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

[DragonParadox]

In the Company of the Dead ​

Thirty Sixth Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Inge felt like a liar, like a girl who'd taken out her father's boat just for s swim in the shallows and now had to cast nets. Go talk to the priests Roland had said. She was one of 'em right? She didn't know how to say that she wasn't, that she was known more to Ikomi than to Ikomi's folk, she was just a girl from the far shore who loved the sea and the sea loved her. Inge did not know the old chants or the proper way to greet the sun and ward the moon on her way. I'm not a herald least it's to birds, but the birds didn't know what the dark fey had gone and done with Tom's spear, they didn't even know why she'd want something like that. 'Nasty things spears are, almost as bad as arrows' they would say. Sometimes Inge wished she was a bird.

"If you seek comfort child than do it somewhere else," a tall bearded priest hissed though a crack in the door, not even bothering undo the chain that held it fast. A part of Inge marveled at using bronze for such a thing when a plank of wood would be just as stout, Was it just so they could shout things though the door, she wondered.

"I... that is I wanted to talk to you about finding the spirits, I ain't scared of 'em..." That was not all the way true, the girl was scared of the fey that had come to Apuku, but not in the way she had seen most folk here he scared of them, like they were storm or pox, a thing to be endured not fought. She knew how to deal with their like, and truth be told would rather be dealing with them than the priests.

Before Inge could think of what to say Tom struck one gauntleted fist in the door and asked to be let in... with enough curses added in for seasoning to make it clear he expected the priests to get up or punch up. Ikomi be praised they chose the latter.

As soon as she got out from under the arch of the door though Inge's sense of victory was drowned in a familiar smell, heavy and foul, rot. They had taken the dead into the temple, but had not yet the set them to see.

"Why..." Inge started.

"Because you foolish girl we do not know if there is a curse on any of them, if they will linger," the head priest snapped. "Do you want to see a sea lurcher crawling out of the water to feed on the living."

"No lesser spirit has power where she walks." The words came to Inge's lips the way the tide comes in the morning, without thought or struggle. Without asking, without needing to be asked she conjured water five times in her left hand and then with her right she passed it over the head and heart of the dead and bid them go in peace.

It was only when she got to the sixth that another of the priests, this one younger, though oddly with less hair on his head spoke. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing to their needs as one day others will see to mine..."

Someone mumbled something in the back of the dark hall, it sounded oddly like: "Doubt you would bloody need it."

Inge didn't know what do say, so she asked the question she had come here to ask: "Where did the fey come from... where did they go?"

"They didn't speak to us save to bid us leave on pain of death and oath of lord downfallen," came the surly reply, though in their eyes gleamed fear, but after a moment the man who had spoken first relented and said they had come over the walls around Potter's Way, slipping like shadows in the night just as the Iranea come out with spear in hand.

"EnjoIku Hill is out that way..." the younger priest offered. "There's dark and unchancy tales all about that place."

"Snake's Death Hill?" Tom sounded resigned.

"I don't think Enjo is a snake that slithers," Inge took a deep breath. "I think that means dragon's death hill."

Who do you take with you to investigate the hill?

[] Write in

OOC: Very good rolls this time around and a chance for me to show more of Inge's uncertainties as well as how others of her faith can see her wielding so much power and so high in the favor of her patron so young.

 

[DragonParadox]

A Guarded Gate ​

Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

You had ridden scarce six leagues beyond the walls of the city only a narrow line of wooded hills between you and yet a hush had fallen under the branches of the laurel trees, not s sound of wind or wave, not the cry of a single seagull to mark the nearness. The air is thick and still, watchful, as it was not so long ago... and you remember well the watchers. "Watch out," you call in a half-whisper, not needing to say for what. Inge's eyes already gleam faintly with the power of sight beyond sight and Swift Pebble is still as a stone on your shoulder, only the twitching of her whiskers giving away how sharply she is bent on the task.

For his part Zaia is looking at the branches of a waist high shrub small golden flowers, all you can hear out of his muttering is 'beans' which you can only suppose is of some hidden meaning, though Wanderer does not know as much of the doctor and his ways. "Not good to eat yet," he dismisses them.

"Well then it's good we aren't here of a meal," you say, to which Silver answers in jest: "Easy for you to say you aren't walking though a feast, nothing like fresh spring grass sweetened with flowers to start the day."

Though he doesn't quite manage to get a laugh out of the rest of you the air does clear a little... just as you walk out from the shadow of the trees onto a wide dry stretch filled with knee high crimson flowers growing from spiny roots. As you get closer you realize the red is not one flower but many, each like the leaf on a tree or the scale of some uncanny beast.

"Blood Flutes," Zaia says. "Some hunters swear they are bad luck, but certain herbalists who claim they have power to cure ailments that afflict the eye and the mouth... though it is said the red is the blood of the earth and will not abide those who spill the blood of man or beast."

Spoiler: Odd plants

"Signs and markings..." Esha murmurs. "There is an air of sorcery about this place, but of what kind I cannot say for it is a faint as dew in the morning."

"At least we know we are on the right track," you say hopefully. "If a man should seek out fish for dinner than it is well that he has managed to find a stream amid the parched rocks."

"So what now? I start shouting for the Good Neighbors to give back my spear least I come back with iron and salt?" Tom asks no one in particular.

"I doubt a thief could be so accommodating," you reply darkly. Instead you turn in askance to those who would know more of the arcane, but they all hesitate as an unbidden guest upon the threshold.

"It depends on how you want to do this," Esha says at last. "A greeting would be done with honey and with candles, to summon forth the Lonely Ones to parlay, but if it is war you mean o make, than the spilling of blood is sure to call them forth as sure as bees at the sight of a bear."

"Well that don't sound so bad," Inge says. "Bees are a lot smaller than a bear." A daughter of the shore she had clearly never seen a bear take to his heels at the buzzing of a swarm of bees.

You open your mouth to call for the vow of blood, to open the way and put right the thieves as they deserve, but then you recall the bargain you had made with the fey of shadow and flame, that they should live in peace with the men of Lirman. Those spirits are not the ones you hunt here... at least you do not think so.

What do you do?

[] Try to parley with the fey for the spear

[] You will not make bargains with thieves

OOC: Well this should be a straightforward enough vote.

 

[DragonParadox]

At the Eves of the Walking Wood​

Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

"Perhaps not all spirits would find sympathy for the thief..." you begin, but Esha shakes her head, guessing your mind.

"How many ascents of the seasons do you have to spare looking? No, we are lucky to have found this place, much less would we be able to know foe from friend in good time before the Marcella's sails should bear us off. A thief is a thief and a cheat a cheat, best to get our own back lest we be hounded by the like for years to come. We bear many treasures and it would suit us ill to let it be known that they are free for the taking for every scoundrel who dares the deed." As she speaks she leans on her staff as though for emphases, no less a thing of magic than Tom's spear and one which had served her and you all well.

"So then let us seek a parley," you reason. "If words should fail swords may speak, but it rarely works the other way once blood had been spilled."

"Hold, hold a moment, I think I might have the answer to your riddle my lord!"

"Well?" you ask unable to keep the impatience from your voice. The scholar is wise as he was learned does have a way of complicating matters.

"The boar kin, they would have reason to think kindly of us for all their debt is paid and they knew enough of the fey to lead us to the eldest among them."

"But aren't they friends with this lot?" Tom asks, giving the thorny flowers the same look he would a coiled snake. "They might sell us out and then we would be meetin' these spirits in their time an' not ours."

"Knowing where to find someone does not mean you count his boon companion, and if nothing else I think we have earned a fair hearing and no news of our coming to our foes."

Thus you ride away from the passage into the realm of your foes and back among the laurel leaves where the growing bounty of the forest is richest... to a village you had helped to keep from ruin once before.

***​

Were it not for Silver's sure step you might have lost your way under the rustling leaves. "You never forget the place nor the time of your waking," he says just as by evening's light you lay eyes on a familiar sight, a reddish boar shuffling at the edge of the path, his eyes bright with wit beyond any mere beast.

"Hail Uhumbi, how go the paths of the people in the Year that Was?" you ask, recalling something of the customs of his folk.

"As well as can be in times when the storm comes from earth and sea," he replies, taking on mannish guise once more before your eyes. You are rather proud of the fact that you do not flinch nor does your smile waver at the sight of two shapes that could not be less alike somehow existing in the same place.

"Storm from the Earth?" Zaia asks curious as ever as soon as all your companions had bit their own greetings. The warrior of the People does not seem overly surprised at the sight of Swift Pebble and he offers a wary look of respect to wanderer which the Knikut warrior returns unsmiling in the manner of his folk.

"Much that once slept is waking, to make or to break to peace or to war we do not yet know..." he trails off. "A poor place to speak of such things, come to the village and have meat and salt with us and we shall speak of what brought you here."

What do you do?

[] Offer some compensation for aid against the thief
-[] Write in

[] Ask only for information about the local fey then you will be on your way

[] Write in

OOC: The reason I closed this with a even vote, besides finally wanting to get a second update in a day, was that I figured just looking for fey would not really wok in good time, so I rolled to see if anyone remembered the People and their fey connections. If the roll had failed I would have defaulted to making signs asking for parley.

 

[DragonParadox]

Whispers in the Wood ​

Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Uhumbi hears you out without interrupting over the crackling of the fire, the smell of savory meats and savory herbs wafting into the night air under the trees. Though you come here for news of spirits and lore of the otherworld in their eyes you see yourself and all your company as strangers bearing wondrous tales. Hosting guests after all are a perilous thing in this land, treasured and honored yes, but feared also, one never knows just who or what might be on the other side of the fire when flesh is malleable as clay and light into glamor is woven lightly.

Though the people have the strength of the boar in them and by the measure you learned as a boy they are all magicians, right down to little Iori watching you shiny from under the wide brim of a woven straw hat, they still lack for a speaker with the sprites and the spirits are restive.

"Goblin-men walk abroad under the moon and make perilous paths that had been safe, even the high stone places where the guardians keep pure the water of life are not as they were," so say the people and they huddle close.

Hopefully fear makes them more likely to speak to be rid of bad neighbors and not less. Thus you offer gold and silver and tools of bronze of which they have little in payment.

Lost 560 gp

"It is the border fey you are after, thieves and cowards, bringers of poison and rot to battles they cannot win with strength of arm nor sharpened tusk, but I don't think they would have gone so far against the city folk if they didn't have some mighty lord behind them, be wary for there is talk of a black hag on the loose risen from the deep places of the earth like a worm from dead flesh and where there's a hag there are black-hearted giants as well for what's a hag but a evil-willed giant's wife?"

One of the other hunters breaks in to the leader's words. "I heard those rumors we well, but one of the Younger Herd said he saw smoke and a breath of ash over the land not far from the blood grove the sea folk name."

Sea folk you are called still, but it takes you a moment to realize that 'Younger Kindred' means the actual wild boar of the island. Recalling what Inge had said of the trouble it takes for any beast, even the most clever to speak in the manner men understand you vow to be careful of the words.

"I think there's a tinker fey about and one mad enough to work in black Iron like that lost spear was, if what you say is true and the Old Ones are about to come upon us maybe not so bad..."

"Seen some smoke Sebekele and now you think it's a thinker fey," one of the women sitting cross legged on near the fire jeers.

"It wasn't no ordinary smoke, it was red I tell you, red as blood, only a tinker-spirit's forge would burn with that sort of smoke."

Zaia who had conjured smoke of all kinds from his studies just in the time you have known him looks doubtful, but still asks where you might be able to find this tinker... and if he is friend or foe of the people. Likely as not he is thinking that even if you can't find the spear you would be able to find something of use.

"Spirits of fire..." Esha rune her fingers across the edge of the fallen long she us using as a seat. "There were spirits of fire in the attack on Lirman but they weren't too keen to fight us, not driven into a blaze of war and spite, like you would see if you drove forge hands to war maybe. I think there might be something to this, though giant kin would be more likely to want a dragon-killing weapon for their own use. Many a cave littered with the bones of dead dragons had become the abode of lesser giants... and some of those bones even ended up in the pot. I heard told of a giant who thought the bones would give him the strength of a dragon though that one was no kind of sorcerer, he died of prisoned stew and men made spears and axes out of his bones. Dragon eater bones they called them."

Many laugh at the tale, but for your part you are too deep in your thoughts to jest. Should you go looking for the tinker fey or the giant kin, whoever you choose odds are the others will hear about it and then they might choose to attack in their time and not yours or they might instead choose to flee beyond your power to follow.

Which do you seek out?

[] The fey-smith

[] The giant wife

OOC: Well this is pretty straight forward, just keep in mind both these beings can have class levels and allies.

 

[DragonParadox]

Sudden Smoke and Mirror Bright ​

Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

With fond farewells and well-wishes aplenty you leave the camp of the People and go in search not of the fearsome giant's wife, eater of men and weaver of dark spells though she may be known for, but the smith. You reasoned that if the smith should be the one you seek and he should hear of your meddling than he is more likely to vanish and leave you with nary a spear to your name. The giant's get on the other hand are more likely to come find you, ill though the timing may be for you. Were you in other company you might have hesitated say you welcome an ambush in this you have no qualms. The eight of you have faced much that was strange and perilous together. Yet you had never faced anything quite so strange you would soon find...

The path is narrow, the way unsteady across the crumbling flank of the hill and in the air no wisp of smoke, but as you pass the final corner you are greeted by what seems at first a pile of loose stones stacked improbably high, buttressed by pillars of wood... whole trees really. One night have taken the whole thing for the flotsam of some titanic storm were it not for the undeniable glint among the stone, not gold or silver but glass, small windows like eyes peeking out of the depths of the earth.

"Do we knock?" Inge asks, bemused as the rest of you. "Where's the door?"

No sooner had she spoken that the answer comes as a rumble among the stones and what looks for all the world like a miniature rockslide. How or even why all the stones fall neatly into place to either side of the roughly triangular opening or else form a neat path from the lip of the hill is more than you can say... and from the bemused look on even Esha's face this is not sorcery even she is familiar with though all her travels.

"Looks like we are expect..." you never get the chance to finish as a gust of steam bursts out of the top of the house, if house you call it, like a waterspout accompanied with a ring of metal a grinding of gears.

Two pinpricks of light kindle to light in the dark opening, barely three and a half feet off the ground and just under them a glint of metal. As the figure steps out into the light of day it only makes a bit more sense than its home, walking upright like a man aye, but not even a man blind drunk could mistake it for one... or conjure the image in a dream. For all the world it seems a sky-blue beetle with dozens of belt and straps tied across his body, in reach of its grasping hands.

Spoiler: Tinker Fey

In one of those hands lay a bronze tablet the figure was frowning at, the second the lower left a pouch that jangled strangely, but it was in its upper left hand that the strangest thing you have ever seen lay, a slender brass tube covered in ornate patterns with an odd plate above what looks a little like the stock of a crossbow. You do not know what manner of sorcery had forged it, but that is a weapon, that much you are sure of from the way he holds it and unless he is a fool, which only a fool in turn would assume, it is one mighty out of all proportion to its size.

Spoiler: Strange Weapon

"Well... speak up then? What be ye doin' by my 'ouse, eh?" The words recall the rough patois of the sailor folk when they are trying to be understood by those of other islands overlaid strangely over the lilting intonations of the fey tongue. "Speak quick if you haven't lost your tongue, you lot are surrounded with two dozen sights on you..."

Glancing at Tom you see him shake his head, but only a little. He cannot see any watchers about, but then when have the eyes of men been able to see a skulking spirit?

"No shadow...." Esha whispers in your mind, "I don't think our friend is really there, only projecting his image. Since we can hear him as much as see him, which is hard to do with a simple spell, I would judge its' arcane artifice."

"He mighty clean for a smith, Zaia-Scholar says," Swift Pebble passes on the alchemist's judgement as well.

What do you reply?

[] Demand Tom's spear back, you will not be intimidated by a figment

[] Try to talk to the strange creature, surely you can catch more flies with honey

[] Write in

OOC: Yes, that is a flintlock pistol. I thought of describing it in a way that you guys might not guess at, but at the end of the day antigen guns like that are quite recognizable.

 

[DragonParadox]

With Tangled Tongue ​

Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

"A poor host is he who turns blades on his guests," you note quietly. "We come here seeking answers, not blood."

The little beetle spirit tilts his head farther than any man could, black eyes glinting. "Answers? Well aren't we all seeking that? What about, eh? How many stars in the sky, how many grains of sand on the shore, how many feathers on a bird's backside?"

"Can't say I ever wanted to know that last part, though there is in my company a man with much lore about the ways of living things," you tip your head towards Zaia, doing your best to hide your bemusement. If there is one thing you have learned in your journeys, being a guest before many hearths it is that it's easier to go with the current than try to swim against it.

"Heh..." the spirit giggles. "Can't say I'd expected a bird watcher, what with riding around on that great big beast with all the iron. It's a wonder you can ride anywhere without the trees running off. Maybe they just like to see you clomp about, eh?"

Ah... now you are almost sure he is trying to needle you, but needle is the word. You've been in the company of those looking for a fight before and this is not it, not unless you are vastly misjudging him. Still, one poke deserves another. "We are looking for a thief which took that which was precious to us, a spear quenched in the blood of a dying dragon."

"Well now, must have been a mighty fine thief who did that and not a wee smith, eh?" the spirit slyly says. "Are ye looking for a way to find their willy thief? I might know such a one for many sorts of tools fit for such like have passed through my hands. Folk think the ringing of the anvil deafens a smith, but not so, not so at all. Know a lot and hear a lot, and sometimes say a lot do the smiths of forge and fancy."

How easily he had passed from threatening you with encirclement to offering to sell you a hypothetical thief on a path far from here, you think, suspicion wafting on your mind like the morning fog, but unable to take shape.

"So you know of what happened in the city, of the blood spilled and the threats given to the folk of the island and their queen?" Zaia asks.

"No use have I for kings and queens, their airs come as easily from their rear as from their faces," the spirit scoffs, sending Inge into a fit of giggles.

"So then you 'have no care' for the fact that those who are known to be in your service were part of this attack? Spirits of smoke and fire they were, aye, and they came against my folk not long after the spear was taken by a thief," you press, watching the strange being carefully. Would you even know what marks to look for on a face so strange?

"I have no servants and many helpers. If any of those who once aided me were part of this battle you speak of than this is on their heads and not mine," the smith waves the hand with the tablet airily. As it catches the light you realize it's empty, not a mark on it, not even a simple tally line.

There is something odd about this fellow, yet you know he is not a liar as most would understand it for the spirits that walk between sea and star, as the Anwa call them, cannot lie in so many words. Given a years uncounted would he even need to lie as mortals do? Tales there are aplenty of the fey deceiving without speaking untruth... Is that reason enough to fight him and perhaps his 'encirclement' or should you take his deal and pay once more to hopefully stay on the path of the thief?

"Just what would you be having by way of payment if we were minded to pay, oh maker of marvels?" Esha asks, her thoughts running at least in part alongside yours.

"A few of those for a lark," the spirit points at the neat vials of glass and wax sealed clay at Zaia's belt. "Then I'll tell you all you need to know to pick up the thief's trail sure as I'm standing here."

What do you do?

[] Take the deal (lose 1d6 alchemical creations of various types)

[] You won't be given a run around by a trickster, he's sure to be involved somehow

[] You do not know enough to fight, nor do you have reason to trust a deal, leave

[] Write in

OOC: Well this was a fun bit of dialogue. Hope you guys enjoy.

 

[DragonParadox]

A Small Trespass ​

Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

Zaia does not look overly pleased to hand over some of his work, but it is hard to argue that he lacks for potions and philters, ointments and elixirs and so the deal is agreed to. the tinker fey would be paid in that which he desires and in exchange he would tell you where the thief had gone. He picks them out with deft and nimble hands, only three fingers and one thumb on each of them, you note idly. One of fire, one poison's bane, two oils you do not recognize, rod that shines with the light of the sun and a vial so cold the morning air steams.

Spoiler: Lost Potions

• Alchemist's Fire: x1
• Antitoxin: x1
• Black Adder Venom: x1
• Greenblood Oil: x1
• Liquid Ice: x1
• Sunrod: x1

The smith turns to you then and with a bow proclaims: "You can find the trail of the thief you seek upon this very place, though he is fond of skipping from place to place..." a sly smile upon the face of the spirit as he adds. "Just follow the smoke where it goes and we shall meet again."

Three things happen at once then, there is a crack like an old branch breaking and a plume of smoke rises about his feet and in an instant veils him, no sooner had you realized that you had been tricked that the self admitted thief had blown away like a wisp on the breeze. Last of all Tom curses up a storm that you would count unfit for a lady's ears had you not been so inclined to join him.

"Thought you said the sons of bitches couldn't lie?" he rounds on Zaia, though he had hardly been the only one to say that.

"He never claimed to be a smith..." you cut yourself off, still coughing in the smoke of the spirit's escape. "He said he might have known a thief, which he well would seeing as he was one, he said that many tools of that sort passed though his hands, again true as they can and then he said that smiths hear things, but he never called himself a smith."

"He said that was his house though," Inge motions to the odd hill. The way is unbarred. "Sure looks like the sort of place a fey smith would live."

The next step is obvious... even if no one is eager to take it. The tales of the Anwa are filled with strange and bloodcurdling accounts of what happens to mortals who trespass into the domain of the fey, out of sight of sun and star. Yet Swift Pebble has not heard too many of those tales, or perhaps she simply does not believe them, for she jumps off Silver with a quick leap and in an instant she is at the door, holding aloft one of Zaia's arcane candles.

"Lots of stuff.... lots and lots..." you can feel the awe in her mind like an uneasy prickling on your skin. Thus you follow and you cannot say that she is wrong.

Inside is a mare's nest of trash and treasure piled one atop the other: rolls and rolls of fine velum piled on what looks like a collection of polished stones, beside that a round table on wheels for some reason, In the shadows gold gleams, spun in thread fit for a queen's garb, though why it had been stretched out atop quartz plates in interlocking plates you cannot tell. At the heart of the room is a great rock forge carved with all manner of scribbling, less like the careful writing of a sorcerer and more the notes of someone who did not have the time to reach for parchment. Cylinders of brass like tumbled on the floor about it, rolling away as you approach along the uneven floor.

"Watch your step."

The warning comes not a moment too soon as Tom almost steps into a pile of spindly instruments, all needles and blades that you would have thought the tools of a torturer had you not known Zaia as long as you have.

But it is Inge who makes the most interesting discovery. On the wall of the chamber, surprisingly straight and well varnished from the inside is a pair of runes hastily carved with a knife. Esha takes one look at them and snorts, amused in spite of herself. "It says 'Rokeke's House'. Somehow I don't think it was that before our 'friend' ransacked it. This does look to be the laboratory of a tinker fey from all the..." she waves her hand helplessly at the floor. "Stuff."

Just then the sound of thumps from the far side of the chamber draw every eye. There you see a door... no a slap of stone bound with bronze chains. The chain alone would be enough to make three breastplates out of.

"What in the..." you cut yourself off before you can call the devil where you would rather he not be. "Can you talk past the door?" you ask Swift Pebble.

"Don't know who I'm talking to or how far it's supposed to be," she shakes her head sadly. "I need to know one or the other."

"Might be the real smith there," Zaia offers hopeful no doubt that someone can actually make sense of this mess.

"We could just take what's here and leave." Wanderer sounds uneasy and trying not to show it, put off by the strange room where the light of day barely seems to pierce and the lantern conjures twisted shapes among the rafters.

What do you do?

[] Open the chained door

[] Take what looks valuable and leave, you might have been tricked by the thief, but the things in here should more than make up the difference

[] Just leave

OOC: You did roll high enough on sense motive to realize something was off with what the bulabar said last turn, but you just did not have the knowledge skills to realize he was avoiding calling himself a smith.

 

[DragonParadox]

Master of the House ​

Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

If you were the sort of fellow to turn tail and run, with or without a prize... you would not be here to begin with, looking for a spear that had killed a dragon and which had been stolen in the middle of a battle with the deathless fey. "Stand back!"

For his part Tom does not move more than half a step and from the way Zaia reaches for the healing philter you suspect he is already prepared to shove it past your bloody lips. They too recall how you had gotten that spear.

As the chains part under Durendal's edge, with a screech the slab thumps again, something hard, but small had rolled against it and much to your surprise when you try to open it the stone moves under your hand as though it had been set upon a cloud. You look down and there with all his limbs bound together is another fey of that same kindred as Rokeke, though looking much the worse for wear. Shell covered in a dusty red cloth that might once have been a cloak and all his limbs bound together, though with far less skill than the slab the little fey looks up at you and speaks: "Bah... mortals too now, come to rob me when I'm all trussed up like a duck to the spit? Well you can't have any, you'll be cursed, cursed I say with seven years bad luck if you take anything from me and mine..."

Perhaps in answer to its master's voice, or its own arcane mechanisms the forge shoots out another plume of steam.

"Thief didn't look cursed to me," Wanderer speaks up, blunt as the handle of of axe to the head. "Even put his name on the wall see..."

"That soft shelled, pyrite-brained, three-legged son of a goat and a muck reed..." the curses lapse from any tongue that you can speak, though from the almost impressed expression on Esha's face you guess he is surely not loosing any steam.

"Should we let him loose maybe?" Inge asks dubiously and not without reason. The smith does not look best disposed to mortals what with the threats even as he is laying helpless at your feet. But on the other side of the scales you know that the Lonely Ones love bargains and hate to be in debt, surely you would gain something out of the bargain if you let him loose.

Or you could make it a real bargain, you have seen plenty that was precious in the house and some of it is bound to be enchanted. You might ask for armor, or a talisman, even a new weapon to replace the spear until the thief is caught, as the bastard surely will be.

What do you do?

[] Release the smith without conditions

[] Strike a deal with the tinker fey in exchange for freeing him
-[] Write in

[] Write in

OOC: Short one this time since Wanderer put his foot in it so you now have to make the choice without anything more than edifying curses, well edifying at least for Esha's grasp of fey profanity.

 

[DragonParadox]

Tea and Turmoil ​

Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

The diminutive smith is literally shaking with rage at the robbery when you unbind him, though once you set him back down on his feet he manages to collect himself, looking each of you up and down. If that involves giving Wanderer a bit more of a gimlet eye than the rest of you, well you can hardly blame him for that. After thoroughly dusting himself off the smith finally introduces himself: "Ro'No'Ron at your service fair guests, sculptor, carver, smith and architect, forger of metals false and true, spinner of time and siphoner of sorcery, all that gleams, glitters and greed-grows has passed through my hands..." Into the rather bemused silence that follows his tumbling introductions Ro huffs. "Well come along then I'll make you some tea while we talk, can't have you standing around this mess now can I?"

Over the next few moments you learn three things about the smith, the first that he is a good bit stronger than his diminutive stature might imply, setting tables and chairs about with barely a huff and a puff, the second that he really loves his teas, you more or less have to take Zaia's word that some of the herbs he is offering are even fit for drinking, never mind what they taste like, and the third... well all throughout Ro enjoys the sound of his own voice enough so that you pick up his tale just from the grumbling. Thus you learn that he had been betrayed by his servants. "Don't know what's come over them really, stuff and nonsense about the Wheel of the World being broken... boo hoo all is forsaken you know the kind right?"

As a matter of fact you don't but you are not about to interrupt him.

"Anyway..." his next words are covered in the oddly melodious whistle of the kettle before he pours the water over the herbs in each finely glazed cup starting with Swift Pebble and ending with you. "I said what do you want for helping me out of a bind? Normally I'd just offer you one of my wares, but as you can see I don't have any of them to hand... that blasted soft shell ran off with them, so I ken either forge something for you with your own materials or..." Here he sighs and looks up at the ceiling, or maybe at the hole in it for the forge smoke, now bright clear blue. "I can be in yer service for the span it would've taken me to get out of there the other way, about half a season I reckon."

"Half a season, wouldn't you have starved?" Inge is wide eyed, in spite of herself perhaps.

"Nay, slept with the rocks I would have, waste of good solid work hours but likely as not Yara would have found me by midsummer and laughed herself sick over it, you didn't laugh so special offer, I work one half-season for you rising or falling, work the forge, work to train sorcerer-smiths," here the spirit tilts his head towards Zaia who is himself leaning so far forward you are afraid he will dip over his cup.

"A gracious offer good... er... fellow," you curse your tongue for tripping over 'goodman' when the one you speak to is no man, but the spirit does not seem to have taken it amiss. "I would rather know which way the thief went so that we might take back that which was stolen from us."

There is a sound of tapping and somewhere far away a sort of ticking, like onto the sound of a metal heart, but Ro does not speak a long while. "So you would be willing to go past the Pale into the dim lands out of sight of sun and touch of grass? Not many have the courage for it among mortal kin and tis good sense that they don't, but you ain't the usual sort, there's power and a touch of destiny about you, at least as much as a leshy's spit, aye I'll open the way and you can go looking if you like, I'll even hold it open for a year and a day for you to come back through..."

"A year and a day," you try not to sound alarmed, and you do not think you managed it.

"Time runs different out there don't you know."

"Not at the turn of the seasons," Esha cuts in unexpectedly. "When the time of Elnu turns to the time of Olweje again the threads that bind the worlds grow taut as the chords of a Kora, ready to serenade the fallen, then for one day and one day alone we can be in and out and sure that time flows with the same current in both worlds."

"Maybe so... maybe so," the smith sounds surprised, less sure that you would not try to chase the thief into the realm where only Lonely Spirits lie. "If you can do it the reward will be richer by far."

What boon do you ask of the fey smith?

[] One item forged of the materials you have to hand
-[] Weapon
-[] Armor
-[] Talisman
-[] Write in (general request)

[] His services for a half-season (Olweje Ascendant)

[] A path into the realms of spirits at the turn of the season, you will deal with that thief

[] Write in

OOC: Sadly the thief is not just over the next hill, though you can get to him if you dare.

 

[DragonParadox]

Lost to the Skies ​

Thirty Ninth Day of Elnu-Hamba (Elnu Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)

When last you had seen Ohun he had been a bird, and to no one's surprise not many had been watching for birds when the city was alight in flame and filled with fury, but still the question hangs over the fragile peace: Where had the old man gone? Lina had no answers and she needs them. It is not that the Anwari are an overly pious people, nor timorous in how they meet their fate, if you had a copper for every time you heard 'the gods gave men legs to stand on and arms to fight with,' well then you would probably have enough coppers to weigh you down.

But the words are spoken more in strident tones that veil fear than boldness, many are dead and the threat of the Anjo-Ooru which had for so long been the thing of dark and lonely nights out on the mountain is not all too real. Their king is bound in some far off place and the daughter of the being who keeps him prisoner also holds what power there could be said to remain in Lirman... not that much power at all.

Ships sail out of the harbor more than they sail in, not just raiders returning to their ports, but also such folk as the hardy fishermen who make their living in these waters. Men and women who do not fear war for its own sake are wary of the peril of spirits and little wonder. A spirit will not bleed from the edge of stone or bronze not lightly and they hold uncanny powers.

"Did you hear what happened to Atur? Just vanished from his bed, like he'd melted into the air..."

"They found him naked and shivering by the water, as though he'd been dipped in ice-flow."

"Well I heard it's the children that are going away, Lonely Folk taking their due, lost and afraid they be..."

On and on the whippers go, Wanderer calls them craven, but you would not be so sure to name them that, hard not to jump at shadows when a shadow had killed their pets and set their neighbors alight. That the Knikut of his tribe were less likely to worry over the whims of the fey you have no doubt, but you remind him that they could move off the land of any spirit whom they could not vanquish or placate.

"They can leave as well can't they?" comes the surly question that is near a challenge. Between the humid heat of the changing seasons and the dark looks the locals are throwing the strangers in their midst he does not enjoy the investigations.

"What would they all eat?" you shoot back and to that he can find no answer

***​

Alas that is the only 'victory' of the day which seems set to be like the day before it, chasing rumors of things that weren't there... chasing ghosts, you begin to fear. Perhaps Ohun had met his end that day, the old man had been heartbroken at the seeming death of his protegee, how would he fight with nothing left to lose against those who would besmirch his legacy?

It does not help that you cannot find hide nor hair of anyone who had been in the entourage of the would be 'king'. For all you know they might have fallen into the same strange realm you had pledged to enter to recover Tom's spear...

Yet when you come back home after a day of fruitless searching you find Inge had come back before you, and she is waiting in the dark cabin with nothing but the light of the stars behind her to light her features. Somehow you know that they are somber, that you will not like what you will hear...

"I've been talking to the birds, I think... I know what happened to Ohun, he's lost in the beast... gone or nearly so at least." She sighs, obviously not happy to talk about it. "You know how there's all sorts of half and half folk, like the People with boars, well sometimes it's a curse and sometimes it's a blessing and sometimes according to the tales it's a fellow who can take on beast shape and just... doesn't want to turn back, they think that's just the real them and they live among the beasts as one of them."

"Nearly so?" you latch on to the words, not wanting to contemplate the details of what she is describing. You have come to accept many things in this world that you would not have considered before but this...

"It takes a while to get rid of all the human, to be able to keep the beast shape and not the man, I don't think he is all the way done with that so we can maybe talk to him still, but you have to be hurting, hurting bad to just give up on that and he's old, maybe we should just let him go."

"He doesn't know Ansefu is alive..." you begin, but Inge cuts you off.

"Do you think he can fight her? Maybe he's happier not knowing."

What do you do?

[] Try to follow the trail Inge found and persuade Ohun to return to civilization

[] Leave him be and move on

OOC: A bit of a melancholy post this time around, not much of a chance to make it cheerful given the subject matter.