Steel, Shadow, and Fire

[DeathbyFlossing]

Wan is worried. He’s jumping at every shadow expecting to find a blood sorcerer.

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since mahotsukai are among the biggest boogiemen in Rokugani culture, I think Wan should automatically become shaken when he faces one for the first few rounds.

[AlphaLuke]

The resting caravan's quiet calm is shattered by a sudden scream. The woman's shriek comes from the North, and several people stand to try and get a better look at what caused the disturbance. Rose is already moving, sword out. Hilde meets her moving through the crowd. Pent passes them both in a blur and Wan brings up the rear.

When the party arrives at the source of the scream they find a teenage girl standing, horror struck, pointing at a stone jutting four feet out of the ground. She seems to be babbling in a language none in the party speaks. A nearby man with the same look to him (presumably her father) is holding her and whispering calming lulls into her ear.

"What is it? What happened?" Rose asks hurriedly.

The man points to the stone and says something in that same language.

Hilde walks over to the stone and examines it. She notes some strange markings on the stone, nearly weathered away completely by years of exposure to the elements. "This was a standing stone. Something sacred maybe. A looooong time ago."

Rose walks over to the stone and looks at it. "I don't go cross country much. I haven't seen anything like this near the roads."

"No, you wouldn't have," calls a weather old voice from the crowd. A tan-skinned man with more wrinkles than an month old pumpkin steps up to the girl and her father. He shushes her and pats the man on the back. "That's a ward'n stone. Times past, folk would put one of these up like a warning sign. Keep travelers from trespassing on land reserved by the old gods. Don't see many of them any more. Most broke down or wore away."

The old man turns to look at the still shaken girl. "Girl knew what it was and got spooked. Should be fine though. Wouldn't worry to much if I was you."

[Pent]

Pent approaches the aged man.

"That's a helluva reaction to a cattle fence. Can you tell me more of these old gods? Do you know what language she was speaking?"

[AlphaLuke]

The old man looks at Pent and smiles. "That'd be Tuigan, my boy. Old tongue of the horsemasters. Language of the Hordelands. And the girl's probably just superstitious. The old gods were things people worshiped before the big churches were built. Powerful animal spirits. Norns. Green Men and the like. Like I said. Most likely you shouldn't need to worry yourself none 'bout it."

[DeathbyFlossing]

Wan nods his head.

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”Tresspassing on the spirits’ land tends to provoke them, at least back home. But the Kami of Rokugan are much more numerous than the kami here. I am confident that if the spirit takes offense we should be able to bribe it.”

[AlphaLuke]

Hilde tries and fails to calm the distraught girl. In the end, it takes one of Rose's "teas" to sedate the young lady enough to move the caravan on. She lays in a wagon, watched by her worried father. The group continues to move North through the Wastes, wading over thin streams, cutting through waist high grass, and moving at a frustratingly slow pace.

Trying to put as many miles between themselves and Almorel before nightfall, the group doesn't stop to make camp until late twilight. When they find a suitable campsite, fires are kept low and only as big as necessary to boil water.

Sitting around a small fire, Rose, Pent, Wan, and the Barbarian (who has since introduced himself at Knut Ogresson) quietly eat and talk. The meal tonight is a small roasted prairie chicken and more watered ale. The prairie chicken was fetched by a young boy and his sling, and he brought it to Pent specifically as a thank you for their protection.

Hilde returns, having taken survey of the wellbeing of the convoy.

"We've broken two wagon wheels. We have one person who's recovering from heat exhaustion, and another who snapped her ankle. We haven't lost anyone yet, but the terrain isn't helping us. I imagine it won't get any easier when we reach the forest."

Rose tosses a chicken bone into the fire where it cracks and snaps in the intense heat. "Two wheels already is bad luck. Even moving cross country."

Hilde nods gravely. "We have some passable wainwrights working on them right now. If we lose a wagon that'll put a strain on our food and how many of the elderly and infirm we can move."

[Pent]

"In the morning I'll talk to the wainwrights to see what we can do. We need to help them help us. And I don't like trusting the success of this convoy to luck." Pent says quietly, not taking his eyes off the small fire.

"Is everyone else just waiting for the other boot to drop?"

[AlphaLuke]

That sentence brings a palpable silence to the small camp, broken only by the crack of the fire.

"There aren't any birds." Hilde whispers.

Rose stares at the fire. "Or frogs. Or crickets."

Pent notices the observation like a crashing wave. In the wold there's usually a cacophony of singing creatures. Frogs, crickets, locusts, night warblers, owls, coyote . . . nothing. There's just the hum of the people in the slave train and the crackling of fires. The occasional horse or mule nickers or stamps, but otherwise, the night is dead silent.

[Pent]

Pent's own breathing is the only thing he hears for minutes while he works this out.

What can he do? Nothing. Just wait. He hates waiting.

Maybe a little bit of humor will help?

"I'll take the first watch since I'm not sleeping tonight..." The small joke came out even smaller. The unknown dread doesn't give his voice any weight.

[AlphaLuke]

Hilde and Rose look at each other. Without saying anything, they nod.

"I'll take second watch," Rose says.

"Third." Hilde confirms.

"That leaves me . . ." Wan counts on his fingers, "Fourth!"

With curt nods, the group heads to their respective tents and cots. Pent is left alone with Knut.

"This is what we call a 'tyazhelaya noch' in Rashemen. A 'night of the grave'. I will sit with you, Pent Angelson."

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Perception check. You are also welcome to RP with Knut if you wish.

[Pent]

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Pent perception (1d20+11)[30]

Night of the grave...

Pent remembers digging a grave. He was sweating liquor and shedding tears while he worked. The town's minister had promised him that all arrangements would be taken care of, and the staff at the cemetery would handle it.

But they were his family - his responsibility. It was his job.

Pent grabs his Everfull mug from his pack and wills it to fill to the brim with strong whiskey. Gods-damned memories won't leave him alone. Liquor will shut them up.

Pent downs half the mug before needing to breathe. It burned painfully. Deservedly. Wordlessly, he offers the mug to Knut.

[AlphaLuke]

Knut accepts the mug with nothing more than a grateful nod. Pent gets the distinct impression that Knut has seen that look before. That deep pain that has no balm. The barbarian finishes the whiskey and hands Pent his magical mug back.

Pent is exceptionally alert as the night progresses. He hears as the camp slowly falls asleep. The lack of sound makes everything more stark. More dangerous. An old man's snore is a snarling beast. A crying baby is a death shriek. Knut falls asleep with his back to the fire after another mugful of whiskey, cradling his axe like a child would cradle a stuffed bear.

Eventually, an old woman shuffles up to the emberlight glow spread by Pent's dying fire.

"You mind if I warm my old bones by your fire, young man?" she asks even as she takes a seat across from Pent. Her gnarled old hands emerge from her shawl to warm themselves over the coals. "Cold night. Makes my hip hurt. You wait till you're my age. Your bones will creak and crack and you'll understand." She takes out a piece of cloth and needle and begins to sew, even as she keeps talking. "You look to be about my daughter's age. She'd do well to find herself a strapping boy like you. I suspect she'd be quite cross with me if she knew I said so though . . ." The old woman keeps prattling on.

[Pent]

Pent uses the distraction to get out of his own head. Pent adopts a mask to hide his feelings.

"She might, but deep down she's happy to have a mother who loves her so," he says with a light smile. "What's her name?"

[AlphaLuke]

Without looking up from her sewing, the old woman says, "Petra."

[Pent]

Pent's blood chills. His breath catches in his open mouth. He...can't...

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WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKK

[AlphaLuke]

The old woman looks up slowly from her sewing. "What's wrong, young man?"

Pent can't . . . he just can't . . . this can't be a coincidence.

"Wh-what did you say?" he stammers out.

"Petra. My daughter's name is Petra." The old woman smiles at Pent.

"But you already knew that."

The old woman stops sewing, and stops smiling.

"You killed her."

She holds up the cloth she was working on. It's a blanket. A small blanket.

"And my granddaughter too."

The blanket is stitched with the name "Marya".

[Pent]

Pent's sorrow for himself and intoxication both burn away to rage. He stands up in a flash and throws his mug of liquor at the old woman.

"Demon!" he yells at her in accusation.

It has to be....right?

[AlphaLuke]

The mug flies straight through the old woman, hitting only empty air. She begins to cackle as she melts away into smoke that is blown away by the wind. Her laugh echoes in the frozen silence.

Knut awakens with a start at the clatter of the mug and blinks the hazy of whiskey out of his eyes. "Wha- what is it? What's happened?"

[Pent]

Pent has two options.

The first is that he can believe that the woman was a drunk hallucination.

But, Pent can't believe that for a few reasons:

1. Pent had never hallucinated from whiskey before.
2. He didn't even drink all that much. Just a little over a full mug.
3. He had never met Petra's mother.
4. No one he had ever met would talk to him the way he talks to himself. He and he alone is his own worst enemy.

The other option is that he is being targeted by...something. No animals around, lands of the old gods, the bad dreams Pent had a week or so before. All that old business with the God of Fear. Blood magicians.

No, there is an enemy. An enemy for Pent to fight.

"An image, a vision. Targeted at me. Prying at my worst fear."

Pent picks up his mug. Wills it to fill with hot coffee.

Thank you demon, for reminding me there are worse monsters in the world than me. For reminding me that my failure is not nearly the crime yours is, and that your punishment will be fitting, while mine has been long paid.

[DeathbyFlossing]

Wan awakens with a start, sees that nothing is wrong, and and takes a quick look around. After confirming with Pent that nothing bad was immanent, he goes back to sleep.

[AlphaLuke]

Knut looks at Pent skeptically before laying back down. This time, he watches Pent for a while before his eyes close.

Pent sips the dark, brown, bitter liquid. He's sure this wasn't a hallucination. Pretty sure . . .

Rose comes to the fire shortly thereafter. "I smell whiskey. Were you drinking on watch?!" She sounds almost impressed.

[Pent]

"At first..." He admits.

"Look, I saw ....something. My worst fear. My demons. If you see something tonight, something impossible... I'll believe you, okay? You have my full trust."

He turns to head to his pack. The idea of sleeping is a hilarious joke. Before he gets there he turns back around. "Don't hesitate to wake me if you need to. I'll understand."

How do you convince someone you're not crazy when you have whiskey on your breath? Pent truly has no idea.

[AlphaLuke]

Rose gives Pent an appraising eye before he heads to bed. Pent notices that she thumbs the first quarter inch of her sword out of its sheath before she sits down. Good. She's taking him at least a little bit seriously.

Rose spends the minutes before midnight stoking the fire back up to a flicker. Not enough to give away their position, but enough to chase away the chill night air. Then, she listens and watches. Pent must've been into his cups. Certainly smelled like it. But maybe . . .

A sudden and powerful frigid wind blows through the camp. It is so strong, and so swift, that it actually blows Rose's fire out. She's on her feet immediately, and her sword gleams in the miniscule glow of the stars. The wind is gone as quickly as it came. Rose controls her breathing. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears. The wind, despite rattling lanterns and sending tents flapping, seems to have had no effect on anyone else. No one stirs or awakens.

Rose can just barely make out the silhouette of a man at the edge of her vision. He stands still, but she knows him even in relief.

"Uncle."

It's not a question. She knows this man. The short and fat frame that hides hidden muscle and strength. His bald head shining in the starlight. Even without enough light to see his face, she knows it's him.

"You didn't have to - " he starts.

"You know I did!" Rose interrupts. Her sword is held before her in a defensive posture. This can’t be him. And yet, she knows that it is. She can’t stop herself from answering him.

The silhouette sighs. His voice is raspy. Rough. Like how old men get after too many years of pipeweed. "I taught you everything. Gave you everything."

Rose has deep pain in her reply. Her sword point droops slightly, "You tortured me . . .You - "

It's his turn to interrupt. His voice becomes hard. Angry. "I nurtured you! I tended you like a blossoming flower. Everything you are is because of me. Without me you would be nothing. And this, THIS, is how you repay me?!"

He steps into the light of a nearby lantern. Rose can see his face is as white as parchment. His throat has been slashed from ear to ear. The front of his shirt is completely stained with crimson blood.

Rose averts her eyes. Her sword droops further to the ground. Thick tears fall to the dirt at her feet. "Your name was spoken." Her voice is very small. Very meek. She is a child again. "Your name was spoken." She repeats through the sobs threatening to engulf her.

"And you didn't even give me the honor of a clean death . . ." Rose's uncle looks at her with disgust. With disdain. With every sentence he steps closer. "You poisoned me. You poisoned the tea you made for me every afternoon. The time when we would talk. When we would laugh."

Rose sobs heavily. Her fingers no longer have any strength. Her sword slips out of her hands and clatters to the dirt. "No - I don't - no more -" She pleads through the tears. He uncle continues stepping forward undeterred. His painful words growl forward like a glacier.

"You waited until I was paralyzed. Like a fish smacked against a rock."

Rose wails. No one seems to hear her.

"And then you gutted me. I watched you. I watched the whole time."

He’s a single step in front of her. She can see his eyes, completely white, but filled with anger and pain.

“I’m sorry!” Rose screams. She falls to her knees and curls in on herself. Her uncle reaches out to touch her.

Suddenly, dawn explodes from behind Rose. The form of her uncle is scattered like dust before a storm. Stepping from behind Rose, Hilde holds her holy symbol of Lathander aloft, bathing the entire area in the warm, golden light of the dawn. She looks around, somehow imposing and powerful despite her slight frame. When she’s satisfied, she lowers her symbol and places the golden sun around her neck once more. The light fades slowly, until only the starlight of night remains.

Hilde kneels and wraps her arms around the weeping Rose. Rose sobs thick, heavy sobs into the cold night for a long while before she regains control.

She looks up into Hilde’s clouded eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hilde says softly. “Let’s get you to bed. It’s my watch anyway.”

. . .

Hilde wakes Wan for his watch a few hours later. She warns him of a malevolent force in the area, preying upon the guilt and fear of Pent and Rose, but states that it probably won’t bother him tonight. She’s used the light of Lathander to chase it away once. If he does notice anything evil, she asks him to wake her.

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Wan’s turn. Perception check please.

[DeathbyFlossing]

Wan is restless as he keeps watch, his weapon never out of his hands for more than a minute.

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(1d20+8)[20] Perception check, and Wan readies an action to attack anything hostile.

[AlphaLuke]

Wan patrols around the fire in the wee hours before dawn. He doesn't encounter any apparitions or malevolent spirits, but he definitely hears voices on the wind. The voices whisper to him and he can actually feel sticky, hot breath on his ears and neck. They say things like "Traitor . . . Mutineer . . . Honorless . . . Clan Traitor . . ." They are so convincing that they occasionally cause him to spin around, sword held high, only to find empty air.

The following morning, Pent and Rose are shaken by the encounters they had. Wan is disturbed, but thankful for Hilde's intervention before his watch.

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Rose and Pent are under a Bane effect until they get a restful night's sleep.

After a quick assessment of the caravan, Hilde notes that several people reported horrific nightmares last night. A few were so violent or disturbing that they prevented their victims from sleeping for more than a few minutes.

Hilde, after thinking about her encounter and the reaction it had to her channeled energy, makes an educated guess. "It's a haunt. We've stumbled upon a particularly nasty haunt. If we move out of its area of influence, we should be ok."

[Pent]

Pent puts his hand on Hilde's shoulder. "That sounds like reasonable advice-" he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head but there's nothing there. "Um.." What was he saying? "Oh right, okay, let's get everyone moving ASAP. I want out of this blasted Haunt."

[AlphaLuke]

The column of former slaves moves even slower than they did yesterday. Everyone seems to be on edge. Several sport haunted looks or deep bags under their eyes.

Hilde moves through the convoy, spreading reassuring and kind words.

Rose walks with a vacant look on her face, staring unfocused into the middle distance.

. . .

Around mid-morning clouds move in to cover the sun. The gloom shrouds the entire landscape in a grey haze that comes with a chill wind. Knut is the first to perk his head up at the echo of a distant call. He chokes up on his axe.

"Gnolls," he says with a snarl. He spits in the dirt as if the word itself leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

The call seems to have been heard by a couple of the former slaves in the convoy as well. A general cry of alarm is raised, and several women shriek and cling to children. The group, as a whole, clumps together into a tighter ball, a herd reflex that hasn't quite left the human psyche.

Rose and Hilde follow Knut to the Northwest, weapons drawn. Pent and Wan follow suit.

In the nearby grasslands, there are several hulking brown shapes moving toward the column with speed. They're still about 200 yards away, but they're clearly not human.

Once they get closer, the adventurers can get a clearer look at the creatures. Eight Gnolls. Six hunched hyena-like humanoids rush the column with crude spears. A seventh, much larger than his kin, roars something bestial and charges with foot-long claws spread wide. Finally, an eighth Gnoll stands back as his brother charge and levels a bow to fire in a high arc.

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Battle Map (also in my signature).
Roll Initiative twice and take the worse result.
Rose:(1d20+5)[19], (1d20+5)[10]
Hilde:(1d20+1)[15], (1d20+1)[15]

[Pent]

Pent initiative

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(1d20+2)[18]
(1d20+2)[22]

[AlphaLuke]

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Wan's Initiative
(1d20+4)[15]
(1d20+4)[7]

[AlphaLuke]

The Gnoll with a bow looses arrows in a high arc, sending a volley towards the line of defenders but also into the crowd of huddling slaves. His high pitched hyena cackle accompanies the resulting mayhem that ensues.

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Archer Gnoll fires three arrows.
(1d20)[9]
(1d20)[18]
(1d20)[14]