[WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

Illiiya’s shout turned every head bar one, Pieter’s ultimatum seeming almost an afterthought as the night-black scythe boiled out of the air into the elf’s grip. For a moment, the melee was still – then the archer’s arrow hissed through the smoky air, burying itself squarely in Illiiya’s shoulder.

She cried out, her right hand letting go of the scythe’s ethereal haft. Ithelus rose beside her like a ghost, loosing a crossbow-bolt towards her attacker – it buried itself harmlessly in the planks supporting the cavern wall behind him, the bandit ducking nimbly to one side. In front of them, the youngest of the robbers broke off from the scrum surrounding the knight, moving to block the path of the new intruders.

Heaving himself up with a wounded howl, Abel laid into the armoured man in their midst. The bandit’s paired axes were a furious blur, crashing in a cacophonous din against the guarding sword. Hooking its blade and wrenching it to one side, Abel span both axes free and hacked sideways, connecting with a deafening crash of steel. As he swung the weapons back, he stepped back to see... a pair of bright scratches on the knight’s dull breastplate, the impact barely staggering his enemy one step.

The blade of the sword lashed out in reply, too swift and strong to stop. Its tip carving a red gash from hip to groin, it sent Abel reeling like a whimpering child, blood flicking behind it on the follow-through. Buckled over and clutching at the wound, Lothar could have sworn he heard the grizzled criminal sob. The look of relief on the youngest robber’s face at having escaped that particular melee was evaporating fast, the blows of his friends having as much effect on the Panther’s guard as a light breeze as he advanced inexorably on his wounded prey.

A bowstring snapped taut again, and a second arrow whistled towards the entrance to the cave, winging Ithelus before breaking against the rock behind him. With Werner blocking their route to the archer, Pieter and the elves were bottled in the cave’s narrow entrance: shaken as they might be, the bandits were not broken yet.

At the back of the cave, Ribault froze as Lothar’s flickering shadow fell over him. Looking up, he heard Illiiya’s voice and stood up straight.

“Ah,” he said, sounding more disappointed than anything else. “So I take it you would not actually be interested in the money then, m’sieur Fischer.” He met Lothar’s eyes. “I suppose it is... fair play, yes? We were not actually going to share it, either.”

---

1

Sigurd

Flattening himself low to the stallion's spine, Sigurd felt the twigs of the low-hanging branch tear at his back, ripping his hard-wearing outdoor clothes. Straightening up with an exultant yell, he looked back to see Indigo racing after them, a grey blur between the mist-swathed trees.

Snorting, the horse veered right in a tight turn around the next gnarled oak to come looming out of the fog. Turning his head, Sigurd’s eyes had a moment to widen as he saw the next onrushing bough already inches from his face – it struck him hard in the head, smashing him from the saddle and sending him tumbling back over the horse’s rump to land hard against the muddy ground. Clutching his skull as he lay there, he heard the syncopated drumroll of galloping hooves fade away into the trees, replaced after a time by the padding of Indigo’s paws.

OOC:

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Take a Toughness test against concussion. If you pass, you are stunned for 1d10 rounds; if you fail, you are knocked out for 1d10 minutes.

[Another_Poet]

Rolls:

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Toughness (1d100)[74] vs. 41 (51 if concussion is a "disease", seems unlikely)
duration (1d10)[5] rounds or minutes

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter muttered a curse and stepped closer to Illiiya, his sword raised protectively. Her wound did not appear to bleed too hard, but some injuries were worse than they looked. Why did the tiny Elf have to be so gods-damned reckless? One day her luck would run out.

"Stay at the back," he said. "You're not a fighter, Illiiya. There's other ways you can help us."

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Moving one square forward. If possible, Ithelus and I will shove Illiiya behind us and form a line to intercept Werner and Ferret.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya looked forlornly down at her weapon as it faded back to the aethyr, then to Pieter. The bolt had knocked the wind and rage out of the tiny elven woman, and now she just looked desperate.

Don't let them hurt.... Lothar. She pleaded with him.

Turning one last time towards the fray, she made one last attempt to channel. The pain in her shoulder was awful, and she did her best to use it as means to focus.

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So much for Scythe time. It's Drain Life time! This could end.... horribly. Targeting Ferret. Anyone named Ferret is likely not so great on the whole Willpower stat.

Casting: (1d10)[4], (1d10)[3] and (1d10)[5]
Then, even if it does work, she'll be moving back down the passage to be behind cover.

But it was too much. She could not bring herself to command without feeling the winds slipping away from her. Fearing what they might do if she continued, Illiiya halted her spell and dragged herself to cover down the passageway... hoping that her allies could handle this themselves.

[goblinpaladin]

So I take it you would not actually be interested in the money then, m’sieur Fischer.” [Ribault] met Lothar’s eyes. “I suppose it is... fair play, yes? We were not actually going to share it, either.”

Lothar grunted. "Imagine my shock." He glanced over his shoulder, a fraction of a second, at Illiiya's cry, but turned back to the slender robber.

"How about we have another go at you cooperatin', eh?" the soldier growled, waving his sword under Ribault's nose. "While Herr Rittermann chops your mates into meat back there."

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Intimdiatin':

(1d100)[90]

...yeah, if he ain't gonna get worried when a weird Knight Panther starts hacking into his little friends, one mercenary soldier isn't going to do it either.

[LCP]

As if to underline Lothar’s point, there was a meaty thunk from behind them. Trying to rise, Abel had met the knight’s sword, hacking down. Before the senseless wreck of his body had even hit the cavern floor, the blade that had felled him was whirling round, ripping a bloody gash across the next man’s side.

The robbers’ resolve was wavering. Giving voice to a guttural roar – of anguish or fury, Pieter couldn’t tell – the big brute with the knives launched himself at his attacker, overcoming the pain of his fresh would to stab straight for the Panther’s injured chest. A flash of the sword, and he was staggering back, saved by a half-inch’s worth of reaction time from the closest shave of his life. The other man, Paul, made only the most cursory attack in retaliation, barely touching the knight’s armour as he retreated onto the back foot. He was eyeing the pitch-black escape route behind him, while doing his best to keep his other eye on the knight’s sword-arm.

Ferret’s third shot zipped across the cave. Perhaps his aim was shaken by the scene transpiring to his left – whatever the cause, all it achieved this time was to get Pieter ducking. The youngest robber was holding his position between the initiate and the archer, ready to intercept any attempted rush... although at this point, Pieter wasn’t sure if that was out of any genuine strategic concern, or simply a desire to stay out of the reach of their mysterious ally.

At the back of the cave, Ribault gave the sword-point he was being menaced with a careful, appraising glance. Raising one hand open-palmed in a gesture of peace, he reached down into the open barrel behind him.

“Alright, Mister Fischer,” he said slowly. “I shall... co-operate. You want the letters, yes?” Lothar frowned as the Bretonnian raised his voice, unnecessarily loud. “Here! Take them!”

The Breton pulled a grubbly roll of parchment out of the barrel, the outermost folded over into a crude kind of envelope and sealed with a glob of wax. He thrust them into Lothar’s chest and turned to run – as he did so, the knight’s head turned instantly towards them, Ribault’s words still echoing through the grotto...

OOC:

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I think all that jibber-jabber disqualifies Ribault from taking a full action as well, so it's just a Half Move out of combat with Lothar. How long will Flee! last this time?

(1d10)[5] rounds, is the answer.

Brenton, if you want to take a free swing at Ribault as he breaks off, you're welcome to. You had him at sword-point, after all.

[goblinpaladin]

Snarling, Lothar allowed the parchment to drop from his chest to the muddy floor; with the one hand, he hacked at Ribault. The other held his shield, after all. Can't go grabbing parchments when holdin' a shield.

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(1d100)[38]
(1d10+4)[7]

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

That was an abysmal failure...

You beat the seer! You can do this!

Illiiya leaned against the wall, breathing ragged from pain. Taking the bolt lodged in her shoulder with one shaky hand, she tugged it free, giving a long, muted noise of pain through her teeth.

I can't...

She looked down at the blood coating her shaking hand, feeling the heat leave it. Lothar would be all right without her, wouldn't he? He was a strong man. He'd survived this long, hadn't he?

The human isn't worth dying for. If he's too weak to survive on his own... let him rot.

The dark turn in her thoughts gave her a start, and she forced herself up again with a soft grunt of pain. She might not be able to do much, but she refused to leave her allies to risk death without her. Peering around the curve of the tunnel, she set eye on the brigands and choose her target... and began to channel again.

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Illiiya will creep to the edge of the tunnel... someplace she can get cover, preferably... and will try Drain Life again. I'll go for Ribault if I can, but if I can't LoS him (Your call LCP) I'll aim for the surly man fighting the knight.

Casting: (1d10)[5], (1d10)[3] and/or (1d10)[2]
No channeling since I moved.

Damage, if needed: (1d10)[9] Ignoring armor/toughness but ignored if he makes a WP test.

Here's hoping for some luck this time.

Edit: *obsecenity censored* At least I didn't miscast.

But the winds would not respond. She could not maintain her focus. Releasing them again, she slumped and watched impotently... hoping her allies might was enough to see them through.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter hated to feel helpless. Lothar had given him some lessons in swordplay since Delberz, and he had gotten rather decent at it. But it was one thing to practice with a friend and another to charge into the fray. He was certainly not brave enough to take the fight to the two bandits to the left. Not all by himself, at any rate. Maybe Rafale had been right... Maybe he was a coward.

"Where's a Grey Wizard when you need one?" he said under his breath.

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Pieter is holding his position.

I'll go for Ribault if I can, but if I can't LoS him (Your call LCP) I'll aim for the surly man fighting the knight.

There's three of 'em.

Honestly, Drain Life is a long shot even with Dark Magic when you have only two power dice.

[LCP]

As Ribault turned to run, Lothar’s blade snaked out through the dark behind him, cutting low at his legs. There was a muffled, solid sound of impact and the man went down with an agonised cry, blood pulsing far too freely over shorn breeches where his right thigh had been carved to the bone. Lothar glanced at the wound with a certain professional satisfaction before stooping to retrieve the letters.

Straightening up, he pressed Marius’ blade to the fallen Bretonnian’s chest. "No, you can stay right there. I imagine this'll be all over real soon." Turning, he called out: "Ribault's down, and I have the evidence. Surrender, lads, and I'll see you're treated fair."

Almost before he had finished speaking, the first answer rang out – a rasp of metal twisting on metal as the biggest of the robbers was thrown bodily aside by three feet of honed iron, his hunter’s knives making poor parrying daggers. His trailing rain-cloak sporting new tears and bloodstains, the wounded knight came stalking through the gap he had made, covering the distance between them in a few clinking strides.

The sword swung up, pointing to Lothar’s heart as surely as the soldier’ sword was fixed on Ribault’s. Standing frozen in the moment, Lothar found a detached part of himself fixating on the details of the weapon, seen up close for the first time.

He’d thought before it seemed too plain to be a rich man’s weapon, and that was true... but from this distance, it was impossible to deny that it was a very well-made sword. The blade was long and heavy with one, shallow fuller, the guard a plain crescent of iron without a gilded leopard or a brazen sun to be seen. The metal was dull and tarnished, except – very definitely – for the edge. Perfectly straight, expertly balanced, scimitar-sharp: if you set out to make a pure sword, a real, unornamented instrument of bloodshed, it might look a little like this. Or might have, a few centuries ago.

It was also still covered in that fellow Abel’s blood, noted a slightly more grounded voice in the back of Lothar’s head. As the sword-tip pricked Lothar’s mail, the voice behind the visor spoke.

“The letters.”

Behind the armoured figure, the bandits sensed their opportunity. Still clutching at the wound the knight had dealt him, the burly bandit with the knives staggered away and towards the tunnel, leaning against the cavern wall. Paul dropped to one knee next to Abel, trying to do what he could to stem the flow of blood from his wounds – the bearded man was past helping, lying crumpled against the cavern floor like a butchered hog as his own blood seeped into his clothes. He was mumbling something in a strangled voice, broken words stumbling over his lips with painful breaths... Illiiya could almost swear she heard him whimper that he was sorry. Squinting through the darkness, she focused on his face – cutting runnels through the blood and grime of his cheeks, those were definitely tear-tracks.

Beside her, Ithelus rose like a jack-in-the-box, a second crossbow-shot splintering against rock a foot or so to the archer’s left. The bandit was too slow to catch the elf as he ducked back down, but his speeding arrow grazed Pieter’s cheek, drawing blood.

“Werner!” roared the big man, still propping himself against the cavern wall. “You’ve got a crossbow, lad, use it!”

Startled into action, young Werner prepared to do just that, sheathing his blade and beginning to load the bow. The man who had given the order turned his stare on Pieter, still reeling from his close shave with the archer’s arrow.

“I don’t know who you are, boy,” he rumbled, pushing himself up off the wall, “but you and your little elf friends have got ‘til the count of three to get right out of our way.” He hefted one of his knives in readiness – Pieter couldn’t help but notice that the hand that held it was shaking. “’Less you want to see how far your luck holds up without a suit o’ plate, aye?”

OOC:

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Map!

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter wiped some blood off his cheek and silently thanked Ranald for the near-miss; he would hate for his handsome face to be disfigured. He kept his eyes on the man who had just reloaded his crossbow. Werner, was it?

"Lothar, give Mr Knight the letters," he advised. "They're nothing to us."

A big bandit stepped towards him, knife in hand. “I don’t know who you are, boy, but you and your little elf friends have got ‘til the count of three to get right out of our way.”

Pieter grimaced. He hated to let killers get away; they had murdered a young woman and might do it again. But he hated even more to stand in the way of four or five desperate outlaws.

"Yeah, turns out I'm not too keen to fight you either. Can't speak for my little elf friends, though." He drew back until he was out of Werner's line of sight and put his back to the wall to leave a way out. "One by one. No sudden movements. Those who can't carry themselves stay here."

He gave Illiiya and Ithelus a warning glance.


OOC: Moving to the square to Illiiya's left. My sword is still drawn.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Go. Was all Illiiya had in her to say, before she stepped aside, out of their path, hunkering close to Ithelus.

She didn't have the will to fight them right now, and her main concern was for Lothar's safety. Her eyes flitted to the knight in worry. There were many, many ways this can end badly.

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Stepping aside and letting the crooks flee. She'll hold her action, and if the knight seems to be attacking, will cast drop on him. Otherwise, she's spent.

Casting, if it comes up: (1d10)[6] plus (1d10)[5]

[goblinpaladin]

"Uh."

Lothar hesitated, biting a lip. His sword did not waver from the chest of Ribault's shattered form, but for long, long seconds he did not immediately hand over the letters.

"I made a promise to a lady to get these to her, m'lord. You're a Knight Panther," the soldier said, hesitating over the word 'Panther', "so ye've gotta understand why I have to keep the promise."

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If he even looks a little insistent, Lothar'll give them up. He doesn't want to fight this guy.

[LCP]

The knight remained silent. The tip of the sword didn’t move.

Inching back from the blade with a reluctant grimace, Lothar handed over the letters. Taking them in his free hand, the bandaged man lowered his sword, looking down at the folded parchment. His gaze seemed to stray for a moment to Ribault, lingering on the crippled man’s face – then, without even breaking the seal, he crumpled the papers into a ball, casting them into the bandits’ cooking fire. Using the tip of his sword to push them to the centre, he watched in silence as their edges charred and took light, waxen seal beginning to bubble and run.

“No!” choked Ribault. Trying to move, a string of curses escaped this throat as blood welled anew from his opened leg. Most of them were in Bretonnian – they trailed off as the armoured figure of his enemy turned back towards him.

“Gods’ blood,” murmured the youngest bandit in fear, his head turning to the scene unfolding before them. Lowering his bow, the archer grabbed him by the arm, pulling him towards the others and the exit. In the tunnel, Ithelus was glaring daggers at Pieter, but stood aside.

“Leave him, Paul,” muttered the big outlaw, practically dragging the leaner man away from Abel’s body. He kept his voice low. “We’re getting out now.”

Hiss as he might, Paul didn’t seem to be moving. Abandoning the cause, the robber turned away, heading for the tunnel with the other two. They passed their attackers with weapons drawn, ready for betrayal – as soon as they had passed Pieter, however, the last in the line, they broke into a run, retreat turning into rout.

“Please, seigneur,” babbled Ribault, coughing his words. “This has been a misunderstanding, yes? As a gentleman of honour... I surrender myself to you.”
He reached up, touching the knight’s armoured boot.
“You would not... kill... a defenceless man.”

The point of the sword thrust down, transfixing his chest. Ribault died with a look of utter surprise on his face, white teeth showing between parted lips in a startled snarl. It was the expression of a wolf – shot and stuffed.

The blade pulled wetly free of the Bretonnian’s body, and his cooling corpse crumpled back against the ground. Turning away as if Lothar hardly existed, the knight turned back the way he had come. Paul froze, pinned in the killer’s eyeline like a startled hare: in the next second, he bolted for the dark fissure on his right, scrambling away into the shadows.

The only people left standing between the knight and the outdoors were Pieter, Ithelus and Illiiya. Still holding the naked blade, the knight began to stride towards them, as steady and silent as before. As he passed Abel, the sword swung up – it looked like he intended to send the bandit chief to meet his partner in crime.

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Still in quasi-combat-time here if anyone wants to interfere with this guy. If you want to let him out along with the others, then the only question that might prolong combat time is whether you want to try and catch any of these fleeing bandits.

Unless he decides to kill you too, I guess. That would be bad.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar stepped back from the knight as the taller man cast the letters into the flames, leaving Ribault to his fate. The bearded soldier's expression flicked with approval as the parchment curled, but he did not smirk, or grin, at the Bretonnian stopped breathing.

Lothar did not stop the knight from leaving.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter turned very pale when the knight dealt Ribault the death blow. He had no love for the Bretonnian, but the execution was just so sudden and cold-blooded. When the knight moved on to Abel, the Ranaldite began to regret not letting the outlaws take their crippled with them. He opened his mouth to plead for Abel's life, but could not for the life of him find a good reason to spare the bandit leader. Even if the man survived his wounds, he would end up swinging from a tree.

He did not move. Let the knight go about his business.

My hands are clean, at least.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

The execution, brutal as it was, elicited little reaction from Illiiya save a look of relief that the knight had not struck for Lothar. While she hardly trusted the man... if he WAS still a man... she only wished to see her allies live through this. She did not intercede as he went for Abel, instead trying to work her way towards Lothar, keeping as far from the knight as possible.

[LCP]

The sword swung down, and Abel’s body spasmed. Lifting the bloody blade before him, the knight wiped it clean on his tattered cloak, before sliding it smoothly back into its scabbard. Striding on without a backwards glance, he left the robber chief’s body sprawled behind him, blood soaking into his matted beard where his neck had been sheared through to the merest hinge of gory gristle.

Ithelus stepped quickly out of his path, Illiiya and Pieter watching him go. As his darkening silhouette turned the corner out of the cave, the man’s voice echoed back, shouting a name into the fog.

“Validus!”

There was a long silence – then, echoing back down the tunnel of rock, the sound of hoofbeats approached. Coming to a halt, Pieter heard the clank of armour plates as the nameless warrior swung himself up into the saddle.

The hoofbeats rose again, their sound fading rapidly as they accelerated away into the trees. Ithelus exhaled, slowly.

"You're the preacher man, Pieter," he murmured. "Who in the gods' name was he?"

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter looked a bit shaken. He shrugged at Ithelus's question. "How would I know any more than you? He seems sworn to the Verlorens, but Lord Verloren never mentioned he had knights. That man looked... strange. Think it's a coincidence that he found that cave right after we did?"

He examined Illiiya's injury closely. The arrow seemed to have missed the arteries. "Lothar, can you look for our brave wizard friend? No idea where he's gone."

He dug into his slingbag and found the healing herbs given to him by that hedge witch in the Fluchtling Fields. "I'm going to take the arrow out, Illiiya. It'll hurt, but try not to move. Bite down on something."

OOC:

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Healing time!

First Illiiya, using a healing poultice.
Heal 57: (d100)[60]
Fortune Point: (d100)[68]
Wounds healed: (d10)[6]

Then Ithelus.
Heal 57: (d100)[80]
Wounds healed: (d10)[1]

Then myself.
Heal 57: (d100)[63]
Fortune Point: (d100)[90]
Wounds healed: (d10)[5]

*sigh*

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar shook his head, stepping out of the cave toward the others. "Let the wizard sort himself out." He crouched by Illiiya, watching as Pieter twisted the arrow in her wound. "SSss. ah. Here, let me--"

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Heal: (1d100)[48]

"---no, I think you've got it. Sod. Oh, Illiiya, I'm sorry." He stroked the elf's cheek, concern creasing his bearded face. "We'll get you back to the village right-quick."

He straightened, and gestured about the cave. "I'll escort Illiiya back. Someone ought to look through this, make sure there are no other bits of parchment with secrets written in, and find what happened to Mister Wizard."

He tugged on his beard. "When we get back to the hamlet, I'll let someone know where this cave is, so they can get this stuff back to the rightful owners. Meet me at the Heartless, we'll go see our lady together."

And then sleep for a thousand bloody years.

Lothar paused for a moment, then looked to Ithelus. "Ith, wanna help me get Illiiya back?"

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter removed the arrowhead from Illiiya's shoulder and bandaged her wound. It was not an excellent job, but this was not really the best place to do these things. He then moved on to Ithelus's injury.

"I'd like a little chat with the doctor when we get back. The bandits mentioned him, so now I'll bet my birth coin he's with them. Oh, and Lothar. I know you're all truth and honesty and such, but I'd rather keep our story simple until we know more, at least in public. No need to lie. We'll just tell them Ribault's dead and the bandits are on the run. The letters and the knight will just raise questions we can't answer."

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar raised both eyebrows. "Truth an' honesty? Where'd you get that idea? I ain't mentionin' the knight to anyone, and the only one who needs to know about them letters is the lady herself. I promised that."

[LCP]

Lothar paused for a moment, then looked to Ithelus. "Ith, wanna help me get Illiiya back?"

The elf looked around the cavern. Something else seemed to be on his mind. "Someone needs to search this place," he said. "Might as well be me. I can probably catch you up anyway."

He glanced across at Pieter. "That leaves you to go looking for Mr Waite, I suppose. Unless we want to leave him out here."

Ithelus sounded tempted.

[-Sentinel-]

It was tempting. Mr Waite had been keeping secrets from them, after all. And then had vanished when they needed him most. But Pieter did not want a repeat of his own situation in Delberz, when he was being kept in the dark.

"I'll go look for him. I see no reason to leave him out of here. He's the one who came up with the whole plan."

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya seemed far more relieved to see everyone intact than she was for the attempted healing. She looked worn and weary, but with a certain amount of relief that at least the knight hadn't tarried to harm any of them.

We should not split up. What if those men return? Or that knight....? Illiiya said softly as Pieter wrapped her wound. His blade was the dhar given form. That was no man. That was.... I... I do not know. But we should not linger here.

[goblinpaladin]

"I want you back at the village, and there is still work to be done." Lothar's tone brooked no dissent. "Ith and Pieter can handle 'emselves out here, and those lads won't be back in a hurry."

He twisted at the copper ring on his finger. "I don't like this talk of that blade bein' all... dhark. There was somethin' right odd about it. It was... old. Not dwarf-make old, just... I dunno." The soldier shook his head, unhappy. "I reckon he's after them bandits, though. He wanted the letters about Lady Verloren, had no interest in us other'n that. Reckon we'll be fine."

[-Sentinel-]

"I want you back at the village, and there is still work to be done." Lothar's tone brooked no dissent. "Ith and Pieter can handle 'emselves out here, and those lads won't be back in a hurry."

"I agree with Illiiya, I think we should stay together. We'll be done in a few minutes."

With some disgust, he searched Ribault's body in case he had kept the actual letter on himself.

"I've no idea what's that Dhar thing. I gather it's not good, but if that knight wanted us dead, he wouldn't have spared us. Man or no man, he was on our side. As for the bandits, they have no reason to kill us now. Their plan's ruined, so now they'll just run for their lives and bother someone else. That's the one nice thing about people without a cause greater than themselves... They're predictable."

[LCP]

Ithelus gave a noise at Pieter’s last comment that could have been anything – a cough, or a laugh. Shrugging, he looked back at Illiiya.

“You want to stick together, I’ll stick with you. Just give me a minute.” Stepping over to where Abel lay, he turned the man’s body over, searching quickly and professionally for anything that might be valuable. Straightening up, he wiped off his hands with a quite remarkable disregard for how much blood had come off on them, cutting a small pouch of money from the bandit chief’s belt and dropping it into his own pocket.

Searching Ribault’s body, Pieter found nothing: he had, after all, had little opportunity to pick up more than he had had when they searched him last. There was nothing more of interest in the barrel from which he had pulled the parchment, either – it looked like all that was left of the Bretonnian’s grand plan were the curled and blackening scraps still smouldering in the fire.

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Frankie, when you read this: credit yourself 5gc.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar smirked at Ithelus when he thought Pieter wasn't looking. He probably was. Pulling his pipe from his belt pouch, the soldier slumped next to Illiiya and started fiddling with the tobacco.

"What'd you see in that sword then, Ill?" he asked quietly. "This another... this like that gun that beastman was carryin', back in Delberz?"

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya nodded, and did her best to explain.

Much like it, yes. The dhar is magic... raw magic. Usually, it is divided into the eight winds. Aqshy is the wind of fire, and all the things that draw from it... passion... anger... courage. Shyish... my wind... is the wind of endings... be it days, seasons, or lives. But the dhar is what comes when the winds are all taken and forced together by a mage's will. To achieve such a feat the mage must be very powerful or the forces they try to use will destroy them... I have only seen it done by my own people, by those who serve chaos... and by the rat-sorcerer... And in his case, it was part of what killed him.

She looked out of the cave to where the knight had left, a shiver running over her.

That man held something in his hand that was forged of chaos and great, destructive power. If he was a man still, he was likely possessed or marked by the dark gods. She said with a soft sigh, And that is why... I would feel best if we stayed together. The tree and now this... these woods are not safe.

After a moment's thought, she added one final bit.

Where is Sigurd?