master who shows you the ways of binding and of blood.

You bleed into a bowl of black iron and he into a stone roughly carved by wind and rain and then with solemn hands the blood is mixed as Mog speaks vows of allegiance and you those of a lord taking in a new retainer. Though neither speaks the tongue of the other in that moment you each understand each other perfectly as if you had spoken from mind into mind

As you take the path out from the smithy and back towards the city along winding paths where the farmers of the Anwa are not raising grains and melons sprawling and growing out of the moist earth, you speak to Mog about his work, of which you understand little and of what other constraints he might or might not have. Iron you have nothing against, but in deference to Antonio's feelings on the matter you are sure to explain that he is not to do anything aboard the ship that could harm it or the crew... and then for good measure you add that he is to work at nothing that could seriously harm another member of the Fellowship.

What would the Saint think that you took a spirit under his banner? The thought comes suddenly and just as abruptly the answer, it is not really Saint Nicholas' banner no matter the pattern on it, it is yours and you are responsible for all under it no matter their nature.

***​

First Day of Olweje-eza (Olweje Ascendant), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

The banner snaps in the evening breeze and it is only when you are in sight of it again, past the walls and oddly still streets of Apuku that you realize the Festivals of the Three Brothers are done already, you are in the season of Olweje and you had been in the lands of the fey almost until the last moment...

"Fuck," you murmur under your breath.

"You should fuck more, it seems a profitable endeavor," Antonio says as he takes the raw gems Mynid had given you and apprising them by eye and hand.

Gained 650 Icari

You can but sigh, though alas you do not have long to linger in your cabin, free from the troubles of the journey of battles and of spirits, for there is one battle whose final verse has not yet been uttered into being. You are called thus before she who has the right yet holds not the throne of Lirman.

Ohun is once more at her side, looking more bent and weary than you have seen him, though perhaps the better to whisper in her ear for she asks of you and your company what you had already been offered in Korman.

"Stay on the island and be recognized as one of the boldest and most canny sailors of the realm, else you may depart as trusted friends and ever be received with salt and meed in the House of the King."

What do you reply?

[] Accept the offer
-[] For the whole year
-[] For part of the year

[] Refuse the offer

[] Write in

OOC: The vote at the end came out a bit rushed, mostly because I had already blown the surprise.

 

[DragonParadox]

Where Stones Might Slip ​

First Day of Olweje-eza (Olweje Ascendant), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Though you are not unmoved at the offer to linger a while longer on this shore rather than risk the long journey across the Western Sea and then the gauntlet of the straights you know your path is tither regardless for in the towers of Wayfarer's Respite there are those waiting for your return this summer and so you shall while there is strength in your limbs. Yet you do not part with empty flattery as so often is done in the halls of kings, you warn her and all assembled of what you had gleamed of the plots of the daemons and the waking of the Old Ones, the dragons that sleep. This warning you had given not only to her but to all in that hall.

Some had laughed behind their hands, that nervous laughter that frightened folk hurl like arrows at those who would set yet more fears on them, be they true or false and others still had claimed that is was no concern of theirs, that the evil had been driven from the islands and would not return now that the priests of Ikomi offered libations of blood and meed and bread on the altars of Korman.

Would that they speak true.

***​

Fifth Day of Olweje-eza (Olweje Ascendant), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

You had expected, hoped really, to spend the first few days in the company of Mog and learn more of the one who will be your smith in the days to come. Men at war live and die by the craft of their weapons and armor as much as by skill or luck and there is much that you would see made and much more that you would ask, but the uncanny craftsman shuns your company either in Zaia's favor or else in that of his own projects. As far as you know he keeps to his oaths to not endanger the ship or her crew, but one cannot say the same for peace and quiet aboard the ship, but that a ship at sea was ever quiet as a prayer room but....

Bang.... thump.... thump.... BOOM

Things ring out from the depths of the hold such that you catch the Pete jesting: "Maybe the Marcella has a troubled stomach" and then Wanderer replying "Maybe it will shit him out."

Thus you end up spending most of your time with Megin and Swift Pebble instead as the six legged mare regales the young otter with tales of her home, of the feuds and the journeys, the long thirsty summers where only the rain-giving shadow of the mountains gave life to the people and the storm-wracked winters when the wind howled like the voices of the bone-breakers though the valleys. Thus the otter-kin is entertained and the mare keeps the tales of her people alive.

So it was that when after a long day getting used to your footing on the ship again and an evening listening to the stories of the Foal of Day and the Foal of Night you are awoken by the sound of something heavy striking wood you only grumble under your breath and hope that someone else will handle the overly diligent fey.

Not long after that though you hear a second thump, this one unfortunately at your door

A sigh passes you lips as a faint memory of childhood, hearing of monks denying the flesh in food and drink and even sleep as they pass away the nights in prayer and meditation. Does it count if you are not doing it on purpose? you wonder as you wrench door open to reveal one of the sailors, Marco you think his name is.

"Your pardons great lord, but we have found... something in our path."

It is with that supremely vague description in mind that you come out on a deck shrouded in thick white fog and find something certainly, a piece of pumice stone floating like some black leviathan out of the mist. It is not that you had not seen a floating rock before, but one so large and set in your path so surely that not even the Marcella could move out of the way in time or at least so says Antonio, his feet firmly planted on the deck. "There's no way we found this thing by chance, not in this..." he waves a hand at the mist with disdain. "There's cracks leading inside, maybe we should look."

"Or maybe we should leave the obvious bait well enough alone," Zaia notes dryly.

"Well if it is obvious than a clever foe would not have placed it here," the captain retorts.

"And maybe they presumed that we would make that very guess, you would go mad playing that game. I say we don't meddle with anything that can get in the way of this ship."

Whose side do you fall on?

[] Zaia, given what you have seen in these seas and on them you would not press your luck

[] Antonio, better always to know then not to know and if this is a trap that at least it is one you can spring in a time of your choosing

OOC: No real time for a bookend on the arc, that takes time to deal with the mechanics that I just did not have today. So here we are, a bit more character building and the mystery of a large floating rock.