Whom the gods would destroy... — Legacy Forums

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#241

Aerex's face was a look of surprise. He felt like he should have been offended, but he wasn't: it was a damn good ploy, better than any he could have thought of. "I do make fine a bait, Lord Quorridge," he commented, "and I'm more than happy to serve as such. It's a fine trap you've laid. But I think you'll find I'm as capable a hunter as any. I've pledged my service, and I stand by it." He prodded his mount forward a few paces, beside Quorridge. "What's the plan?"

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#242

Matare

Quorridge eyed Aerex again, in that insufferable way that he did, for several long agonizing moments.

"As you wish." he said and mounted his mare again. "I do not have a plan. Does this surprise you? We will ride north and east for now. There have been rumors that Lyle crosses Landeel for some vile purpose or other. He has left the Brightblade Siege, we've been told. Surely he travels with horrors and allies in tow, but this may be as good a chance as any to waylay and kill him."

Quorridge spoke matter-of-factly, yet looked away then, and surveyed the landscape ahead, silent for a few minutes more.

"You ride well enough, I'll grant you that." With these words, passing as a gesture of good-will from the curmudgeonly Quorridge, he rode ahead.

The remaining pair of guards, turned around then, as the previous pair had earlier, and trotted back toward's Thonrecht.

Aerex Matare and Lord Otto Quorridge rode alone now.

A steady rain began to fall, making Aerex wish for a moment that he was back in Jantir, in some large and opulent inn room, sipping a spiced Jantiri Red...with Talia.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#243

"And when he has done his best to shield you from their noses, then I can hide you from their eyes. You will be responsible it seems for their ears."

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#244

"Alas, at least none will connect ths exquisite scent to me; a slight condolescece, but a condolescence none-the-less."

Evading the ogres' ears should be none-too-difficult: they were prone to make a ruckuss even while sleeping, and he was rather apt at unnoticedly disapparing from crime scenes, illegal duels and sites of interrupted adultery.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#245

Slack-Jaw

Meisingholdt was a town like any other in Landeel, mostly built of stone, in that gothic Hellschwert style, and surrounded by poor pastoral lands interspersed with impenetrable forests. A rectangular stone keep, austere and unadorned, served as its castle.

Like most small towns here in southern Landeel, the folk could not tolerate dark sorcery or “questionable leanings” of any kind. The demons that supposedly (and currently) plagued the northern country were an affront to every citizen in Meisingholdt, yet the populace could do little about this fact, and went on with their everyday lives, despite the brutal war to the north, clutching their holy symbols tightly in their fists.

When it came to local problems however; a wandering mountebank, a child-stealing hedge-witch, or some blaspheming grave-robbing necromancer, the townsfolk acted quickly and sternly in most cases.

Such was the case with one Dujek Slack-Jaw, who was captured by a furious mob, when he innocently entered an old family mausoleum on the outskirts of town, to “examine” its contents. When the townsfolk entered the crypt, bearing torches, Dujek was in mid-conversation with one of the stone sarcophagi. At least that’s how it looked to the mob. Truly, Dujek was conversing with his lizard familiar, Koschei, but the mob was not placated with Dujek’s slack-jawed explanations.

A few days later, Dujek found himself bound and hog-tied upon the Fire-Wheel, a sinister contraption of wooden beams and spokes, resembling nothing more than a great, wagon wheel, but large enough to suspend a man upon. Tied by each wrist and ankle, Dujek was spread-eagled and gagged to boot (lest necromantic whispers escaped his lips, and dead dogs rose to howl at the moon!) Sometime soon, Dujek knew, the townsfolk would come again, and light the wheel with oil and pitch, and push it down a stony hill, watching it (and him) burn as it rolled.

After two days of no food and only rain-water for drink, Dujek was in bad shape. He was not alone however. On Dujek’s bony, nearly bloodless left wrist, sat Koschei the deathless, the miniature plumed basilisk. The lizard was vigorously chewing the thick rope with his tiny, nearly useless teeth.

“A walk through the grave-yard would not suffice. No, you had to visit the mausoleum.” The lizard chided Dujek in between bouts of frenetic chewing. “Can you cast any spell without having to wave these bony arms of yours?”

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#246

Aerex sighed. Quorridge and Matare spent a good while riding silently, each to their own thoughts. Aerex's mind wandered, from pining away at the missing Talia Bladedancer to wondering the names and usefulness of various shrubs they passed by. At one point he even started humming the tune to "By the Old Pond Pure" until an annoyed look from Quorridge cut him off.

Most of the time, though, Aerex tried to keep his mind to their current quest. It occurred to him that he had no idea where Landeel or Brightblade or any place in this region was, or why it was even important. Eventually fed up with the silence, and to satisfy his curiosity, Aerex gave a loud cough. "I'm afraid I don't know these lands well," he said casually. "Where - and what - is Landeel, exactly? You say Lyle has crossed it. Is it a river, or some wide expanse?"

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#247

Vorodon wasn't sure what the others hoped to achieve: The scent they strove to achieve seemed pleasant enough, but wasn't anything impressive by the standards of the Volgotoi. If they'd ever smelled old, toothless Rudandof, then they'd know what a pungent scent REALLY was. Rudandof had been dead for two weeks before anyone suspected that he'd gone to Gora'am's larders, largely because the stench of the elder's legendary flatulence had mellowed somewhat.

While Adan ground and mixed his malodorous herbs, Vorodon had an idea. Sorting through his darts, Vorodon chose one which had served him poorly in the past. A rotting stump served as his mark as he gave the recalcitrant missile one last chance to redeem itself, a test which it failed. Searching the underbrush, he soon recovered the wayward dart and set to work. A few moment's scraping and the dart's vanes and shaft lost their identifying glyphs.

A filthy rag then became Vorodon's canvas, blood from a pricked finger, his ink. With infinite care, he clumsily scrawled a strange symbol onto the rag and bound it to the dart's shaft. The vanes each received similar signs. Holding the missile carefully between two fingers, as if he now feared to touch it, he wrapped it to conceal its ill-omened sigils and brought it over to Kyrian.

Vorodon's voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ze'thot hunger bring, fear make: god spirit throw dart to frick enemy, rot disease food." He held the bundled dart to emphasize his point. "Dart to like look here. Maybe leave near Volgotoi food for fear make."

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#248

Kadarin smiled grimly, "it is a shame that Dujek was not here - his specialty would come in most handy."

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#249

Matare

“Typical Jantiri--rule half the world, don't know their geography---” Quorridge mumbled under his breath not loud enough for Aerex to hear ( :P), then, “Landeel is all around”, gesturing dramatically, “Landeel is where we find ourselves now, a country so old, that when the Jantirians were still a sea-going merchant-nation, we had already crowned our third queen.”

Quorridge paused and gazed toward the horizon as they rode, his eyes squinting noticeably.

“Brightblade is the Hellschwert’s castle, until recently seat of Nial Hellschwert, Erzherzog of Landeel. Nial was killed by a Von Hellen bastard, and the castle is currently besieged by Von Hellen forces, and their Mad-Duke Lokknar. We have information that until recently Lyle the Traitor was at this siege, but has left, and heads north to the Great Escarpment. The Von Hellens cavort with demons and seek the Vault of the Blade, where St. Alys---“

Quorridge paused his barrage of information, and shifted in his saddle, his eyes still peeled on the terrain ahead.

“My eyesight is not what it used to be, but nevertheless, prepare to defend yourself” he stated flatly, in the same calm manner he had been relating the familial history a moment earlier, and loosened the strap on his gruesome, great-sword’s scabbard.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#250

"Inspect encmpment. Pinpoint human and ogre commander. Count the opposition. Assess the dam's stength and eventual weak points. Plant scary scary spear. Anything else?"
'Yeah' Kyrian added to himself. 'Look for local fey, and scare the hell out of the campers if possible, on my own if necessary.'
Ha! Bragging rights would be his.

Almost ready to charge off, Kyrian turned around once more: "How much time do I have, Kadarin, before the foemen can see me in all my beauty again?"

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#251

"Until you strike out against someone. So long as you conduct yourself peacefully, and do not run into counter-magic, you should be fine. Avoid other wizards or other smart people, for such have a chance to see through the veil."

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#252

Late evening. Kyrian has infravision.

Dam Camp

The camp lay sprawled over the course of about two hundred yards, beside the drying river bank, and a mere hundred yards from the elephantine dam. Impressive in size, for no good reason other the wild expanse of flat ground available here, the camp seemed quiet now; whatever revelry had gone on earlier was over. Few figures, if any, could be seen inside the proper camp.

The first thing Kyrian noticed was a great bonfire, though it seemed to be waning now, lighting up the center of the area, the smell of roasted meat strong in the air. Smaller fires, here and there, were also ebbing now. The ogres were nowhere to be seen, no doubt asleep by now Kyrian thought, noticing huge, empty wine jugs, courtesy of the Von Hellen estates, littering the campsite everywhere he looked. The ogres were apparently sleeping inside huge billowing tents, six tents in all, Kyrian counted, covered in hides of exotic beasts. From the top of each tent-pole a limp black banner hung, each depicting the ogre clan’s apparent symbol, a crimson chain, coiled around a gray mountain.

Beside the huge ogre tents, Kyrian counted man-made (and sized) pavilions, twenty three in all, gently flapping in the evening breeze. Each one white, and bearing a painted shield design, a plain black tower on purple background. Behind the pavilions, twenty-four horses, seven of them impressive looking, barded, war-steeds, were tethered. As far away as possible from the ogres, Kyrian allowed himself a smile.

As for the evening watch, Kyrian counted eight human guards, clad in mail head to toe, two each at the northern, eastern (near the horses and men), southern, and western edge of the camp (near the ogres tents, beside the river bed). Pole-torches planted in the ground, lighted their lines of sight.

Most disturbing of all perhaps was that the mailed watchmen, were not alone in their night vigil. Kyrian could make out a revolting, four-legged creature, as large as the largest dog, a savage-looking hyaenodon in spiked collar, patrolling the grounds around the ogre tents, stopping to sniff the air intermittently, or bending its beast-head down to devour some beef-bone with its wide, bone-crushing jaws. It was apparent now to Kyrian, why the ogres themselves had no representatives on watch duty.

All in all, it was a pompous display of a campsite, for a small force whose sole mission seemed to be baby-sitting a dam. But if a noble was in charge here, it made somewhat more sense.

Kyrian could spy neither ogre nor human commander from his vantage point, nor much of anything else, a hundred fifty yards from camp, and coming up from the south. A closer inspection seemed now in order.

The hyaenodon could prove irksome Kyrian thought, as he quickly planned his next move.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#253

Aerex pulled the box from his back and nocked an arrow. "Whereabouts?" he asked, scanning the horizon.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#254

Even as Aerex asked he made out the approaching riders himself. Seven in all, riding in a wide arc, so that passing them was not possible on the trail without veering into a maze of pine-trees in either direction.

A rag tag bunch, Aerex noticed as they neared, mostly men, two women, a dwarf, wearing a court jester’s hat and carrying an axe across his lap as he rode.

“Beggin yur pardon mi’lords, but there be war hereabouts, and honest men turn to thievery, goodfolk turn to self-prezervashun’ if you take my meaning. My name is Sweetcloak, and these are my companions by necessity, the Court Jester, Pockmarked Maryel, Egmont , Unger, Poor Wil, and Queenie.

“I will not beat the bushes. We mean to lighten your load, as you travel these dangerous byways. Surely your horse barding, your coin o’course, that nice armor of yours ser baldy, maybe even that huge sword--” he grinned at Quorridge who began turning ten different shades of red.

“I am Lord Otto Quorridge simpleton! I would arrest the lot of you, if I had time, steer clear, or be run down!”

"How fortunate for us then, eh, a lord with no guards in tow. Now, now, that is no way to speak to the smallfolk, mi’lord. We’re all struggling to survive, you see, too much coin was taxed for the war effort. No bloodshed is necessary, if you would but kindly give us all that belongs to you. Now that I think about it, we could use your horses too. Good weather we’re having this early spring, I’m sure mi’lord could walk wherever he is heading” The man called Sweetcloak grinned again.

“The gall—“Quorridge began, his bald head looking like a ripe tomato about to burst, “You are no poor farmers, no put-upon toilers, but petty highway thieves!”

“Nevertheless---“Sweeetcloak answered soothingly, “Your coin and possessions, sword included, or the court jester here will have to add a notch to his axe.”

“You’ll have none of it, ‘cept the sword!” Lord Quorridge shouted then, and spurred forward his spotted mare, as he unsheathed his great blade in one smooth motion and bore down on Sweetcloak, whose grin turned to scowl, as he raised his hand-crossbow to shoot the charging knight.

Initiative roll for 7 bandits, Rolled 1d10 : 6, total 6

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#255

"Not so sweet to me, Sourcloak," Aerex replied sharply at his introduction. He considered more witty repartee, but figured it would be best to couple the (relatively weak) insult with a blow. As Sweetcloak raised his crossbow, Aerex's own bow came up to loose an arrow at the foe.
Initiative roll: Rolled 1d10 : 10, total 10

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#256

With little more he could do to help the others for the moment, Adan simply did what came most naturally. He knelt, and he prayed. He prayed for Lord Trigu and Lady Alys to help the elf find the rhin of the land here, and to dispose them well to ridding themselves of this abominable creation of the ogres, and driving off the invaders. Amen.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#257

Matare

Bandits win initiative.(16:12:43) ChatBot: Murometz rolls 1d20 and gets 14.
(16:12:51) ChatBot: Murometz rolls 1d20 and gets 17.
(16:13:01) ChatBot: Murometz rolls 4d20 and gets 20,12,11,16.

Twenty yards, a dead-on shot for Aerex with his fine new bow and his particular knack with it. But a mere half-second before Aerex let loose, Sweetcloak fired his smallish crossbow at the charging Quorridge. The bolt grazed Otto’s mailed shoulder, and careened harmlessly away (14)

Everything happened at once. Sweetcloak’s companions, mounted on their nags and garrons, proceeded to attack as well.

The one called Queenie, notched a short-bow of her own (though no master-work weapon), and fired swiftly in Aerex’ direction. At first Aerex thought she had missed, but seconds later could feel warm blood running down his arm. She had shredded a bit of shoulder with her shot, but the projectile didn’t stick nor wound too deeply. The pain was immediate but bearable. (17(+2))

The dwarf called the Court Jester, fired a hand-axe at Quorridge with blinding speed, and the weapon struck home, somehow finding a crease in the armor. The axe-blade remained stuck deep in Quorridge’s thigh as he rode by the dwarf, intent on Sweetcloak. The Court Jester rose up in his saddle, to his full four foot height and whooped and hollered, another throwing axe already in hand. As he shook, the bells on his jester’s hat jingled. A psychotic, to be sure. (20)

Unger and Egmont, brothers by the looks of them, wheeled their horses hesitantly and aiming while doing so, each fired throwing knives, both at Lord Quorridge. The knife missed Quorridge by a few feet at least, as the old knight bore down on the bandit-leader. Aerex winced, as the other blade sailed by him, having also missed it mark. (12, 11)

Pockmarked Maryel, who was aptly named, and whose nose featured a nauseating, shadow-casting wart, threw a javelin at Quorridge, but the missile glanced off the mail, just as Sweetcloak’s bolt had moments earlier. (16).

Finally there was Poor Wil, but he did not attack, no. He just looked nervous and feigned attack with his short sword, while keeping his bony garron from actually approaching either the run-away Quorridge or the ever-alert Aerex, who was already notching another arrow, before even knowing if the first had hit its mark.

Quorridge for his part took his time getting there, but once there, struck like a thunderbolt, sending Sweetcloak toppling from his horse with a hit from his gruesome blade, blood spurting in all directions, as he dropped. The bandit’s mount reared and bolted at that moment, leaving the somehow barely still alive Sweetcloak squirming on the ground, his arm nearly severed at the shoulder-blade.

Aerex, you take 5 dam from Queenie's arrow. Quorridge took 6 dam from court jester's axe. Sweetcloak took 13 dam from Q's mighty blade. Also, Aerex, need a hit roll from you. If you hit, Sweetcloak could be dead! You get bonus +2/+2 to hit/dam, because you face Bandits, your sworn enemies, your chosen foes! Before next initiative I will roll bandits morale :wink:

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#258

Attack roll:Rolled 1d20+5 : 10 + 5, total 15
Damage:Rolled 1d6+2 : 2 + 2, total 4

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#259

4 is enough to kill Sweetcloak. The bandits fail morale.

Suddenly, Sweetcloak stopped squirming, an arrow shaft sticking out from his forehead. This was too much (and too sudden) for the bandit-leader's compatriots. Wheeling their mounts in various directions, as suddenly as they had attacked, they now sought escape.

Quorridge turned this way and that, but did not select a retreating target, instead reaching down and yanking the court-jester's hand-axe from his own thigh with a grunt.

Aerex' move. Can do anything. Can fire bow at anyone at additonal +2 because they are fleeing.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#260

Grim-faced, Aerex picked another target and aimed. He knew there was no real chance of bringing the highwaymen to justice, but he could perhaps decrease their effectiveness as a threat. He judged the unhinged Jester to be the most dangerous; the others would probably disperse with their leader dead, but the dwarf would likely continue his attacks driven by insanity. Keeping the horse still, he launched his missile at the jingling bells of the jester's cap.
Attack roll:Rolled 1d20+7 : 10 + 7, total 17
Damage:Rolled 1d6+2 : 3 + 2, total 5

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#261

"Yeeee-ooowwww!" came a howl from the dwarf, as his stout pony prepared to bolt. Aerex struck the diminutive hellion between the shoulder blades, and now the infuriated jester turned his confused mount back toward Aerex, to fire a hand-axe, before wheeling yet again, to truly attempt escape this time, and outride any arrows that would come.

The rest of the thieves were scattering, no two in the same direction.

Lord Quorridge trotted back toward Aerex. His eyes peeled on the crazed dwarf, who was now some distance away. Lord Quorridge seemed unwilling to give chase, as if both his and his spotted mare's stamina was spent from their first charge. He still held his blade aloft, defiantly, daring the jester to ride closer and engage. But the jester was in great pain and wasnt having it.

The grimy hand-axe came hurtling toward Aerex....

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#262

Rolled 1d20 : 12, total 12 Jester missed Aerex with axe

You can fire away again now if you like :P

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#263

Aerex tucked his head to the side, allowing the axe to miss by a comfortable margin. He drew another arrow and raised his bow, this time feeling the bite of his own wound as he did. The adrenaline had numbed him from the hurt for a few moments, but he figured it would only be another minute or so before the hot pain came pouring back in. Hopefully, it would be time enough. He aimed for but a moment before loosing the second arrow at the crazed dwarf.

Attack roll:Rolled 1d20+5 : 5 + 5, total 10
Damage:Rolled 1d6+2 : 5 + 2, total 7

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#264

That actually hit thanks to your bonuses and the fact that the court jester has low dex and wears a cotton, human child’s nightshirt for armor. 7 is enough to kill him.

This time the arrow pierced the dwarf’s throat, and the court jester, though no court would have him, went hurtling from his pony, his jester’s cap flying, and crashed to the ground dead.

“Well done” said Lord Quorridge evenly, as he sidled up to Aerex’ palfrey. "Those two deserved death."

He considered a moment then, "A day and a half's ride from Thonrecht! Such brazen, murderous thievery!"

Composing himself, he looked at Aerex.“Are you seriously hurt?” The old knight then gazed at the dwarf, and back again at Sweetcloak.

“We should bury them, lest their spirits return to haunt this place”, he muttered and sheathed his giant blade.

As he got off his horse he added, "Another half day's ride north will bring us to the thorpe of Meisingholdt. There we will spend the night and recover."

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#265

Aerex gave a sigh of relief as the jester fell. "I didn't realize things were this bad out here," he agreed with Quorridge. Unless traipsing through some dark forest, travelers were relatively safe from highwaymen within a week's ride of Jantir. And while Thonrecht was no Jantir in size, it was a reasonably large town which should ensure reasonable safety.

Aerex looked over at his wound, the arrow still sticking out bleakly from his shoulder. "Nothing vital," he said. He prodded at the wound with his opposite hand, grimacing a bit. It wasn't too deep to remove, but it wouldn't be comfortable. Aerex folded a length of the leather reigns into his mouth and bit down on it. He took a deep breath and then, gripping the arrow carefully, yanked it out. A loud grunt of pain erupted from his mouth - he was thankful for the leather, else he'd have likely bitten through his own tongue. He released the reigns and tossed the arrow to the ground, rotating his shoulder. "I'll be well enough," he muttered, "at least until we can get it bandaged.

Matare briefly considered arguing with Quorridge, to point out that it seemed a waste of time to bury two brigands when they had places to be and there could well be more of them about. But he figured these religious, even superstitious folk of the north were set in their rites and ghost stories. Besides, he'd seen more than enough undead to convince him that vengeful spirits were possible. He dismounted and went to help Quorridge, nursing the wounded shoulder.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#266

Looking at the more or less unchanged vista he'd been subjugated to for the past few hours, Dujek, once again, struggled against the well crafted bindings holding him in place, astounded that he'd let himself get caught by a lynch mob, again.

Trying wouldn't hurt, not at all, though I would need to have this thrice damned gag out of my mouth to so much as attempt a cantrip to untie these ropes.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#267

Kyrian spent half his thoughts on sneaking, and half of chastising himself why he did not befriend a wizard back in Jantir. His imagination ran wild with immature yet highly entertaining applications of the Invisibility spell. 'Why just one?' he aded to himself.

Finally in the camp, he snooped around the ogres' encampment first, planting the speak, tying a sturdy rope around one dead pig and trailing it out of the camp; he loosened the essential ropes keeping a few tents up, likewise those tying a tall wagon load of round timbers. A stray salt shaker got its top loosened, and some spices translocated to undergarments. Some of the ogres' supplies, he just opened so that the creatures of their wild can sneak in and take their share. A drunken snoring ogre, the knight adorned with one of the symbols Vorodon had drawn on the banner, straight across his forehead. Likewise he did with a few tents, with blood dripping from one of the slaughtered cows. Finally, the Witchflame moss he tossed into the fireplaces would be harmless, but once they were lit in the morning, the flame was sure to take on a rather sickening green hue.

Surveying a job well done and grinning sheepishly, he proceeded t'wards the human encampment, the wind from the ogres' tents in his back - and nostrils, but that was a necessary evil. The monstrous guard beast would hopefully be busy with the beef bone he left in its path, then he snuck deeper, to scout out the human comander's abode.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#268

Matare

Aerex and Quorridge rode into Meisingholdt long after the sun had already set. Quorridge wore a hooded cloak, so as not attract any undue attention. He was not looking to be recognized.

As the pair’s horses clopped along the cobblestone, Aerex was reminded of Thonrecht. A grim people, these northerners, he thought, their buildings and walls so narrowly spaced, that simple navigation gave rise to a palpable sense of claustrophobia. Street lamps, reeking of oil, cast shadows, as the pair rode up to what seemed a public house, an austere building of gray stone. A single sign, creaking in the evening breeze, was the only clue as to the nature of this establishment.

The Gangly Arms, this place was named. Stable-hands emerged from shadows to usher the pair’s mounts into stables, as Quorridge and Aerex entered the inn.

Inside about a dozen people socialized, drank, and lingered, though no one stood out long enough to interest Aerex, as he gazed about.

They took a seat in the corner, and ordered food and drink. A serving wench called over by Quorridge, nodded vigorously, as the incognito noble requested two rooms, and asked that poultices be prepared and left in said rooms for later use.

As they ate charred boar-ribs, smothered in onions, Quorridge began to tell Aerex of Meisingholdt. Something about its history, and its stoic, superstitious people, but Aerex was only half listening, as he suddenly noticed a sign, plastered along one of the inn walls near their table. Many signs and notices were posted for public reading, yet one particular announcement attracted Aerex’ attention.

By decree of Mayor Heinz Orensil and the people of the Holdt, the Rolling of the Fire-Wheel can be witnessed by one and all on the Day of Worms this week. The accused, one Dujek the Vile, of parts unknown, has been found guilty of heinous charges; openly practicing necromancy, speaking with the dead in loathsome attempts to raise wicked spirits and for otherwise having truck with forces malign and unwholesome. The guilty miscreant was found performing obscene sorceries, while trespassing in the Jorgisch Mausoleum. Death by the Fire-Wheel was his sentence, and so shall it now be carried out.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#269

Aerex paused midway through chewing, his jaw hanging open just enough for a chunk of pork to hang out. No, it couldn't be, he thought. It must be another Dujek. He thought of all the times he'd heard the name before, how many others could match the description of a necromancer by that name. He could count the times on one hand, of course, one finger even: this must be Dujek, his Dujek, the half-sane necromancing Dujek that once adventured with Aerex and the whole crew.

He swallowed hard and pointed at the sign. "What do you know of this Dujek?" he asked Quorridge suddenly, interrupting whatever it was the lord was rambling about. "And who's this Mayor Orensil? When is the Day of Worms?" His line of questioning, if it could be called such, left one pointed detail out. It wasn't a mistake, it was something Aerex genuinely didn't want to know: what in the Dynast's good name is a fire-wheel?

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#270

Not far away, Vorodon wondered whether he should have shared his brilliant idea with the others. No, they would just have worried when he crept off between the trees. Huddled in the darkness, Vorodon tried to imagine what woodland spirits must sound like in these alien lands. Did they rattle their branches menacingly or growl like beasts? Perhaps they crept up on their foes while they weren't looking, pretending to be mundane shrubs: That must be it!

He wondered what was taking the cat-elf so long. The branches rattled ominously with even the slightest movement and he was so tired of holding still. The drying mud made his face itch.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#271

Luckily for the risk-taking Kyrian, the mangy hyaenodon was indeed kept busy with its assortment of bones, gristle, and sinew, left over from the ogres’ dinner.

Only when he began dragging the pig carcass to the edges of camp did the creature look up, sniff the air, and then proceed to investigate. Apparently angry at the moving meat's attempt at escape, the hyaenodon lunged, gripped the pig in its jaws and pulled. Kyrian wisely and simply let go, and the mangy creature proudly dragged the pig carcass back toward the main area.

Some minutes later, inside the ogre’s tent, a nauseating odor made Kyrian wrinkle his nose, making him realize in short order that Adan’s impromptu “ogre-scent-rub”, while indeed noxious, may as well have been lavender perfume, compared to the stench inside…

The sloppily drunk and snoring ogre did not wake, nor even bat an eyelash, as Kyrian decorated the sleeping behemoth’s forehead and mischievously rearranged some possessions. (Roll involved)

As he walked from one tent to the next, he noticed a human figure, one of the guards, had come for a closer look at a freshly-painted Shael’Ari masterpiece.

Raising a torch to inspect the tent canvas, confused as to its blood-dripping nature, the guard shrugged, and then looked about the camp. A low Hyaenodon growl from somewhere nearby caught his attention, and he quickly returned to his post, not wanting anything to do with the ogre’s pet.

The cow-blood painted tents were probably some gruesome ogre’s ritual, the guard thought as he walked, holding his torch aloft. The ogres painted their tents at night to prevent spirits from molesting them, he surmised, satisfied with his own assumption.

The Rose-Knight's loosening of ropes, booby-trapping, and general mischief took some time. The camp was quiet and Kyrian went about his work undetected. Or so it seemed.

The human camp was quieter still by comparison, no growling hyaenodons here. Kyrian quickly identified the commander’s tent; it was larger than the others. Two guards stood beside the entrance-flap, awake but disinterested.

It was well past midnight now.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#272

Matare

"I have never heard of this name, Doo-jik" Quorridge furrowed his brow. A waitress sauntered by with a small bowl holding hard-boiled eggs still in shell. Quorridge picked one out, and began rolling it on the table.

"As far as Orensill, he's the mayor here, a Hellshwert liegeman, but a haughty man and unpleasant. But how do you know the name--?" Quorridge turned to examine the notice that had caught Aerex' attention.

"They are a superstitious lot here" Quorridge continued understanding the query now. "They have no doubt captured this miscreant and will now execute him on the Firewheel. Meisingholdt is not an enlightened place, as Landeel towns go. Not nearly as sophisticated in their laws and in their order, as you are in Jantir. Justice is harsh and swift here." Quorridge explained the obvious, picking at his eggshell.

"Why does this interest you?"

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#273

Aerex pursed his lips, exhaling harshly through his nostrils, trying to keep himself calm. "Listen," he said, leaning closer to the lord and keeping his voice low. "I know Dujek. He's a... an old colleague. And I'm sure he's innocent of whatever they're trying to pin on him, he'd never hurt anyone that wasn't trying to hurt him first. And if he did do anything, it's probably not his fault. He's a bit, y'know, touched?" He gestured vaguely at his head.

"We've got to find a way to release him before they execute him. You're a lord, can't you pull some weight against the mayor?"

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#274

Kyrian crept around the commander's tent and loosened a peg on the other side; lifting the margin gently, he peeked inside - who knew what possibilities to disrupt the adversaries' plans would present themselves within!

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#275

From deep within the cover of the trees, Vorodon watched quietly and wondered where the ogres had found such a noble creature. From glimpses visible when the hyenadon wandered near lit torches or banked campfires, the snarling, mange-infested beast rippled with powerful muscle. Its irregular, yellowed fangs and dark, malignant eyes conveyed an unmistakable sense of stupidity and menace.

Enthralled by the occasional grunts and snarls of the malodorous beast, Vorodon decided that someday he'd have to find one of those creatures to keep for his own.

What WAS that elf doing? All Vorodon could make out was a vague impression of movement as Kyrian painted something onto the side of a tent. Impatience getting the better of him, Vorodon awkwardly moved a bit closer, his attempts at stealth stymied as his crude disguise's foliage caught on saplings and low-hanging branches.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#276

As soon as Koschei finished gnawing his way through the bindings on his left hand, Dujek dragged the gag out of his mouth and began work on the other side, keeping an eye out the whole time for anyone approaching. Hurrying through the knot as fast as he could, hoping that he'd at least be able to untie himself and run before any of his hosts showed themselves. Mumbling to Koschei under his breathe, "You might as well leave now, it took you a while to get through that one rope; it'll be quicker if I do the rest." Struggling with the knot Dujek's cracked mind formulated a plan to extract his revenge on this town.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#277

Arising from his knee, his prayer complete, several of the nearby plants caught his eyes. But Adan suspected that it would be too little, too late, save for those which lead to plans that churned his stomach. Other plans would take time, though there were certain things he could do. Plucking several of the leaves, he quickly wrapped them in a cloth, and began to shade towards Kadarin. The wizard's abilities would be critical to surviving this night, he expected.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#278

Lord Waltor Reymar's Tent

The human leader’s pavilion did not stink as bad as the ogre tents, which was nice, Kyrian thought as he slid beneath the tent-flap and stood up cautiously, his feline eyes scanning the room.

He first noticed the rather over-large bed, where a heavy-set, black-bearded man snored on his back, an empty drinking horn still clutched in his meaty hand. A gauze-like, mosquito canopy shielding the bed, prevented Kyrian from getting a better look at the sleeper.

Besides the snorer on the bed, there was a finely-crafted table and several chairs. On the table was a map of Landeel, as well as a diagram of the dam and some scattered letters. Cliché-ridden, the map was yellowed and stabbed through with an ornate dagger, whose pommel held a small dark gem.

In another corner of the pavilion, stood a large wooden chest (closed). A fine suit of burnished, full plate armor was draped across the chest, appearing as if a drunken knight had collapsed on top of it. A long sword scabbard hung on a small hook. It was empty.

The leader’s tent was deathly quiet, except for the snoring and the occasional sounds of shuffling feet from the two guards outside.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#279

But an eyeblink Kyrian hesitated.

Then with a mischievous smile, he returned for a stout wooden hammer used to affix tent spikes. Slowly, he lifted the mosquito net aside.

The enemy commander would be valuable alive. "Lights out" he thought as he brought down the mallet square across the snoring drunk's head.

Re: Whom the gods would destroy...

#280

Ser Waltor Reymar’s snore was rudely interrupted by the hammer blow, yet only a brief, muted noise followed, as the head lolled to one side. The guards outside made no move or sound, as Kyrian paused to listen.

Somewhere in the vicinity of the camp however, he could make out the hyaenodon’s nighttime laughter.