[D&D 5E] Shadows of the Past: Part 1, Chapter 1

D&D 5E - SHADOWS OF THE PAST
Part 1, Chapter 1:
An Unexpected Party

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"It's a dangerous business, going out your door."

It all began with the rain.

The night, before the rain, was calm. Like the muted hush before a wind. Like an intake of breath before story's telling. Like the pregnant silence before anger boiled over to violence.


And beyond that? The great white spaces where maps and certainties end.
The locals called this forest the Roundwood. No one could remember why. Think and nearly trackless, at sat at the very edge of civilized lands. Beyond the Roundwood, the river Rhim, beyond that, the great orcish plains to the north and the deep elven woods to the south.

But that was for later.

Here, now, was the Roundwood. Bathed in calm. Sleeping under a sky so clear and so crisp the stars looked close enough to reach out and touch, and sharp enough to cut when you do.

And then, in the space of a moment, the skies darkened, thick black clouds obscured the stars, and without sound or warning or even wind to herald its coming, the heavens opened and a curtain of rain poured down upon the forest.

Within moments the ground was a thick sucking slog. All clothing soaked through to skin. All skin soaked through to bone. With the stars and moon lost, the night was as dark as pitch, and what little visibility remained was stolen by the endless, endless, rain.

And then, impossibly, in the darkness, there was a light. And a wall. And the gate of a small military encampment.

Into this strange night stumbled several strangers, each alone in the wood for different reasons, the threads of the stories leading them here extending out to different horizons. But each of them come to the gate, to the wall, to the light, and are allowed entry into a long, low, humble structure with a dozen long tables and benches.

They are bid to sit. And wait. While overhead the sound of rain upon the roof echoes through the air.

A moment's silence.

And then, into the tent comes an armed and armoured man. His face looks like an old oak root, like a sheet of granite hacked into a human face, like a statue, eroded, all extraneous detail worn away until all that remains is its barest, truest essence. He walks with the confidence and purpose of a man used to command. He limps slightly.

Behind him are three others. One of them seems a servant, with a tray of heated water and cold bread and strips of cured meat. One of the remainder is a younger man, similarly arrayed, whose face is open and curious and whose eyes are kind. The final person is a woman of middling years, stocky with broad shoulders and thick, muscled arms. Her face stern and her gaze sharp and active. She wears a small metal badge on her chest of a woven circlet of thorns with a single deep green rose inset.

The older man stands and looks upon the gathering with a stony face.

"By crown and thorn, This is indeed a strangeness. I'll have ye all fed and watered and warmed, for even here in this fateforsaken place the Compact holds. But I'll know the why of this first. If a why there is."

As he speaks, the younger man flits forward with surprising grace and examines the sojourners for injuries or illness. To each he approaches, pauses, makes a gesture as if to ask if he might approach, and checks eyes, neck, skin, knees, arms. His touch is light and knowledgeable, his manner crisp and professional.

He wears a pair of skintight sheepskin gloves, unadorned but finely made and tied in the back with simple lacing.

Spoiler: EVERYONE

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Okay! After much ado, welcome to Shadows of the Past! Your first post should include a quick description of your character, what they were doing in the woods, and some idea of the sense of urgency they might feel to be done with this and get back to their lives.

I like to throw a lot of balls in the air, and offer a lot of bits and pieces of in-world information, some of which might be important and some of which might not. So any time you want to know a thing, feel free to make a pro-active Knowledge roll, and don't forget to let me know if an Aspect applies.

This is not my game, it's our game, so please don't be afraid to interact with things, ask questions about things, suggest things, and get right into the middle things and mix it up. You can't break the game, you can't ruin the story, and if anything goes horribly awry, posts can always be edited.

If you have any questions, you know where to find me.

Game on!

The halfling knight politely refused the healer by turning back his cloak and revealing the medallion of his order around his neck. Sir Tosco del Granato, holy knight of the Order of Saint Garrant, released from his hood his dark curly locks that shaded his watchful hazel eyes. His expression friendly and inviting, he met the eyes of each of his fellow travelers, before turning to their host.

It was interesting how so many disparate creatures could come together in the woods at a particular moment in time. Perhaps that was why the halfling knight was called to the Roundwood, why his god, protector of all halflings, saw fit to draw the steadfast aesthetic from the dangerous journey to Maltevry that he was about to undertake for one in need. Upon experiencing the calling, he immediately went to his friend, Dame Elda, sub-prior of the abbey, and explained what he had seen; it didn't take long for the abbot to give Tosco dispensation to pursue this calling.

But for the others, he wondered what drew them each here? It was certainly no coincidence that they were all so gathered.

"The why, for me, at least, is a vision calling me to this forest, this garrison. The reasoning for which was not revealed to me, and I am curious: are you and your soldiers in need of aid?" he asked plainly.

Lusana
The woman, human to most eyes - dressed in the fashion of the local villages, looks half-amused by the gathered party, though her tone is submissive when she speaks - head down as if addressing a noble "My Lord, I come seeking aid, your garrison here is closest to us and our scouts have seen evidence of troops moving nearby. Should they be hostile we are ill-equiped to fend for ourselves against such a force."

Solomon shifted uncomfortably in the small shelter, letting his eyes cast about. They brought food and drink, but were inspecting them each in turn before such things were offered and the magic of the Hearth -- such that it may be in a military fort -- cast its protective blessing upon them. That either meant that the people here were wary of strangers or ignorant of hearth-magic and, really, either one was sub-optimal. He tensed when the "Healer" stepped forward, drawing calculations on when and how to act.
And then one of his companions spoke, obsequious to the man who obviously commanded this little outpost, and his steps for the next few moments were set into place for him.

He doffed the weather-stained traveling cloak he wore that, at one time, was covered in the brilliant greys and reds of the Coven that raised him, and lay it with a practiced carelessness over the small, metal shield he'd laid over his backpack, revealing the threadbare military uniform underneath. It was clean, of course, the Craft saw to that, but it was ragged, nonetheless. Uncared for, and it had been that way for far longer than Solomon had worn it. There was still a ragged gash about the midsection where the last poor fool to wear the shirt was cut in twain, inexpertly sewn together by some quartermaster that never would see the fruits of their labours.
It just lent credence to the woman's story, after all. They didn't need to know that Solomon had been planning to never go back.
He consented to allow the other healer poke and prod at him, and tried to hide his open contempt at the man wearing gloves.

What kind of healer wore gloves? You needed to touch the skin, feel it, and let it sing to you of its ills and pains.
Gloves.

Absurd. They didn't even have bloodstains on them.
"First time away from the books?" Solomon asks as the young medic approaches him, rolling up his sleeves and extending his arms, palms up and out, just like in the sketches. To ease things for the young healer. Solomon paid no mind to the faded scars criss-crossing the inside of his shield-arm. Various old injuries from various old fights. Old training. His swordsman's calluses were on full display, the soft flesh of the palms worked over by years wrapped around hilt a shield-strap.
The tips of his fingers smelled like honeysuckle and nightshade. A little bit of residue from the oil he'd made earlier, resting within his pack, waiting to be unleashed the moment they discovered he was planning to desert.
He smiles when the medic's fingers trace over his skin, shifting carefully to assist him. Kindness in the healer's baptism. That's what was important. Good work for a man set out to do Good, it would do a great disservice to the world to leave a young medic scarred by viscera. The commander was a wiser man than he probably knew.

He did not address the commander. His fated companions had done quite enough of that, one of them even plausibly explaining Solomon's ill-fitting garb for him -- a kindness she likely did not premeditate.
Instead, he watched ever line, crease and wrinkle on his face. The burly woman's face. The servant bearing the hearth-magic's face, getting their read. Trying to figure out what they know. What they needed. What they intended.

Spoiler

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Well, then! Enjoy the first roll of the game, I guess? Please see here one (1) Insight Check to read the room. Let's see if I remember how to do this in BB Code... [roll0]

The commanding officer looks from speaker to speaker, taking in what they had to say in turn.

He emits a short, terse, humourless chuckle in response to Tosco's offer. "Perhaps you're here then to help this lady, then." He nods to Lusana.

He sighs. "But nay, the Emerald Compact binds to aid all that ask, be it not injurious to my orders. So I shall send some soldiers with ye on the morrow. Perhaps yon Halfling will accompany, as befits his calling."

Meanwhile, the healer looks up at Solomon and smiles a sad smile and shakes his head at the witch's question. He traces the line of particularly egregious scar on the man's forearm and makes a face like 'that had to hurt' and he pushes up one sleeve just far enough to show the edges of what looks to have been a mighty burn.

The commander shakes his head, "You will have to forgive Orlenn his silence. He's Promised his Devotions his voice, this cycle."

The woman leans in and mutters something in his ear. His mouth thins and he holds one hand for her to pause.

"But. Tomorrow will be for incisions and decisions. I dare think none of you will be going anywhere tonight. Not while this devil-rain continues. So eat. Be warmed."

Spoiler: SOLOMON

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There is deep and clear division between the commander and the woman. Whatever their professional relationship, they don't like each other at all, and the lines of authority between them is blurred.

Spoiler: Anyone who can make a DC 11 Religion check, or who has direct experience with various religious orders

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There are an order of sort-of-native Clerics in the Empire called "Keepers." They raise up one principal or group or ideal and pseudo-worship it and draw power from their relationship to it. They call it their "Devotion." They fuel this relationship by voluntarily giving things up, or undertaking certain taboos. The closer the relationship, the more taboos/privations. These are called "Promises" There are a lot of them in the military. The healer, Orlenn, appears to be one of these.

Spoiler: Anyone who can make a DC 13 History Check, OR who has direct military experience

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The small token on the woman's uniform marks her as a soldier in a noble's private employ, outside the normal chain of command and (in theory) answerable only to the Nobility. They are often used as secret police/spies/internal investigators. But it is very, very, very strange to see such a one in such a remote place

The ironic thing was he'd dressed for rain. Or at least, the gentle rains he was accustomed too where a thick wool cloak was all you needed to watch the water ball up into little droplets and roll right off your back. Jacob was accustomed to travel, he spent a lot of his time in the woods, but he had failed to adequately anticipate such a heavy downpour. The comforting tightly woven wool cloak that had kept him warm on so many nights had turned into a millstone around his neck. By his estimate it had probably absorbed an extra ten pounds of water weight, to say nothing of the way his clothing clung to him and his boots threatened to be lost in the mire of sucking mud.

Each step was a struggle, the thought of curling up under a sufficiently large tree and attempting to wait it out fought against the very real threat of succumbing to exposure. When he finally spotted lights off in the distance he managed to drag himself soaking wet and covered in mud through the gates of the garrison along with several others.

Jake has a simple, honest sort of face. The kind of face you'd loan a gold piece too and not worry about getting it back. What ash blond hair isn't clinging wetly to his face is tied back in a long utilitarian braid that's in the process of coming partly undone thanks to the wind. His skin is tan and covered in freckles, and his eyes are a pale cornflower blue. And right now, as the tall stern looking man is promising them all food and dry, he looks like he could kiss him.

He nods at what he presumes to the be the medic who comes to examine him. Aside from being soaking wet he has no fresh injuries. Just old scars, all of them clearly either from animals or tools.

"Thank you kindly sir, I was actually on my way here to deliver a parcel and some news to a cousin of mine stationed here. Courtesy of my Aunt." He pulls a parcel wrapped tightly in waxed paper that nonetheless is still also a little on the soggy side. He frowns when he sees the state that it's in. "Ah I'm Jacob, Jacob Archer, and it's mostly just bad luck I happened to get caught out in this mess. I do sincerely hope old Everett is around to receive this? Er, well what's salvageable?"

"My hand is Iron," Solomon offered lamely to the healer -- Orlenn, if the Commander was to be believed "Sometimes, that means a little bit of pain. I thank you, Orlenn."
The Witch offered a genuine, light smile and nodded his head respectfully to the Healer, and took to his feet, crossing the room to the servant bearing bread and water when the Commander offered, pouring himself but a swallow of the drink and breaking off a tiny heel of bread, making a too-grand gesture of consuming both.
Bread and water, blessing of the Hearth. Fare of prisoners.
"Thank you, my friend," he half-whispers to the servant, before returning to his seat, hands empty of both cup and bread.

"Black," he says, finally, to the woman and the commander in equal measure, "If the Rain be keeping us here, we may as well trade stories."
He pointed at the burly woman
"Can we start with what she's come here to tell you to do, and why you don't want to?"

Spoiler

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[roll0]
[roll1]
Can't... uh... can't pass that History check. This is amusing.

Lusana smiled fondly at the newcomer, Jacob. He reminded her a little of her husband, seemed like he would be more at home among the trees than among people.
Focus, task at hand. "Thank you milord, it may be nothing, but a patrol would make my people feel better."
She looked with intent as Solomon spoke to the woman, her presence set her on edge. There was certainly something going on here...

Eliana hovered as much out of direct sight as possible considering the central location of the benches they had been sat upon and the attention being placed upon the group. Thankfully others seemed to be happy to do most of the talking. Lurking from within her hooded cloak she avoided direct eye contact as she took in as much information as possible from this strange and formal arrangement.

She softly declined the attention of the healer and hoped that he would move on quickly, though she was interested by the routine of the inspection he placed on others. She may not know what she was, but better that they didn't note it first if *they* did and she'd prefer to keep her secrets to herself. She noted that everyone here was largely human in appearance so it seemed... aside from the small one. A halfling perhaps? He didn't seem to meet the description she had heard and imagined, but she was sure she'd come across stranger things yet on this journey and this was the least of it.

She retreated back to herself and her senses to guide her next actions, small amounts of light peeking unseen from the corners of her eyes on covered and down turned head in pause. Keeping an eye on the movements and demands of the others in the room she decided what would come next.

Spoiler: Perception & Insight Rolls

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Perception for weapons, restraints or other tools of ill intent.
[roll0]

Guidance
Insight on intentions of them toward being able to leave unharmed and of our free will.
[roll1] + Guidance [roll2]

Tosco smiled slightly at the commander's response to his offer of aid, and inclined his head to the lady beside him, when the soldier suggested that it was for them that the halfling was sent. He'd have to find out later, because first, they supped.

He warmly accepted the hospitality given, and ate and drank with the others, thankful for the shelter above and relative warmth of close quarters. Tosco was concerned about his donkey and cart - hopefully, Gibbous would be equally well provisioned and sheltered.

As the group ate, he felt many pairs of eyes fall on him, but one lingered for some time. He turned to find a cloaked figure toward the back of the room, their gaze withdrawing as his eyes fell upon them. He regarded the figure for a moment, wondering who they could be that they would shroud themselves so, then turned with a dismissive shrug back to his meal.

The woman looks sharply at Solomon when he asks his question and asks, in a loud, strong voice filled with the assurance of command, "And what makes you think we are trading stories, citizen?"

The commander holds up one hand, "Peace, falleen," he says, softly, "Peace." He looks back at the gathering. "We'll discharge what Trust and Compact require, but we'll not be interrogated nor disrespected. Mind me, if you please."

A pause.

"My name is Breen. Commander Breen, officer of the Emerald Legions these past twenty years. You are beneficiaries of our aid, and therefore under my protection here."

The woman makes a frustrated sound, gives Solomon one more venomous look and leaves the tent.

The commander looks after her for a moment and sighs. He looks at Jacob. "Aye, Everett is stationed here. He be on wide patrol, away these last four days, and I no expect his return for six more. But I will ensure he gets the package, if you wish to leave it here."

Another pause.

"Some of you may have had truck with the Emerald Legions in the past, but I'd wager some of have may not. We are bound by sacred duty to give aid and succor to the citizens of the Empire, so long as our military position be not damaged. So please feel safe here tonight."

Orlenn, finished his examinations, stands and backs up to stand behind Breen. He nods, solemnly, at the description of his duty.

He sighed. His eyes flitted to the door. "But, all the same, on first light, it might be best you all make your way again. For everyone's sake."

Orlenn looks a little confused, a little troubled, but does nothing.

Spoiler: Eliana

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Breen is armed, but in that casual way of career soldiers who have become used to weapons. Orlenn bears no visible weapon. Nayar also has no weapon, but she moves like someone capable of defending herself with her bare hands.

So far as you can tell, Breen is serious about your being guests and it being his duty to help you. He also seems serious that you should all leave again the next day.

Spoiler: Anyone who speaks Sviligot, has military experience, or who makes a History roll of 12

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Falleen is a Sviligot word that means, more or less underling. It doesn't denote any particular rank, it just means 'someone who takes orders from me.'

Lusana is decidedly uncomfortable, brought up as she was she knew better than to argue with armed men. Too often her people had been moved on by armed guard or militia, arguing was a quick way to get you beaten or worse.

She bowed her head, "Thank you Commander, your hospitality is gratefully accepted, it will be a relief to sleep in the dry. Hospitality freely given may nevertheless be repaid in kind - should you need anything. "

Eliana is relieved to hear that she should be on her way come morning. With reservation she quietly takes of the heated water, bread and meat, and lurks silently near to Orlenn to keep on eye on anything she may pick up from his techniques and manners. Not trusting the safety and security of strangers far from home she chooses not to unpack any of her belongings or to leave the safety of her cloak, but as the warm water loosens the chill clinging to her shoulders she takes a deep breath and resigns herself to the wait.

The halfling's eyes darted between the venomous woman and the sagely man, lingering on the warrior's excited departure as he chewed on bits of cured meat. His gaze fell back to the sage, held for a moment, before the knight returned to his general people watching...

Orlenn completes his examinations and ministrations to the gathered party and looks at Breen, who dismisses him. "Yes, Keeper, you are relieved to your prayers. Thank you for your assistance."

The keeper bows his head to each pilgrim in turn (favouring Solomon a longer look and a wagging 'be more careful' finger gesture and a smile) and then leaves.

Breen then calls in a soldier and starts giving orders about their billets when another solider bursts in, a woman in her arms. She gently lays the woman down and backs away.

The woman is clearly some manner of rustic. Her clothes are well-made homespun, her hair is tied up in what was once complex, intricate braids but has since become a tangled mess. Her colour is high, her skin baking fever-heat, her chest heaving as though she had run a long way. She is painfully thin, with her cheekbones looking about to cut through her skin. Her skin is dark from years of sun. Her hands are rough and calloused.

And wet. She is a soaked, muddy, bedraggled mess from head to toe. Her feet are bare and caked with freezing cold mud. Her clothing is worn and torn away to the barest rags.

She is speaking, quickly, manically, quietly and then loudly, her dialect so deep and so alien that it is almost incomprehensible.

The words baby, children, stolen, help come through clear enough. And a strange word that she says, over and over, "Az-AH-neem." The Az'hanim. Help. Babies. Children. Help. Az'hanim. Help. Stolen.

Help, she is saying, please help. The Az'hanim have stolen her babies.

Spoiler: Jacob and Lusana

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Her dialect is closer to yours than anyone's, so you find it easier to follow. But it is shockingly strange. Wherever she is from, her people clearly don't mix with anyone else on a regular basis.

"Hanim" sounds like an old word for wheel, or maybe round thing, or maybe just thing that spins. And the prefix is close to one you would use for 'apart' or maybe 'above.'

Spoiler: Eliana

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Every time she says the word 'Az'hanim' something inside you rankles, like fingernails on a chalkboard, or a feather tickling the back of your neck, or a sudden chill, and your skin breaks out in goodeflesh.

Spoiler: Solomon

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You came across a couple of off-hand references to something called 'Az'hanim' in the libraries. The references were scanty and off-hand and seemed to assume that everyone knew what they were. But they were spoken of as though they originated in the deepest, deepest depths of antiquity, and had ceased to exist a long, long time ago, and in some places had become a by-word in some places for 'boogeymen.'

Like, "If you kids don't shut up and go to bed, the Az'hanim will get you."

Spoiler: Tosco

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Halflings use a word very much like Az'hanim to describe people who flatly refuse to follow their destiny even when that destiny is staring them right in the face. It means, more or less, "Dumbass who won't accept the inevitable." You've never heard the word spoken anywhere outside of Halfling communities before.

As Orlenn leaves, with his long stare and admonishing finger-waggle, Solomon counters with a wink, trying to go for one part flirtatious and two parts intent to stir the pot again. Undoubtedly, he notes to himself, he muddled the proportions of that, somehow.

The young witch was reaching for his weathered cloak and in the middle of throwing it over his shoulder again when the solider comes in bearing the ranting, rustic woman.
The change in his demeanor is immediate.
The scholar crosses the room in a heartbeat, falling to his knees to tend to the woman.
His cloak is torn from his shoulders before it even lands, and he wraps it around one arm, immediately wiping the sweat and the rainwater away from the woman's face and exposed limbs. It would be hard to get a handle on how hard the fever was affecting her with rainwater in the way, and his free hand darts down to one of his boots to draw the dagger he had hidden there, taking great care to wipe the blade across his breaches as he pulls it free. Holding the weapon in his hand in a loose, inverted grip, he extends a few fingers to dance, bare, over the woman's exposed skin after he wipes it dry, poking, prodding, and searching for any form of invisible injury.
Having learned long ago that pleas to "someone" hardly got anything done, Solomon glanced about the room for the space of a held breath.
"Ser Knight," he commands, without even bothering to spare a glance at Tosco, "Fetch some cool water for her, will you? Something potable, not the rain. Pour some into her mouth. It's likely an infection, so we fight the fever."
"Jacob, was it?" He follows up without waiting for a reply, "I need you to go into my pack. There's a book there, flip to the section on folklore and see if there's any notes on the Az'hanim."

The witch's eyes dart to the woman's face as he says this last part aloud, carefully probing it for a reaction. The order was more for that benefit than anything else.
Then, almost as an afterthought "Lady with the hood in back, there! Pass me a needle and some gut. That's in my pack, too, if you're out."

His eyes returned to the patient, making them meet hers, and his voice slipped into something halting and heavy, the grammar simple, and half-forgotten, a dead tongue that seemed vaguely Dwarven.

Spoiler: Speaking Hi'Cie

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"Tell me about the monsters,"

Spoiler: Dice

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Let's diagnose a patient! [roll0]

Lusana is on her feet as the woman bursts through and she heads to the woman's side, a half-step behind Solomon, she watches him work, making her own assessment as she struggles to take in the woman's words. As she graps them as much as much as she can she calls out distractedly "Someone check the road, make sure these Az'hanim are not giving chase."

Spoiler: OOC

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Medicine [roll0]

Ears perking up at the opportunity to get her hands on a book of folklore *AND* help those in need, Eliana usurps both invitations of grabbing Solomon's bag on the way to the woman's side without a moments pause.

With a quick glance to the rest of the room reassuring her of momentary safety... or at least no other immediate new threats... Eliana pauses in concern for the distressed woman.

With a reassuring touch on her shoulder, Eliana's eyes turn to deep pools of compassion. Seeing the woman's feverish half vacant glare brings back years of tending to women just like her in her home town. Helpless women, dealing the best the can with limited means in a world larger than their understanding. To comfort the woman, Eliana entreats her with a strangely loud and clear tone, followed with softer reassurance - "RELAX, you're safe here."

With medical attention well in hand, Eliana takes the opportunity to pull out Solomon's bag, handing the medical supplies to Lusana where they can best be used if needed, and grabbing the book, eyes quick to hungrily search every page. Wishing she could have more time to pause and absorb, the need to search first for anything on the Az'hanim and the immediate... possibly even magical evil... threat in the area, takes precedence.

Spoiler

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Lvl1 Cleric Spell: Command - "RELAX" - DC 13 Wisdom Saving Throw

Perception check to find an occurrence of the word Az'hanim in Common or Celestial within the Folklore section of Solomon's book [roll0]

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Thanatos 51-50

"Ser Knight," he commands, without even bothering to spare a glance at Tosco, "Fetch some cool water for her, will you? Something potable, not the rain. Pour some into her mouth. It's likely an infection, so we fight the fever."

---

"Right," Tosco responded with a nod. Turning to the soldier who brought in the woman, he asked, "Where do you folks keep your fresh water? Lead me there."

Jacob is only just starting to warm again and considering his poor luck at having missed his cousin when the woman arrives and sends the whole room into a flurry of action. He's halfway up to Solomon's bag when Eliana intercepts him so he contents himself with trying to look over her shoulder at the notes and sparing the occasion glance at their newest guest.

"Az'Hanim..." he murmurs to himself, like he's heard the word before. And he has, sort of. It's something like wheel maybe? Wheel apart? Circle apart? Out of a circle? Apart from a vortex? That doesn't make much sense no matter how he turns it over in his head. It doesn't sound like something that could chase someone, it sounds like a place or a thing. Maybe it's the name of a new group of bandits? Some guild name?

Deciding he needs more than fragments to go on he stops peering at Solomon's book over Eliana's shoulder and kneels down beside the woman as she's being tended to by the others.

"Ma'am, my name's Jacob, and you're safe here. You're going to be ok. I know it's hard but can you try and tell me what happened? Somethin's taken your children?" He does his best to keep his voice steady and clear. Give her something to focus on, someone to focus on in all the commotion.

Spoiler: OOC

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Roll Persuasion if applicable to try and get her to provide more, or clearer information. [roll0]

The tent quickly explodes into activity.

The woman's eyes widen and her hands clutch at Solomon's cloak at the word Az'hanim. She starts to grow frantic and inarticulate and what soothing effects his ministrations had seem to be lost.

Eliana steps forward and speaks a word of Command. At the utterance, her body does relax and she stops her frantic clutching. But it is as though her body were commanded but not her mind and her eyes continue darting from place to place in fear and confusion.

Her words slow and her voice lowers. Still panicked, but a very strange, slow kind of panic.

So that, when Jacob speaks to her, she is able to hear him and begins to actually relax.

In the meantime, the soldier (with a nod from Breen) leads Tosco outside, to the side of the tent, where there are several barrels of water. She hands him a large jug, which he fills and returns to the tent and gives some to the woman, who sups it, but is too worked up to do more than sip and sputter.

Her unnaturally calm gaze locks onto Jacob. "Babies," she says, nodding, panic nipping at her words but held at bay for now, "Taken. By Az'hanim. Taken to Spire. For dying. Past deep, deep river." She looks around, one hand taking Solomon's, the other Jacob's. The tips of her fingers are ice, ice cold. Her hands are burning, burning hot. "Help me. Please?"

Water vapor steams from her in a cloud.

Spoiler: Solomon

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She definitely has a fever. All her other wounds are relatively superficial. Her feet are a mess, though. Mashed up and frost-bitten. Without magical intervention, she'll loose most of her toes.

She shows no reaction to the words in Hi'Cie.

Spoiler: Tosco

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The rain continues and the wind has really picked up and is now whipping and howling through the night, making the forest a sea of creaking and rustling. If the Az'hanim are following her, no one would know until they were right on top of the fort. The walls, however, are manned and guarded, and soldiers all standing under makeshift shelters, with torches. The gates are guarded with four soldiers. So that's eight up and about.

Your military experience suggests to you there's room in this for for about thirty soldiers. Plus or minus five or ten.

You also notice that all bushes and small trees have been cleared away for about twenty feet around the walls. There are two massive, hoary old broadleaf trees within the cleared space. Their branches, however, have been trimmed so none overhang the walls.

Spoiler: Eliana

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You only get a few moments to skim through a large book with very small writing, but you do notice a single reference to a religious sect called the Doz'hanim, dating from before the Empire. They were apparently very big on Fate and Destiny and letting nature take its proper course without 'unnatural' intervention.

Also, the 'Deep River' she mentions sounds like a deep, deep gorge you passed in your travels. It's about three days' hard travel west from here.

Spoiler: Lusana

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She definitely has a fever. All her other wounds are relatively superficial. Her feet are a mess, though. Mashed up and frost-bitten. Without magical intervention, she'll loose one of them. And most of the toes on the other.

The intensity of her fever seems to be increasing the more she talks. She was clammy and warm when she entered, but by the end of her little speech, she's just radiating heat.

Spoiler: anyone who succeeds on a DC 14 Survival or Nature check (Jacob can roll with Advantage)

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The Deep Gorge she mentions might be a very deep river valley about three days west from here. There's no road, or even game path, but the way is pretty clear.

It does, however, wind through both/either the forests of the elves or the plains of the orcs. Neither of whom are fond of visitors.

Spoiler: Survival Rolls

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Rolling Survival with advantage, will edit in post proper once I get the roll result.
[roll0]
[roll1]

He wishes he knew more, wishes she was in a better state to answer questions. Like how long it's been since the children were taken, how much of a head start these Az'Hanim already have, especially when traveling tonight in this downpour would be an exercise in futility, and by the time the rain passes it would likely have washed away any sign or scent of their quarry.

A late start to a ticking clock. Not good, it makes an icy lump settle in the pit of his stomach. Jake looks up at Breen like he's hoping the stern military personnel will have some kind of answer. Some reassurance or offer of aid. "Sir the place she's talking about is around three days out from here, maybe with a set of good horses someone could catch up if the ground weren't..." he trails off, turns back to the woman.

"Ma'am how long ago was this, can you tell me? How long did it take you to come here?"

He wants to help, aches to help, but he knows he needs to prepare himself now if it's going to be a rescue, or a retrieval of bodies for a funeral.

Solomon's eye close for a moment, and he lifts his fingers from the body. He takes a long, deep breath, suck it in, holds it, and then lets the Craft spill from his lips of its own accord.

"Quell the fever
chill the blood
Mother of the lost
Saved by Clever
Healed by Craft
Share with us your Cause"

Solomon takes a long moment to watch as the Craft weaves itself around his patient, a soothing mass of healing magick, diving into her throat, her feet, her blood, and filling her with the blue-green mist that Healing Magicks always took in his mind, mingling with and battling away with the red-black pain.

Spoiler

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So, first things first, here's a level 2 Cure Wounds spell! [roll0]
Here's Nature, since I'm far better at that: [roll1]

Lusana whispers a quiet word of thanks as Solomon starts to chant, and she feels the thrum of magic entering the woman's body. She takes a step back, with magic available, Solomon is obviously the better person to treat her.

Spoiler: OOC

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Nature: [roll0]

Though now acquainted with others use of magic, Eliana remains nonetheless slightly awestruck while watching Solomon's healing magic. Though she had always had a sense of her own magic, the clarity and control of her own powers had begun to resolve only a few years ago when she began travelling from the very isolated and non-magical rural town where she had grown up. Now the farthest she had ever been into Donshen, or any declared territory for that matter, the increasingly commonplace, and flamboyant, use of magic was at once startling to her and yet comforting to see magic being accepted so matter-of-factly and without note.

Holding on Solomon's book she decides to trust in bringing attention to herself to share with Solomon and those also around the woman; "I believe the river she speaks of is the same one I passed some days ago west from here. It cuts through a deep gorge. It would be about 3 days hard travel from where we are now."

Looking back to the book she skimmed the pages once again in review; "Though this book does not seem to have anything specifically on the Az'hanim, it may be of consequence that there was once an old religious sect called the Doz'hanim in these lands before the Donshen empire was established. As described they centered around fate, destiny, and letting nature take its proper course without 'unnatural' intervention... However one would define that." she trails off in thought, reviewing the details at hand in her mind, something tickling uncomfortably at her core.

She pauses to remember anything that might help the current situation from her journey.

Spoiler: Rolls

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Survival: was there a "Spire" like building or feature in the landscape past the gorge [roll0]
Religion: knowledge on any practices of removing or taking children, or destiny/fate based practices [roll1]
Survival: what features, villages, encampments, people, races lie along the course to the gorge [roll2]

Jake pauses as he hears Eliana speak about the Doz'Hanim and he feels like something clicks.

"Er, fate don't happen to be represented by a wheel anywhere does it? Cause I know that Az bit at the front there means somethin like 'apart from' or close to it. And Hanim is... something that turns and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what 'apart from something that turns' meant or how it could chase someone or steal children."

Of course "Something that defies the natural order" isn't much less abstract but it would make more sense as a descriptor of a group of things or people. Albeit a very ominous one.

"A hard ride in this rain may leave us in need of saving, ourselves," Solomon breathes, still feeling the Craft crackle to air around him, "I've a pair of horses with me, and I don't supposed any of you brought a covered wagon or anything?" he pauses for a moment, hopeful "We should make preparations to ride as soon as the rain slackens."

Images of the Hi'Cie ruin flash through the young witch's mind, and gears turn in his head. Three days out, three days back, that's easily a week lost, and the stars would only be right for another three weeks or so after that, a week ride out...
This detour could cost him everything. But only maybe. He may still have time, and the he left the Coven over something akin to this, how could he live with himself if he let the children suffer?

"Even if she had a horse for part of the way, that's a long time for a rescue." Lusana sighs, "We can only hope they had some reason for taking the children that does not result in their immediate demise." She nods thanks to Solomon, "I don't know what the rest of you are doing, but I can't stand idly by while children are in danger."

Spoiler: OOC

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Knowledge: Nature to make a guess as to how long the rain will last?
[roll0]

Solomon's magic enters the woman's body and, instantly, most of her hurts are healed. Cuts. Scratches. Bruises. That troubling looking swelling in her side and the strange bend to her wrist. And her poor cold-ravaged feet return to something close to their natural colour.

Her fever, however, does not abate one bit.

She looks at Jacob, tries to talk, "Babies gone, I run same day. Babes alive. One week."

As she talks, blisters form all over her lips and tongue and start to spread backward on her cheeks.

"One... week... more... alive..."

She struggles with all her might to squeeze each word out. At each utterance, her throat and tongue swells and dark, dark bruises start to form along the distended flesh. Her breath becomes a strangles wheeze.

She passes out.

Once she is unconscious, her throat returns to normal and her temperature drops and her skin is not as fiery hot. The blisters break open and the skin beneath is dried and cracked. They would probably leave scars.

Breen calls out and several of the non-military support staff come in with blankets and some simple clothing. They start to dress and wrap her.

Her brow and face tense and contort and her head whips back and forth and she moans in her sleep. But she does not wake.

Spoiler: spinningdice

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Although it is very hard to tell much in the dark, To Lusana the rain shows no signs of stopping. With the flat uniform darkness of the sky and the steady sound of the downpour, it sounds like it's going to rain for days. "Till the gods be sick o'swimming" as her mother-in-law would say.

Spoiler: Eliana

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Survival: You've never seen it, but some of the refugees in Moddy's Town did speak of something called Verdant Spire, that was rumoured to be in the area near where this woman says she's from. It was supposed to be near the foothills of some rocky outcroppings, in the middle of a forest that had an evil reputation. Haunted, they said, by restless spirits who sought the warmth of the living.

"The rain's not going to let up anytime soon. Since we're three days away I recommend we get what sleep we can here then set off as soon as it starts to get light."