Gawain Tenneson, the Last Lorehunter [IC]

[Byunny]

The Lorehunter

“You are the last.
Your friends lie in shallow graves,
And even love has been lost.
Soon you too shall join them,
But not this night.
I damn you, Gawain Inkskin!
May you stalk a hell of your own creation,
Until the Scrivener sets pen to parchment once more!”

Chapter One

On Last Words

Salt’s Harbor is a fishing town and minor trade port, respite for what captains are foolhardy enough to cross the savage seas to the White Isles to buy and sell exotic goods. The channel is plagued with wild storms and serpentine Scrivenings; it leaves a few rich and many dead and drowned.

The folk of Salt’s Harbor are a self-sufficient lot. Their militia, armed with net, torch and harpoon, usually have little trouble driving lesser Scrivenings back into the sea, especially with the support of the sorceress Marian Cooke. The mayor’s wife is powerful - for a human practitioner - and her tempestuous magic proves a potent defense for the town. Salt’s Harbor has not needed the aid of the Lorehunters in a very long time.

And indeed, the port is merely a stop along the way to your true destination. Salt’s Harbor lies upon an estuary of the Serpentongue River, which coils toward the city of Ironspire. It is there that the dying words of an ink-blood faerie have directed you. A taunt and a death-curse, but information all the same.

The Crimson are a myth. They are the legendary firstborn children of the Scrivener, wrought from ink red as the malefactor’s own coat rather than the black of their lesser kindred. They are the stuff of fireside tales, told to frighten Lorehunters-in-training. But then again, you have spent a lifetime hunting imaginary things… and the wise hunters know that the Fair Folk can tell no true lies; there exists one of these Crimson near Ironspire, that much is truth.

As you follow the beaten path into Salt’s Harbor, you find the town oddly subdued. The townsfolk glance at you uneasily as they go about their business, keeping their heads low. None seem keen on interacting with the stranger in their midst.

[Llyarden]

Gawain toyed with the brim of his hat as he rode slowly down the path.

It was a nice hat, as hats went. Brown, and with a feather perched at a jaunty angle that had once undoubtedly been some vibrant colour but was now as stained with the mud and worse of the Lorehunter's life as the rest of his clothes. It would probably last a few days or so before he decided he didn't like it and threw it in a ditch. It was, he knew, an attempt to pretend that Karia was still with him. It was, he knew, a foolish and pointless idea. But he kept the hat on anyway.

As he got closer to the town proper, he brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, looking around for a few moments to orient himself - and taking note of the subdued nature of the townsfolk. Odd, for a town so independent. Perhaps they think I bring monsters on my tail. That was a rumour that he'd heard on more than one occasion, which was more annoying than the other ones floating around owing to the fact that it was sometimes true. Not so much now he was the last one left, but people had long memories when it came to that sort of thing.

Still, the port would likely have at least a modicum of information with regards to any goings-on in Ironspire. It was unlikely that this Crimson, if it existed as the fae had intended Gawain to think, would draw attention to itself after all this time, but more information was never a bad thing, as Gawain had explained painstakingly (or, as he got older, exasperatedly) to his long string of apprentices.

Besides, he could use a drink.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Realised that I never actually named any of Gawain's childhood friends. Don't quite have time to write out more information about them now, but Karia is the one who got captured by the hags.

[Byunny]

Taverns were valuable sites for Lorehunters. Near everyone - locals and outsiders alike - found their way there occasionally, and the warmth of strong drinks and crackling fires tended to loosen tongues. Such establishments often provided a wealth of information for those hunters of dangerous beasts. And, of course, those who spent so long on the road often much desired a strong drink and a seat by the fire of their own.

As you seek out Salt's Harbor's local watering hole, the townsfolk continue to give you a wide berth. Some look on you with suspicion, others with open fear. None of them approach, except for a youth in urchin's rags who darts from an alleyway to fall into step beside you and your steed. "Oi stranger!" he remarks, with all the insolence of youth. "You're one o' them hunters, yeah? Thought ye lot were a wives' tale, but with that mark 'cross yer face you've gotta be! Y'know, Jean down at the smithy tried ta brand me for snatchin' a pie once, but I got off." The boy can't be any older than sixteen, with straw-colored hair, dull blue eyes and a crooked smile that continues to ramble on about things of little importance. Finally, he turns his attention back to you. "Picked a hell of a time to show up, eh? Izzit true you lot can smell the monsters comin'? And, oh yeah, I'll escort you direct to the mayor's fer a copper too!"

[Llyarden]

Gawain gave an amused little grin at the boy's greeting. "Not a wives' tale," he replied, after a moment. Children were useful. They had a habit of picking up on things that the grown-ups missed - or didn't want to admit. And, perhaps, he saw something of his own long-dead naivety and cheeriness in them.

"Why've I arrived at a good time?" he asked, when it seemed the boy had finished speaking. "And what makes you think I want to see the Mayor?" Of course, he could put two and two together, but he preferred to know what he was walking into.

He deliberately avoided the question about smelling monsters coming. He couldn't, of course, but it was better to let people wonder just what he was capable of.

Spoiler: OOC

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Assuming the boy talks for the requisite minute or whatever it is, Sense Motive to get a hunch about him: (1d20+14)[27]

[Byunny]

"Aye, the riders won't have told ye, since it's s'posed to be hush hush an' all. Which - nat'rally - means the whole bleeding town knows." The lad scoffs briefly at this, throwing a dirty glance hither and thither at no one in particular. "Lucky thing, you must've run right into a messenger; they only rode out three days afore. Well, follow me, old man, allow young master Colm to 'lluminate yer business."

The youth has a gift for prattle, a smooth way with words that makes it easy to forget he's a stranger you met minutes before. But you can't help feeling there's something off about his speaking, as if his meandering elocution is a well-rehearsed con of some sort. You don't get the feeling he's directly lied to you at all, but there's good reason for suspicion.

"So good mother Marian y'see, called the midwife in for the child in her belly. But what she birthed weren't no suckling babe; t'was a Scrivenin'! Now, most good people respect our Mrs. Cooke, but some o' the smallfolk have always been nervous 'bout the whole magicking thing. Some o' the daft bastards want to string up the witch an' be done with it. P'rhaps yer wise academianism'll shed some light - here, we can cut through this side road. Should be big 'nough for the cow too."

Colm flits into a side alley, cocking his head back at you. "Comin'?"

[Llyarden]

Not quite what I was expecting.

Idly, Gawain wondered what might have caused such a turn of affairs - assuming Colm was to believed in the first place, and even if he was that what he had been told was the truth. Perhaps Cooke had used some magic she oughtn't have, but that seemed unlikely. And for a powerful sorceress to have been taken by a ritual was...unusual, especially for no-one to have noticed anything. "So, tell me, lad, what's your stake in this?" Gawain asked, leading his horse down the passageway the boy had disappeared down. Beneath the brim of his hat, Gawain's eyes flickered, glowing with an inner fire. He hadn't survived this long without a little caution.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Casting detect evil as an SLA, then once that's done, detect chaos. And then I may as well go for law and good as well. The cone will be focused on Colm to start with.

Bluff to hide the spellcasting thing: (1d20+8)[19]
And I guess...Diplomacy?..to try to elicit more information from him: (1d20+9)[27]

[Byunny]

The youth doesn't appear to notice your minor magic, continuing to ramble on as your eyes flicker with power. Yet the boy fails to glow with your ensorcelled vision; his soul is either unaligned from any great moral direction, or simply not powerful enough to resonate with either good, evil, chaos or order. It is not an uncommon result for regular folk, though it unfortunately provides little insight into the young master Colm's intentions. The shadowed figures that enter the alleyway behind the pair of you - with a weak attempt at subtlety and stealth - perhaps provide a better clue.

Colm shrugs. "I think Mrs. Cooke has been very good to us, yes sir. And I would be ashamed to let a con make audience with 'er." The youth turns, his crooked grin replaced by a scowl. "Two others like you were in town just a few weeks ago y'know. Peddlin' snake oil and false charms; damn near got Lil' Red killed by a slitherer, and ol Suzy's boy passed of ague rather'n see a real doc. Now I got it on good word that the hunters're dead an' gone. You've a good costume, I'll grant ye, but you should be ashamed of yerself, old man. Taking advantage o' regular folk's worries and fears like that."

Your three tails step up the alleyway. They're a thuggish trio of lads, big, mean and looking like they've got more muscle than brains. "I think we ought ta teach Mr. Lorehunter here a lesson. Let 'im know he and his charlatanery ain't welcome in Salt's Harbor."

[Llyarden]

Gawain relaxed, which might have seemed like an odd response, but at least it seemed the boy was a decent sort, albeit one going about things in a horrible way. Better that than some criminal. "An old man I may be, but I'm neither a con nor a charlatan, boy. Though I suppose you'll not accept my word on the matter."

"The hunters aren't all gone. Not quite. Not until I'm in the ground." He made no move to draw any of the assorted weapons that were about his person, though he rolled up his sleeve to bare the tattoo of the Lorehunters. Not so much in the hope it would convince Colm of who he was, but rather because if he needed to use his magic to defend himself he didn't want to waste time fumbling with his jacket while under direct assault.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your friends," he added, more gently. He reserved his more cynical comments for a time they would be more useful. "That may not mean much coming from someone you don't know and don't trust, I know."

He paused for a moment. "This 'slitherer.' What was it?" Much as he wanted to continue with his original goal of investigating the Scrivening baby, Colm was unlikely to be of much use until he trusted him, and he had no real wish to simply bludgeon the boy into unconsciousness. Investigating this 'slitherer,' on the other hand, might go some way to gaining Colm's trust.

Spoiler: OOC

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I guess I'll try another Diplomacy check to forestall attack long enough to actually say all that: (1d20+9)[10] Well that's a poor start.

[Byunny]

Colm is silent while you speak, and the thugs behind you are motionless as well. Colm may not be the biggest of them, but it appears the sly youth is in charge of the circle of would-be vigilantes. It is something the Lorehunters know better than most: only tragedy comes when the ill-informed and under-trained attempt acts of heroism... or worse, revenge. "Without knowledge, all is lost," as the old masters would say.

And so something shifts when you mention his friends, like a thin layer of ice cracking beneath your feet. The youth's face twists angrily, and he barks a command, "Knock him flat!"

The thugs move on you, fists raised in clumsy facsimiles of fighting stances. It appears that, at the very least, Colm and his merry band don't plot murder, merely violence.

---

You and your horse are in a dim side alley, flanked by three thuggish youths behind you and the scowling, straw-haired boy in front of you. The side road is barely ten feet wide, just large enough for you and your mount to fit without much room for maneuverability. Worn brick walls rise up on either side of you, around two stories high, you'd estimate.

Spoiler: Enemy Status

Show

Thug I is unharmed.
Thug II is unharmed.
Thug III is unharmed.
Colm is unharmed.

[Llyarden]

Gawain lost his patience. "I've neither the time nor patience for this, boy," he snarled, advancing on Colm, his dark sword leaving its scabbard with a faint rasping noise. He had no intention of seriously harming the boy or his thugs, but that didn't preclude a sound smack upside the head with the flat of the blade. It might do the boy some good - he wouldn't have put it past the sort of charlatans that preyed on people's fears to just quietly dispose of people that spoke out against them. "If this town is as plagued by monsters as you claim, then you need my help, and I'll not suffer the interference of an idiot child!"

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Move: Draw longsword.
Standard: Demoralise Colm: (1d20+13)[28].
Free: 5ft-step.

[Byunny]

Colm's eyes widen, a look of faltering arrogance on his face. Almost subconsciously, he takes a small step back and away from you. "Ain't that some wicked steel ye've got on ya, old man," he mutters nervously. "Back boys! Out o' the reach of his blade!"

The three thugs keep a wary distance from you rather than approaching forward, heeding Colm's advice. The straw-haired ringleader himself hops back and away from you, despite your swift pursuit. Scowling, he opens his mouth again to speak. But this time his voice is different, resonating in your ears with power like a siren's song. "I don't know who you are, but I ain't just some idiot urchin!" He shoves at you, shouting with impossible presence for a scrawny boy, despite the slight waver to his tone: "Back!"

Spoiler: OOC

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Roll20 Map

Thug I is unharmed.

• Round Passed

Thug II is unharmed.

• Round Passed

Thug III is unharmed.

• Round Passed

Colm is unharmed, but looks far less confident than he did prior. He is Shaken for 4 rounds.

• Move: 5-foot step
• Swift: Focus Compelling Voice on Gawain
• Standard: Attack with Wounding Words

Attack: (1d20-1)[12] vs Touch AC
Damage: (1d6+3)[6] Sonic Damage
On-hit: DC 14 Will Save, else –2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks for 1 round due to being target of Compelling Voice.

[Llyarden]

The shout was unexpected, and left Gawain shaking his head irritably as the effects of the ability hit him. But it was little more than an annoyance. "Urchin, maybe not. Don't know you enough to say. Idiot, though - that one I'm certain of. Give up, boy." He didn't give Colm another opportunity to speak more siren-song words, reversing his blade and slamming the pommel into the boy's stomach, intending to drive the wind from him. He couldn't speak if he was gasping for breath.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Note to self: Buy some blunt arrows!

Swift: Used as an immediate to Step Up.
Move: None.
Standard: Dirty Trick with Combat Expertise on Colm to inflict Deafened. Gawain gains +3 to AC.
Vs CMD: (1d20+9)[21].

[Byunny]

Your blow strikes true, and it leaves the straw-haired boy stumbling and choking for breath. His companions begin to start forward to defend their leader, but Colm waves them off. "Stob!" he groans hoarsely, clutching his gut. "Can't... man's... much fer... likes of us!" His words still hold echoes of power, only slightly frayed, but soon its influence lifts from your thoughts.

Colm crouches before you, breathing heavily. "Do... you will..." he mutters. "Even if... ain't hunter... ye ain't regular folk. Town needs... sword... an' if ye've... ill intention... can't stop you, can I?"

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Colm is mostly unharmed, though still shaken for 3 rounds and deafened for 2 rounds. He's wary of you and has surrendered.

Thug I is unharmed and has surrendered.

Thug II is unharmed and has surrendered.

Thug III is unharmed and has surrendered.

Conflict End - Gawain Victory!

[Llyarden]

Why the insistence, still, that there are no Lorehunters? Gawain calmly slid his blade back into its scabbard, stepping away from Colm and back to take up the dropped reins of his - ever so patient - horse, waiting to let the boy recover himself before speaking again. "No, you can't," he agreed. "Now, how about you tell your friends over there to go back to...whatever it is they occupy their time with...and you tell me about this 'slitherer'? Or you can go away and I'll find out on my own. I care little either way."

[Byunny]

Colm nods slowly. "Off, boys. I'll handle this."

The thugs protest briefly, but a sharp word from Colm sends them off. Quietly, they slink off back out of the alleyway, leaving you alone with the straw-haired silvertongue. The boy has regained some of his composure at this point, and now stands steadfast... if at a reasonable distance from you.

"Everyone in Salt's Harbor knows 'bout the serpents in the water," he says after a moment's hesitation. "Sneaky, slitherin' beasties that like to snatch off fisherfolk an' the like. Pal o' mine, Lil' Red, thought he'd be a hero after coughin' up a year's saving for a magic knife what weakens sea monsters. 'im screaming drew the guard and scared off the slitherer, but now Red's a-fever wit no legs an' no eyes, an' won't stop screamin' 'bout the monster fish." The boy shakes his head, stone-faced. "Ye startin' to figure why folk be wary o' Lorehunters, old man?"

[Llyarden]

Gawain tapped his chin thoughtfully for a few moments before returning his attention to Colm. I'm starting to figure that people in this town are damn fools.

"How'd he know it was a knife enchanted to fight sea monsters?" he asked, after a few moments, repressing his more caustic remarks. A sorceress giving birth to a Scrivening, a sea serpent that didn't act like it ought...something is at work in this town. Much as he wanted to continue his journey, both his morals and his curiosity were drawing him deeper into the town's mysteries.

[Byunny]

"The man what sold it to 'im said so. Looked the part, I s'pose, all black an' heavy with a metal snake 'round the handle," Colm says. "Red ain't too bright; the fool didn't think to doubt 'im."

The youth sighs, a defeated sound of swallowed pride. "If yer a hunter like you say, we'll be needin' yer help. At the very least ye move different from all the harpoon-carryin' louts what fight monsters 'round here. I've got a bad feelin' about what's happenin' in Salt's Harbor, and I don't think we can hold out on our own like we done before."

[Llyarden]

Gawain nodded after a moment's pause. "Aye. Now, it's time and past time I got an idea of what's going on from more than one person. I trust, boy, you won't try anything foolish while I'm...out." So saying, Gawain leant back against the wall. The tattoo on his wrist glowed with power as the old man muttered an incantation before his eyes rolled back in his head slightly.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Gawain casts ears of the city on himself. I'll use three rounds of the spell to gather information about Marian Cooke and her Scrivening baby, four to gather information on the sea monsters, and one to gather information on Ironspire.

For Marian:
(1d20+17)[28]
(1d20+17)[37]
(1d20+17)[34]

For the sea monsters:
(1d20+17)[23]
(1d20+17)[28]
(1d20+17)[29]
(1d20+17)[25]

For Ironspire:
(1d20+17)[29]

[Byunny]

A muffled curse is the last thing you hear before the alleyway is torn away, replaced by hundreds of murmuring voices and fragments of faces. Your power sinks into the very foundation of Salt's Harbor, and the town speaks to you in legion.

---

You glean much of the town's mood on their sorceress-protector. Marian Cooke has her supporters - she's defended the townspeople for many years - but longstanding fear and ignorance about magic is beginning to swell into hatred. A few sharp voices in particular would like nothing more than a witch hunt, to see Marian Cooke burned and her fell spawn slaughtered. You catch drunken mutterings and conspiratorial whispers as a few hotheaded souls plot riot and revolution behind closed doors.

You learn that she arrived to the town nearly fourteen years ago, wedding the then mayor-to-be after a whirlwind romance. When he took office, she unofficially took Salt Harbor's safety upon herself. Many did come to respect her in the intervening years, though her ability to conjure thunder and lightning and command the winds unsettled many. The superstitious rumor-mongering never quite ended, and has only grown worse with the latest gossip. One bitter voice even claims that she had sold Salt's Harbor to a sea demon in exchange for her powers and is now making good on her pact.

Your keen insight into the hearts and minds of Salt's Harbor unburies another tale, told only by a select few. Whispered voices discuss a child with slick skin like a frog's and eyes like those of the tentacled inkfish, wailing and unable to breathe properly outside a bath of brine. They talk of the mayor, bedridden with shock, and of his wife, locked in her study poring over tomes of natural history and the arcane...

Sea monsters are the bread and butter of the coast-folk's tales. The warriors of the militia laugh and boast around the fire about how many sea Scrivenings they've slain, but the people here truly know little about the creatures. Boastful voices speak of killing cerulean serpents with flipper-like wings - a description that well-suits a sea drake, you know - killed with a harpoon striking true to the eye. No one knows very much about the creatures, but most seem to trust that the militia can handle them. They know not to stray too far from the torch-fires late at night and fishing craft are sometimes set upon, but they are a managed threat, as far as the people are concerned.

The tales of the sea captains seem more accurate; haunted voices mention colossal beasts rising from calm waters, capsizing ships with little more effort than that of a horse swatting a fly. Many sailors ply the trade routes between the mainland and the White Isles, but few continue to after witnessing firsthand the power of a true sea serpent.

Ironspire is a grander city than Salt's Harbor, named for the grand steel tower at its heart from which the Steel Triumvirate - Logan Redmane, Catherine Moray and Jonah Wright - rule jointly. It is well defended, a bastion of human civilization in dark times, but rumors say they are facing an undead threat far worse than the local government would like people to believe. The folk of Salt's Harbor often sail up the Serpentongue River, a much safer - if less lucrative - trade than the sea crossing. Nevertheless, the merchants of Ironspire pay well for seafood, pearl, coral, dyes and other goods, and barges travel the route often.

A final overheard conversation mentions a tattooed man entering Salt's Harbor. A voice wonders idly if he hails from Morrigan's Keep, an old Lorehunters' castle not far from the city of Ironspire...

---

Reality returns as the spell ends, and you find Colm kneeling a few feet away from you. As he notices your return to the here and now, he speaks, "Damn me... master warriors with the Gift... actual magic ink... ye really are one." His face twists uncomfortably. "Uh, forgive me for tryin' to knock ya flat with me boys, earlier. Just figurin' ye were a scoundrel and I wanted to do right by me hometown."

[Llyarden]

Gawain looked down at Colm, rolling his sleeve back down again to cover his tattoo. "Oh, get up, boy," he said, with a touch of irritation. "I'm not some nobleman to kowtow to at every turn."

He waited a few moments for the boy to recover himself. "Your friend, 'Red.' How bad is his fever? Seems to me that this business with Mrs. Cooke needs resolving sooner rather than later before some fools take it into their heads to do something rash, but if there's little time I will do what I can for him."

[Byunny]

"Red's real bad. Been burnin' up since we got 'im back, sick and addled too. Poor bastard's screamin' a lot o' the time, about monster fish as I said." Colm grits his teeth. "Town's sawbones can't do nothing for 'im. Basically got Red in lockup 'cause he felt sick after treating 'im for a while. 'Fraid it might be catching."

Colm rises, straightening his worn garb for what little good it does. "I can take you to 'im. Guide ye to the sickhouse if ye want to take a look."

[Llyarden]

"Aye," Gawain nodded. "Whether I can do something for him is another matter, but at the very least there's something I'd rather check. What you spoke of, and what the militiamen boast of killing, sounds like a sea drake, but they don't go for the eyes, nor would anyone call them a 'monster fish.'"

[Byunny]

The youth nods curtly and gestures for you to follow. He isn't as talkative as he was on the last stroll you took with him; Colm seems a little subdued as he walks you efficiently through Salt's Harbor's alleyways and side roads. Finally, he brings you to the local sickhouse, whereupon he gestures to the door. Already you can hear a muffled shouting coming from within. "We're here."

The public sickhouse is a simple establishment. It is made up of a long hall lined with beds - none of which seem occupied at the moment - with a pair of rooms at the far end. It seems very clean, though the air smells faintly of brine. One of the far doors is closed, and it seems to be the source of the noise. The shouting seems an incoherent babble, though you can make out a few choice words: 'fish', 'monster' and 'help'. Colm mutters something to the pale, tired-looking young man who comes to greet the two of you, receiving a small brass key from him. "C'mon, then."

Red's room is dimly lit by a single candle; there are no windows to this room. You can see Red himself in bed, a sickly yellow cast to his skin that contrasts sharply with the bloodstained white of his bandages. His face and his lower body from the waist down is wrapped entirely, which may be the only reason he hasn't injured himself, thrashing weakly as he mutters and shouts profanities at monsters only he can see. Colm swears loudly. "'e's even worse an' ugh doc was... right, I feel sick just bein' near..."

Spoiler

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DC 13 Fortitude Save
Knowledge (Nature) to identify ailment