Flight From Ironheart IC

[Inspectre]

Dawn’s Hope - Monastery

Baerdog7/Archpaladin Zousha

Leading Karth and his retinue of bodyguards along, you come to the ritual chambers quickly. It had been expected that the Abbot’s meetings with the various grandmasters would have concluded by now, but apparently they have dragged on. As you enter, you see the mustachioed face of Oldak Chandler glared down at the Abbot.

“I will give you one more chance to atone. Renounce your association with these false prophets and I will try to convince the Council they should let you retire quietly. But if you insist in persisting with your blasphemy, it should go badly for you. I swear it!”

The abbot slams his fist into an open palm.

“Damn your pigheadedness, Oldak! Are you such a lapdog that you won’t even pause to consider our evidence!? Think, man!”

Unfortunately, at that point the image of the grandmaster’s eyes shift, focusing in on the entering group, and most especially Karth.

“Ah, it all becomes clear now, as the puppet master reveals himself. Finally decided to crawl out from under whatever rock you were hiding under, I see.”

“A pleasure as always, Chandler.” Karth says with a tight-lipped smile. The grandmaster’s image scowls.

“I do not know how you escaped from your cage, vermin. But I will see to it that you don’t escape the hangman’s noose this time! As for the rest of you, know that the Hells always have room for more sinners!”

With an angry gesture, the grandmaster breaks the connection, and his image dissolves as the Abbot sighs. “Well, that could have gone better. Not unexpected, but better.”

Karth listens to both Ander’s and Hondshioh’s pleas with growing displeasure, although he remains silent until they finish. And then he simply laughs.

Theme Music:

“None of you truly understand, do you? No one ever truly understands, because you have all blinded yourselves to the truth. The corruption in the Church is not the problem, *we* are.”

Karth smiles and shakes his head.

“We have all allowed ourselves to turn a blind eye towards the failures of the Church as a whole. You say that you see the corruption, but have you ever stopped to consider how it came to be? It came to be because we allowed, because the *system* allowed it!”

Karth gestures dismissively at Ander.

“You think you can simply come down here from on High and clean up this mess, do you? Rally the troops, unite the Church, and bring the corrupt Council to justice, hmm? And what do you propose then, or are you simply going to ride off into the sunrise?”

Karth grimaces as he clenches his hand into a fist.

“Can you really tell me that a year from now, or ten, or even a hundred, that you won’t be coming back down here to clean up the next Council? And the next!? I say NO! No, I will not allow this endless cycle to continue!”

For a moment, just a tinge of regret crosses Karth’s face, although it is quickly overridden with disgust.

“The Council is not to blame for this. No, the people of the Church are to blame, from the Council down to us, and on down to the weak maggots who are part of the Church simply because it is the only thing they have ever known. And the only way to break the cycle is to break the Church. I am saddened by the steps I had to take to accomplish that goal, but I do not regret them.”

“Monster. How many defenseless women and children have been killed in your name!” The captain spits, evidently quite aware of the schism Karth had caused all those years ago.

“Yes! Yes, I have killed women and children! When a forest grows too old and sick, a cleansing fire sweeps through it. Perfectly healthy trees are burned alongside their rotten brothers, but in the end some survive! And after the fire, they thrive, rejuvenating the forest! And that is exactly what must be done with the Church! It is not just the rotten core which must be excised, but all the weak people, the misguided people, and all those who simply don’t care what happens to the Church so long as there is food on the table. The strong will always survive, but unless the parasites are also culled, the corruption shall always return.”

Karth hand drops down to the hilt of his sword as he defiantly raises his chin to Ander and Hondshioh.

“It is weakness, and compromise with that weakness that has led the Church to its current point. Tell me, why should I also compromise my values to you, in return for playing a bit role in your efforts to save the Church that I know in my heart will never succeed?”

Stonefall

The Surrounding Forest

The_Snark

The dream fades quickly from your mind upon waking, although the last image of the man’s – Istomilo’s – face staring up after you with intense longing, stays with you longer than the rest. There is . . . a strange ache in your chest, and you feel slightly flushed as you gather the blanket around yourself a bit tighter, careful not to twist your wings. Still, it was better than waking up cold, even if it did leave you feeling slightly nostalgic. Things had been so much simpler in Daddy’s cruel care, although you still don’t think you could ever return there. He hurt you, and looking back now it was clear that he enjoyed hurting you, far more than he could if he ever truly loved you.

A sharp nod on the door rouses you from your reminiscence.

“Marion? (That was Mar’s chosen name now, right? I can’t quite remember. ) It’s Jacob. I brought you some breakfast. I hope I didn’t wake you up, but I figured you had probably slept long enough – the roosters have long since coaxed the sun out. Are you decent?”

(If you have specific plans for Mar today, such as going to visit Julian or doing something with the kids, or just exploring the village in general, let me know. Otherwise, we can do a montage (MONTAGE! Even Rocky had a montage!) to cover a couple days to the next relevant event. Dream. Something. )

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

The pirates nod at your instructions, too awed by your presence at this point to argue. When your two companions reveal themselves, however, one pirate gives a hard nudge to the other. In turn, both of them stare at Roger’s appropriated body in interest. Roger notices the attention being paid to him and sighs angrily.

“I’m the ghost of a dead man trapped in a dead woman’s corpse. Trust me, you don’t want a piece of this.”

One of the pirates gives a slight shrug, prompting a disgusted look from his companion and a slow shake of his head.

“Anyway . . . we don’t we take you to see our captain now.” The second pirate states, getting quickly up to his feet and heaving the chest up onto his back with a grunt. One pirate carrying the chest and the other hacking a path back through the overgrown jungle, your little party quickly makes it down to the beach.

There, just a short distance out to a sea, a badly damaged ship sat in a small natural harbor, the typical black skull flag flying from its mast. Fortunately, you would not have to go out onto the ship to see the captain. Instead, he was perched in a padded chair sitting on the beach while dozens of sweating men swarmed around him, chopping down trees and shaping them into replacements for the ship.

Your two guides are able to quickly convince the others of your urgent need to speak with the captain, and the strangeness of your party keeps most of the pirates back, but looking on in interest. More than one, like the two you had met in the cave, seemed particularly interested in Roger’s appropriated body. You heard more than one catcall on your way across the beach.

“Words cannot describe how much I hate you right now, Sohssal.” Roger hissed, warding one pirate who edged too close back with a clenched fist.

And then you are standing in front of the captain, who in addition to taking a relaxing break on the beach, seemed to be quite drunk judging by his breath.

“*hick* Who the . . . devil are you?” The gaudy-dressed man asks, squinting up at you. “You be the guardian spirit *hick* o’ this island, or someone?” The captain blinks, and turns to squint at Roger. “Why hallo thar, lass! *hick*”

Roger seemed torn between leaping for the captain’s throat, and just ending it all by abandoning his appropriated body. Somehow, he managed to will himself not to do either, and the captain turned his bleary-eyed attention back to you.

On the Road

The X-Roads Tavern

WhiteKnight777

At your introduction, the wizened man smiles a bit and laughs. His assembled toadies don’t share in the laugh, maintaining their even stares at you. They all seem competent knives, but nothing particularly special. Of course, you had encountered a number of creatures that appeared perfectly “normal” – Ross being the latest among them.

“We have few rules here – Rules are for the world outside these walls.” The man begins. “We do, however, have one hard rule – no names. So, you may call me the Proprietor, for that is what I am.” The man favors you with an amused smile.

“As for what business I have with – “

You catch a blur of movement in your peripheral vision as a mountain of muscle approaches, cracking its fist.

“You cheating bastard! Where’s my MONEY!?” The half-giant snarls, as it swings a beefy fist around to take your head off. With your split second of warning, you manage to tumble out of the path of the blow, but only by rolling off your seat onto the floor. The half-giant swats the chair out of his path as he closes in for another attempt to pummeling your body into paste, but the Proprietor stops him with a hand.

“What’s going on here, Mountain?”

There was a smoothness to his voice, as if he had practiced this line many times. Given the half-giant’s . . . upfront nature in dealing with his problems, except for his faulty memory, this could just be because he was always greeting newcomers with demands for money. Shaking in anger, the half-giant jabs a finger down at you.

“This guy stole my money! He owes me, and I want it now!”

The half-giant nods to the floor visible over the side of the balcony, and the sand-filled but empty pit standing in one corner.

“I want it out of his hide!”

“Hmmm . . . very well then. Challenge accepted.” The Proprietor turns to you. “We prefer to settle our disputes quickly and openly here, while allowing for a little sport. Mountain here believes you have cheated him out of some money, and the only way to prove him wrong is to settle matters in the Pit. Like the rest of this place, there are only a few rules while in the Pit.”

The man ticks these rules off on his fingers.

“Fights are settled personally between the injured parties. Only two people to a fight. No unfair magic. No weapons of any kind – bare knuckles only. And that’s it – anything else goes.”

Bending down, Mountain reaches out to you, attempting to get a grip on the front of your shirt.

“Come on, thief. Mountain will show you what happens to those who steal!”

There was definitely something dirty going on here – you could smell a con. Likely some sort of new guy hazing – sic the angry half-giant on him to beat the man senseless, and then pickpocket his battered body. You had encountered a few of these schemes in your travels, although usually not with quite this much build-up. Yet what choice did you have? The Proprietor undoubtedly wouldn’t like you calling him on this, which could very well lead to a more bloody confrontation than just brawling with this slab of hardened meat.

The Gastly Truth

Pwenet

As you are discussing plans of rebellion against the Baron, your master, you receive a new transmission from Fury. The contents are surprising.

Tell Korram that time grows short. The intention was for him to hide in the container and bide his time, but circumstances have conspired to make that ill-advised. He is to take a uniform from the spares in Container 224 now and a communication crystal from Container 15. I will give him direct him to his daughter once this is done. Tell him to hurry.

No sooner have you received this transmission but another, more standardized message arrives. The Baroness Isabella has summoned you. You are to meet with her in her private quarters. No reason is given for the summons, although given her previous displeasure with you it seems likely that another, more thorough tongue lashing is on the agenda.

Dorizzit

This day was just full of surprises, both unpleasant and simply mystifying. It seems a wide array of strange and unexpected creatures were willing to help you escape, although with certain strings attached. There were always strings attached, new oaths you had to take and try to fulfill. You bitterly wondered what body part you would end up sacrificing to fulfill Incom’s(?) wish to see Sara free of the Baron’s influence. It seemed likely that an answer would be forthcoming, once the two of you had worked out the exact details. You just hoped your daughter would still be in one piece by the time you got to her – the Baron really didn’t have much reason to keep her alive except out of sadistic spite.

Lonna

Your dreams are dark and terrible, a constantly shifting blur of movement, pain, and terror. Eventually, your subconscious exhausts itself, and leaves you with one last, considerably more pleasant dream. Your cell door opens, revealing a blood-splattered, grinning Wulfric who swiftly releases you and escorts you off the Ghastly Truth. Then, with the sudden jumping of dreams that seem to make perfect sense while they play out, you are suddenly in the midst of a grand party. The Countess is there, smiling happily for once as she applauds you and Wulfric, who are just starting to step out onto a cleared spot on the ballroom. The dream fades with you and Wulfric dancing peacefully.

The screech of the massive cell door beginning to open jars you out of your hazy half-sleep that you lingered in after emerging from that last dream. For a moment, you actually dare to hope that somehow, impossibly, your dream was actually coming true. But reality is far much crueler than dreams, and instead you find the person you *least* wanted to see standing there with the warden. Cheran grins savagely as he steps into the room and makes a point of looking around.

“Not bad – a little too drab for my tastes though. We really should look into installing a torture chamber in here.”

“I know. The ones at Ironheart were just exquisite.” The warden said with a reminiscent sigh as he handed a set of keys off to Cheran. Cheran eyes finally settle on you as he walks over, making a point to menacingly take his time.

“So here you are, surprisingly intact and whole.” Cheran looks back at the Warden. “I would have thought someone would have been in to have a little fun by now.”

“Sir Nephilium was in here awhile ago, actually. He made it a point to mention that she was dangerous and should be left alone.”

Cheran actually laughed at that, reaching over to flick your nose none too gently.

“This little bitch can be a handful alright. But with that pretty little collar on I wouldn’t worry so much. Still, I have to wonder – what was my brother doing down here with you, my little whore? Knowing him, I would guess he was looking for a game of chess rather than some late-night company.”

Cheran makes a face and rasps, “Rah! The crazy man forgets what to do with a woman!” Laughing, Cheran shakes his head, but he swiftly becomes focused again, glaring at you. “But I do. For whatever reason, Father still wants you alive for the moment, but he never said anything about remaining whole. So I think it’s time for a little fun.”

Reaching up, Cheran swiftly releases the manacles that have been holding your arms over your head. He then smoothly steps back, dropping a long slender dagger at your feet as he does so.

“You’re just a woman without your fancy voodoo bull****, so I thought I would make things a little more even than I do with the angels. I’m going to count to five. You had better be ready to defend yourself by then.”

While Cheran grins at you and settles into a lazy fighting stance, the Warden steps back out into the hallway and closes the cell door behind him. You were now locked in the cell alone with Cheran, free but still trapped, with only an insignificant weapon lying at your feet. Could this day really get much worse? It probably was about to.

The Perist Residence

Kasanip

(We can sort of gloss over the conversation, although certainly if you have specific things you want to discuss with Carlain, we can cover those. )

Sonier manages a weak smile at your words. “Thank you. All of you. The coming days are likely to be . . . difficult. But I am glad to see that there are still some willing to stand against the darkness.”

While Berrick helps his old friend find a more comfortable seat in your makeshift campsite and Cerise continues to try and make Ayse comfortable, you and Carlain begin setting up camp. The boy does as he is told, although there is still that quiet distance between you that you had noticed before. This was a rather recent development in your relationship, although it had been a few years since you had last spent any time with Carlain.

He seemed . . . to almost resent you, although that might be merely his teenaged emotions causing him to resent everything. You could dimly remember feeling similar for a time during your own formative years, particularly while dealing with learning how to use the Phantasmal Descrying Eye.

In any event, he followed your instructions well enough, and even came up with the good idea to use some of the rubble as a wind break. It is just beginning to grow dark when a new complication arises. The sudden displacement of air near the campsite is the only warning you receive of a teleportation spell before two figures are standing in your midst.

Fortunately, the two figures prove not to be hostile, and upon removing their cowls reveal themselves to be your father (I don’t remember if we gave him an actual name yet) and Cerise’s uncle Duncan. Which was certainly a surprise, both from a familial angle and the fact that your father was head of the Canticle of Autumn and Duncan was Third in the Canticle of Summer.

“Hey hey! It’s your uncle!” Duncan began, swiftly moving to give Cerise a hug and offer his hand to Carlain. The boy still looked a bit dour, but was certainly less hesitant to shake his uncle’s hand than he had been in his dealings with everyone else.

Your father is considerably more focused, as he usually was.

“We need to talk.” He says to you, allowing his stony expression to slip into a worried look for just a moment. “Something has happened.”

“I bet you could guess that from the fact that we’re here, together.” Duncan chimed in with a smile, moving back to stand beside your father as he sighed.

“One of the winter oracles just sensed a massive spike in magical energy, which we believe to be fiendish in nature. We have lost all contact with our member in the small town of Dark Spring, and initial reports seem to indicate that the town has been razed to the ground. We believe warlocks to be involved.”

“I would think the name of the town would be a dead giveaway warlocks are involved? Dark Spring? Oh, how clichéd.” Duncan added, rolling his eyes, although his expression turned serious again as your father continued.

“We have no idea what they did or why. If there are warlocks are involved, however, the kingdom could be in grave danger. You are our best paranormal investigator, daughter, and so I’ve come here to ask if you would be willing to help.”

“I told him you were already on a case here, but he insisted we should rely on your talents.” Duncan said, a note of discontent creeping into his voice. Like Carlain, he evidently didn’t like to lose arguments. “Considering there’s warlocks involved, I suppose it’s not a terrible decision.”

Warlocks. A name given to those who consorted with demons/devils, and made dark pacts with them in order to gain power. They had been all but wiped out by the Canticles in its numerous witch hunts over the years, but groups of them always sprouted back up. The lure of incredible power was simply too great for some mortal men, and the cost of trading their soul and the souls of others away too low a cost.

“Will you help with this investigation?” Your father pressed, his eyes boring into you.

The Capital

Tackyhillbillu

The mocking laughter of the guards confirmed that they had bought your ruse, which was another weight off your mind. And thanks to the powder you had force-fed them, none of the unfortunate guards would be able to counter your set up. With any luck, trying to sort this out would pull more guards away from their posts, and it would take them hours to figure it out. If Lady Luck continued to smile on you, you would be long gone by then.

No one pays any mind to you as you walk right in the front door and down the halls of the Impound Yard’s Central Office. And naturally, why would they with you in your appropriated uniform? Still, some officer could have wondered what a lone guard was doing wandering around the place, and why said guard didn’t seem to know where he was going.

Still, you eventually manage to find your way to the records room, which for all its importance to the Yard was merely a room filled with dusty, leather-bound books. All of the books were locked away behind iron grates, but the keys were close at hand, hanging on a peg by the door. Evidently efficiency in checking entries was more important than security, given there wasn’t even any one else currently in the room.

It took another few minutes to locate the position of the logbook for the current week amongst all the rows, and to retrieve the key for the grate. Once found, however, you quickly pull the book out and deposit it on the nearby desk.

Acutely aware of how easily it would be for someone to walk in on you right now, your mind begins to formulate an explanation that would last at least long enough for you to close to within striking distance. Eventually, you find the entry for the confiscated shipment. It is disturbing, to say the least.

– Ten iron-bound wooden barrels, obtained during raid on Guild safehouse. Slight sloshing sound can be heard coming from each – presumed liquid inside. One barrel temporarily cracked open to investigate contents. Thick red liquid found inside – smells somewhat like blood but with another, unidentified odor mixed in. No seal of origin found on any of the barrels. All ten barrels stored in Shed E under lock and key until alchemical analysis can be conducted.

“Hi there.” A soft voice calls from behind you. “I was wondering if you could help me look up an entry from today’s logbook. Apparently, somebody confiscated a noble’s crate of Donovale by accident.”

Turning, you see a guard standing in the doorway, already walking quietly over to you. At the sight of him, alarm bells begin ringing in your head. Something about the way he walked – it was a very distinct stride, formed after constant training to develop complete control over every muscle. The stride of a Hand. That, and the fact that his uniform was a little too small for him – there was about an inch between the hem of his cuffs and his wrists.

By the time your brain is able to process this information, the man is halfway across the room. A knife appears in his hand, and then it is flying through the air at you in slow motion.

A Not-So Ordinary Basement

OverWilliam

For a moment, Melcara’s eyes meet your own. Within them you can see gratitude for your sympathy, but also a mixture of anger, disgust, and sorrow. It was difficult to tell which emotion was currently the dominant one. Then Limier’s reply draws your attention away from the fallen angel’s face.

“It’s true I could kill you all if I wished. I do not – nobody has paid me for your lives. And you have already proven yourself quite useful in keeping Prince Teareal alive.”

“Uh – what about me?” Jim asks from his corner. Limier briefly looks over at him disdainfully, and then focuses back on you.

“I care not a whit about you. Stay out of my way.”

It’s at this point that whatever else Limier was going to say is interrupted by Adamè’s awakening.

“Teareal . . . Tare . . .” She groans as Teareal crawls swiftly over to her side. “I don’t feel so – BLARGH!!!!” The prince’s betrothed concludes as she spews a stream of blood onto Teareal’s face.

Limier seems to know immediately what’s going on, as she takes a few steps back towards the stairs leading up while muttering, “Well that certainly took long enough.”

“What did you do?” Melcara hissed, coming out of her own daze now to begin striding after the assassin. Limier’s pride was thickly laced into her words now.

“My job. I was only ever to escort Prince Teareal back. The Baron was quite clear with what was to happen to his betrothed, but he left the gruesome details up to me so long as it was . . . oh, how did he put it? “Appropriately agonizing”. So I gave her a taste of my own concoction, a very slow poison that would turn her insides into jelly. I’m amazed that she’s lasted this long – behold the power of true love, I guess – but she doesn’t have much longer now that she’s in the final stages.”

Although he didn’t understand the words, it was clear that Teareal understood their meaning. Only Adamè’s quiet sob of pain kept the elf prince from leaping to his feet. Instead he remained down on the floor, easing Adamè’s head down onto his lap.

“You will fix this.” Melcara demanded, continuing to advance on the assassin as she danced back to the foot of the stairs.

“I probably could – there is an antidote afterall. But I have no wish to, and you’ll have to work quickly if you want to get it to her in time. Time you won’t have if you chase after me. I guess this is good-bye then, Tare. Do try to see that Teareal eventually makes it back to his people.”

As the fallen angel lunges over the remaining distance, Limier throws the lightstick away into a corner, plunging the room into darkness. You hear a knife being drawn, followed by a high-pitched scream, and then someone lightly running up the steps. A minute later, the lightstick returns, as Jim finally proves useful by retrieving it.

The light casts a sickly pallor over the room now, and there seems to be a vaguely sinister quality to it. The two elves are still where they were moments before, Teareal completely absorbed in trying to comfort Adamè. Melcara is lying on the bottom step, still alive but with one hand pressed against a bleeding side. The paleness of her skin and shuddering movements with each breath suggest Limier’s knife had been poisoned. Considering the fallen angel’s wounds from your escape can already fully healed, it would have had to be a particularly nasty poison as well.

The Northern Forest

Gorgondantess

At your question, Pete points uncertainly in one direction – south, evidently. Forming wings and unfurling them, you set off immediately, leaving the human behind. He would have only slowed you down anyway.

Getting to where you were going solely under your own power would have been tiring, and so you ride the air currents, allowing them to carry you along when they could. You kept to a solidly southern direction, not veering off to one side or another even when the wind attempts to push you off-course.

Eventually, the sights of a small village come into view, a cluster of buildings set into a small clearing in the middle of the forest. It is similar to the village you once called home, although much larger and with a mixture of stone and wooden buildings. Near the center stands a large, ornate stone building that you can only assume is a temple. A temple dedicated to Athelion and Miriam, perhaps? It might be a good idea to start you hunt here.

(You can approach the village however you wish, although obviously the townspeople are going to freak out at Maria’s current appearance. Of course, if you’re just going to go down there and burn the place to the ground, what the people think of you isn’t really going to matter, is it? )