The notice had been glued to the wall of the Stinking Stirge, just one among countless others layered dozens-deep.  This one was different in that it was part of the top layer, and still felt damp where the glue had soaked through, both of which pointed to its being a new addition to the collection.

It was also legible... always a good sign and, apparently, fairly unusual for the Stinking Stirge.

The opportunity had seemed too good miss.  The party had been planning on travelling to Bard's Gate in any case, on the road to Freegate and beyond, to Rappan Athuk.  The chance to get paid for a journey they were intending to take anyway definitely looked like a fine idea.  Possibly the best they'd had since deciding to risk a trip to the Dungeon of Graves.

Colwyn had summed up everybody's feelings...

"We'd 'ave ter be stupid not ter take this bugger's gold, wouldn't we?  I means, we's goin' there anyways, an' he's goin' ter pay us ter do it."

The interview with their potential employer had gone well, no doubt due, at least in part, to Colwyn having been warned beforehand, by a certain party who shall remain nameless, to keep his "froggin' mouth shut".

Corian Barade had proven to be as described in his notice - a young gentleman. He had been well spoken and dressed in clothing of reasonably fine quality, in a style commonly worn by the academics and intellectuals of the city of Reme.  He had explained that he needed to travel to Bard's Gate, somewhat urgently, to visit his uncle who, by all accounts, lay deathly ill.  And he had happily paid the 25 gp per person advance fee, after each of them had agreed to travel with him.

---

That had been the day before yesterday...

Today it isn't looking like such a fine idea.  The weather today has been abysmal, for late summer, with a constant cold drizzle interspersed with occasional bouts of heavier rain.  The wind comes out of the north, driving the cold and damp across the road, which is becoming more like a bog with every passing hour.

To make matters worse, as dusk approaches, it is rapidly becoming apparent that there is little shelter to be had nearby.

Until, that is, Colwyn spots a likely location.

The location is a small copse of trees in the lee of a hill, which should provide a little shelter from the elements.

The campsite is a small clearing in the heart of a copse of trees on the lee side of a hill located about seventy five yards from the road.  The hillside is steep and provides shelter from the wind, while the rain is kept at bay by the dense canopy of leaves overhead.  It takes a little effort to get a campfire started, but it burns well when lit, and soon a brace of conies are roasting over the flames, while wild onions and a few carrots are cooking in a pot alongside them, hinting at a welcome addition to trail rations.

As the group sits around the fire, waiting for dinner to finish cooking, Corian clears his throat nervously, and finally speaks.

"My friends, now that we are two days' travel from Reme, I feel that it is, at last, safe for me to reveal an important fact to you all.  You see, I'm afraid that I have brought you all on this jaunt under false pretenses.  I must tell you that I am not, in point of fact, bound for Bard's Gate.  But if you will just give me a few moments to explain, I'm sure you will find that the changes to our arrangement will be most acceptable... "

Damned to Hades and back again if he could read a froggin' word of the scratchings that caught Colwyn's attention, but as Oswald explained it, enough coin in his pocket to keep him in ale from Reme to the gates of Rappan Athuk itself, an' the chance to kill any creatures the weedy, city-bred puttock brought down on them, an' Aarnr could spit on his hand an' shake on the deal.  Just as long as they kept the puttock away from him !

-----------------------------------

Good weather.  A fine drenchin' rain and chill wind making these gleekin' eastern lands more like the fog-wrapped fens of his homeland.  An' the makings of a good meal in the pot besides.

Until the froggin' puttock opens his froggin' mouth ...

Fergus had been delighted to join up with a group of like-minded adventurers.  It had been difficult for him to make friends in Reme.  Most people he had spoken to had thought him simple-minded and laughed at his grand ambition of purging Rappan Athuk.  Fergus knew that he didn't fit in with the city folk.  Worse, he constantly felt that people were trying to take advantage of him.  He remembered the village tales of the thieves and scoundrels of the big city.

Fergus couldn't help feeling that Colwyn was one of these.  The weaselly man seemed almost proud of it.  But Colwyn had skills that Fergus lacked, not least of which he could read.  That the group had found someone to pay their way back east made Fergus very happy.

Things had been going badly since then.  Heavy rain and cold wind at the height of the growing season was ill-timed.  At best it would reduce the yield and might even damage the crop.  The livestock would need to be brought in lest they catch a chill.  Fergus had complained at length until at last he reminded himself that he wasn't on the farm anymore.

Now it seemed their employer had deceived them.  Fergus says only, "It's not good to lie." sounding sad and disappointed as he sat hunching his broad shoulders against the cold.

Ozzy found a comfortable niche in the roots of one of the trees providing cover for the night, and he is quick to set up his bedroll and break out the lute. As dinner cooked, he spent a little time tuning it to compensate for the humidity and a little more time picking out chords to warm up his fingers. He is strumming along as Corian begins to share his deceit, and the chords shift to the dark and dramatic.

"Make up your stories, Truth's so hard to say.
Brain is numb and your tounge will surely dig your grave...

You're a liar, liar, liar. Everyone can see.

Liar, liar, liar. It's all you'll ever be.

Liar, liar, liar. It's what you mean to me.

Lair, liar, lies.

Start trouble, spread pain. Piss and venom in your veins.
Talk, Nasty, Breathe fire. Smell rotten, you're a liar."

His voice trails off and the song goes softer, allowing their patron a chance to explain himself before the group became a small, bloodthirsty mob of vengeance. Surprisingly, the rainfall seems to keep perfect rhythm with his chord progressions as he adds the soundtrack to this little side venture.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:13, Mon 25 July 2011.

Aramil was quite confortable at the Stinking Stirge with all the patrons and locals. More like his home and easier to deal with what you know well. But the bug for adventure had bitten and Aramil knew he would not be content staying home or even in Reme. That didn't mean that he was sure about this agreement that he made to investigate Rappen Athuk was the best idea he ever had. And well the chance for some easy gold was a little unsettling, maybe too good to be true, and now his suspicions have been confirmed.

Cold, wet, and now being led on by this prancing pony that had hired them all, what a start to the adventure. But Corian was smart, well smart enough to wait and then tell the group this new piece of information. Most likely something that would have stopped people hiring on this job anyway. It had better be good, otherwise Aramil might just walk away. And being good would have to include some more money. Listening to Ozzy sing his little ditty made Aramil smile, but only briefly. Very soon they all may wish not to have added this job to the task at hand.

Erista walks over to Corian, ignoring the mud squelching through her toes, and pats his hand.  "Don't mind him," she says, probably meaning Oswald, but, really, leaving it open to interpretation.  "I think we all knew that already.  You wouldn't've needed to hire all of us just for what you'd said.  And a lie that can't be true is hardly a lie, right?  That's just a friendly little joke."

She sits down next to him, snuggling up comfortably.  "If you're ever doing something like this again, though, you might think about what your negotiating position's going to be, when you're all alone, two days out from the nearest guardhouse in any direction, surrounded by a bunch of people that all you really know about them is that they need money, and all they really know about you is that you have some, on your person, and whatever you're about to propose is probably going to be a whole lot more trouble than just taking that and going on to Bard's Gate like they'd planned."  She pauses for a breath, and then looks up at him with an innocent smile.  "I'm sorry - you were smart enough to set this all up in the first place, I'm sure you did think of that, and must know you have a good enough offer to make up for it, right?"

Eilieen studies her hands.  They've roughened, she suspects, though she'd be hard-pressed to spot exactly how.  Travel does that, the woman dolorously considers.  Travel, violence, and too much sun - they will, she knows, make a mess of her pale complextion, her unlined features, her pretty travel gown.  Well.  Had she wanted to stay perfect, she should have remained at the Church.

But the orgies...

Ugh.

Erista seems to have the matter of diplomacy well in-hand, complete with an offered threat.  Disgusted by Corian's lie, Eilieen decides to leave it without any kind of reassurance; normally, she would have to step in and offer a counterbalance to the ugly suggestion.  Corian, however, deserves a little bit of uncertainty.

She raises the hem of her gown - the thread has begun to fray.  Already.  The accursed tailor had promised her at least a month of travel, and this, after only twenty days...and the mud.  Oh, the mud.

Eilieen sighs.  Doing good is a laudable goal, she decides.  If only it wasn't so accursed messy....
This message was last edited by the player at 23:31, Mon 25 July 2011.

Fate had put them all on the same path, and with similar enough goals, to complete at least a small part of the journey through this world together.  While nothing lasts forever there was always comfort to be found in the here and now, when pleasant, or at least not completely unpleasant, company was to be had.

-----------------

And so it was, that later, as the employer told his tale that her face, at first just ghostly, turned an inscrutable look at him.

"No matter how strong the wind, the rain can never rejoin the cloud."

She resumes her trance-like state where she sits in a lotus position, face lifted towards the sky.  Her scant outfit shows more of her toned physique than not as she slowly breathes in and out.  She looks as comfortable meditating here as she did back in the tavern when they first met.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:37, Tue 26 July 2011.

The journey had been miserable enough, with the weather turning the road into an endless expanse of mud, but at least the lure of gold had warmed the heart of Colwyn Akbar as he had trudged along the Tradeway tightly bundled in his cloak.

Now it seemed that the dandy had lied about that.

Colwyn snarls, "Ye gods and blue-arsed monkeys!" and rolls away from the fire into the gloom beyond the flickering circle of warmth and light.  There is a glint of steel as he comes up into a crouch.

"If we's ambushed by bandits ternight, Corian, I'll see that your'n is the first gullet ter be slit.  An' I'll do a right messy job of it."

Corian looks askance at Erista as she leans against him.  "No, no, you misunderstand." he starts to explain, only to be interrupted by the babble of protests, complaints and threats from some of the others."

He tries again, "Oh, dear, I'm making a frightful hash of this, aren't I?"  A deep breath to calm his nerves, and then, "I didn't mislead anybody  because I thought the truth would discourage interest in my real venture.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  I didn't want to tell the truth because I thought it might attract the wrong sort of people.  Enemies, to be blunt."

"Excuse me." he carefully pushes Erista away, to a respectable distance, and continues, "I suppose I should start at the beginning."

"I am an apprentice to a mage, Dasidar, who lives in a hamlet a little north of Reme, and a thankless position it is, or rather was, since my master has now released me from service.  Some months ago we were visiting the library of another mage, Feriblan, in the city.  My master went there often to consult with Feriblan, who is an unpleasant man, usually surrounded by the stench of boiled cabbage and cheap spirits, and prone to hysterical gibbering."

"Unpleasant though he is, Feriblan is not as unpleasant as his own apprentice, Vortigern, who is a nasty individual, a violent bully who likes to taunt and intimidate the apprentices of visiting mages.  I'm sure that if Feriblan were not quite, quite mad, he would have dismissed Vortigern long ago, since the man has certainly progressed far beyond the skills of a mere apprentice."

Corian looks down at his hands for a moment, marshalling his thoughts, "Whenever we went to visit Feriblan, I would always endeavour to avoid Vortigern, and this most recent occasion was no exception.  I found a small room, off to one side of the main library, and contented myself with perusing the various volumes contained within.  As I read, I ran my fingers over a carved detail on the reading stand, and was surprised when a hidden compartment sprang open.  Inside was a small box with a piece of paper attached which identified it as belonging to one Eralion of Fairhill."

"Curious, as I had heard of Eralion, and knew that he had died decades ago, I opened the box.  Inside it I found a peculiar amulet and a scrap of parchment, a letter to Feriblan.  In it, Eralion explained to Feriblan that he intended to attempt a most difficult ritual, which would grant him immortality, as a form of lich."

"This goin' ter take much longer?" Colwyn demands out of the shadows, "Only I's waitin' fer yer ter finish, so's I can be 'avin' me dinner, see?"

With a sigh, Corian gets to his feet and starts to pace as he continues his tale, "Very well, to cut a fascinating tale indecently short, I decided to learn more of Eralion.  After Dasidar dismissed me, saying I had learned all that he was prepared to teach me, I risked another visit to mad, foul old Feriblan and questioned him directly regarding Eralion.  He told me, amid interminable ramblings concerning the properties of various cheeses, that Eralion had not had sufficient magical might to become a lich, and that it was his belief that his old friend had, in actuality, been the victim of a cruel deceit perpetrated by the demon Orcus."

"He did, however, confirm for me the location of Eralion's keep, just off the Tradeway, not far from the village of Fairhill.  And that, my friends, is where we are going.  While I seek only a certain staff, and some tomes of occult lore, you may take you pick of any other items we find in the wizard's tower."

"I apologise that I could not speak of this openly in Reme, but I could not risk that vile ne'er-do-well Vortigern learning of my intended destination."

"Now that I have explained my actions, shall we eat?"

Eilieen sighs again.  "Corian, the truth would have been far preferable.  If you thought us willing, you should have told us back in town."  She plucks at a loose thread despondantly.  "Back..before all this rain, wind, weather."  Abruptly she blinks her sapphire-blue eyes, almost as if awakening.  "But of course I understand your reasoning.  Hurt feelings aside, frustration aside, you had to protect yourself and your knowledge."

Standing, as is her wont when growing more seriously, Eilieen begins to pace, her hands gesturing eloquently as she speaks.  "Of course I will assist.  It does sound dangerous, and those willing to risk entry may require healing and protection against the darkness."  Her lip twitches for an instant.  "Despoiling ruins is not the most...noble cause, but perhaps something good will come of it, and I would rather disaster not strike any of those here.  If my presence can assist, so be it."

A firm nod follows.  "Yes.  I will go with you."  Her solid stance weakens a touch as she studies the 'food'.  "And...eat," Eilieen finishes with another heavy sigh.

Oh, to be back in the temple, with servings of chilled wine, a myriad of delicate cheeses, and the finest fruits and sauces, all at her whim...of course, she muses, it was difficult to enjoy said sauces when she knew exactly how the other priests and priestesses employed the thick chocolate syrup.

"Hmm..."  Erista shifts over to sit by Fergus, instead, then, looking for somebody with a little more body heat to block some of the rain.  Her head shifts back and forth as she watches Eilieen pace.  "At least you're probably telling the truth now," she offers.  "Or most of it, anyway; I'd bet you're still holding a little back."

"What I'm not sure I'd bet on - or at least, not as high a bet as you're asking, no offense, but that's lives and not copper - is that there's going to be so much we'd want besides that staff; or that this...tyrimancer of yours was right that he couldn't have done it.  There could be a lich waiting for us in this keep.  Even if he failed, if really was a trick, that doesn't necessarily mean he's just dead.  As the Dark Gods go, I don't think that one's inclined to...ground pepper on the cricket legs.  There could be something even worse."  She nods to Eilieen.  "Which might sound like good news to you, but I think the rest of us'd like a little more...guarantee.  Supposing we go, and supposing we survive, what if your Eralion turns out not to be the type to keep much more than cheese and pickles?"

She pauses, brushing a stray bit of wet hair back.  "Mm.  Wish we had some cheese here," she notes, unknowingly half-mirroring Eilieen's thoughts.

Ozzy sets his lute carefully aside as dinner is served, happily enjoying both the meal and the story - until Colwyn demands the short version.
He scowls at the rogue, but quickly focuses on the ending, allowing what remains of the tale to be told.

"Subterfuge is always entertaining." he says, pausing to lick the back of his spoon, "I usually like to be told about my part in it ahead of time, but I can understand your desire for discretion. So a little side adventure to a mean old wizards tower? THAT definitely sounds entertaining. You are forgiven." he says to their patron, knowing he would turn a profit out of this one way or another, even if it was just a mournful ballad of a small group of heroes dying.

Fergus seems a little shocked at Oswald's reaction and Corian's (Erista's threats, on the other hand, were subtle enough that Fergus completely missed her intent).  It was disappointing that Colwyn had lied, yes, but there was no need to be mean about it.

The big man listens with interest as Colwyn explains, though he has trouble with some of the big words.  He accepts Erista's presence with patient goodwill, shifting slightly to screen the halfling from the worst of the wind and rain.  She reminded Fergus of his three-year old niece, but somehow he always seemed to get in trouble when he mentioned that to Erista.

Fergus would really prefer to be getting on with the job at hand.  Rappan Athuk was his quest and he didn't see the need to get side-tracked.  But Eilieen, Erista and Oswald had already agreed.  Fergus takes his time to think it through, brow furrowing in concentration.

"It'll be like practice," he decides, "So we can do the job right when we get to Rappan Athuk."

Listening to all the comment after Corian describes both his real purpose and the reason for his reluctance to talk back in Reme. Smiling, Aramil gets his meal and then sits down as the others slowly make their feelings known. Aramil is unsurprised to find himself agreeing with the singer again. Though from the little he has got to know Ozwald they seem cut from a similar mould.

Turning to their employer Aramil speaks quietly but with firm voice "The subterfuge, borrowing other's word, is understandable. And from my position not a fault but a good trait. This tower could be a nice side adventure, or as Erista pointed out more than we wish to bite off." Aramil nods both at Qswald and then Erista. He continues But still nothing ventured nothing gained as the proverb states. I will also join you, but there is a catch! Now that you are alone in the miserable place with us I'd suggest you tell us anything else that we might need to know. Otherwise some of us might not be willing to go along with your plans later as we seem now."

Enemies.  Good.  Something about books and letters which he dismisses as unimportant.  Liches though, now that does make his blood boil. That any man with any sense in his body at all would willingly allow himself to be raised as undead.  He'd cut off this Eralion's head for free for that alone.  Vortigern too if he's in on it.  And anyone who gets in his way.

So Corian wants just a staff which isn't a proper weapon anyway - and some froggin' tomes.  Stuff he'd not bother to pick up anyway.

Food !  Finally.  First sensible thing the puttock had said in a goodly while.

"Could be a lich there," Aarnr mumbles as he tears a strip of meat with his teeth, agreeing wholeheartedly with Erista.  Bit of a surprise that.  He'd thought her the cautious sort.  But Fergus had the right idea.  Never turn down the opportunity for a froggin' good fight, just to keep in practice.

"So are we goin to froggin' Bard's Gate or not ?" he demands of Corian.  "Afterwards ..." the big priest adds with a scowl, just in case anyone thought he wasn't paying attention.

It seems everyone has decided to go, save for the mysterious monk.  Maybe.  Hard to tell, really.  Eilieen heaves a mighty sigh of relief, closing her eyes beneath the hood of her cloak.  It gives her a moment's relief from the sight of rain, rain, and more rain.  Not from the cold, the damp, the vile flavour of rations, the knowledge that her gown has begun to unravel...oh, the list could go on for days.  Best to focus on the sweet darkness before her eyes, yes.  Keep positive, Eilieen.  Sadly, she has to open them again, and does.

If only Erista hadn't mentioned cheese.

"Well then, Corian!"  She rubs her hands together, once again seating herself at the feeble fire.  "You have your people's agreement, sans one...or not.  Is there aught more you can say about this place?  Histories, rumors, legends..."  It seems wise to gather as much infomation as she can.  It also keeps her mind from cold.  And brie.  Mmm, brie.  How wonderful, especially when melted into a proper fondue of mixed cheeses.  Of course, then she had snuck into the kitchen for another helping late at night and found the cook and the high priestess ahead of her...naked...she had always blamed being half-asleep for not hearing their enthusiasm from outside the door...

Eilieen makes a sour face, her longing for brie abruptly dead and buried.

"When the frog croaks the dragonfly does not ask why."

An eye cracks open and peers at Aarnr, a smile on the opposite side of the face.  Untangling herself easily from the lotus position the monk arises in a fluid motion.

Tossing her head to one side she sends her currently braided hair around to her backside and glances over towards Eilieen, smiling gently, with both sides now.  "Unless you plan on heading out tonight, there is little need to rush anywhere.  Relax and enjoy the food we are blessed with."

She moves over closer to the fire to check on the food, catlike and gentle.

Aarnr can never tell if his nameless companion is very wise, or merely taking the froggin' piss.  His eyes narrow at her remarks (frogs indeed ! Tsathogga's Get !) but not wanting to seem stupid he makes no comment, just continues to chew, albeit slowly and agressively.

Eileen looks like she could use a good feed, but in the short time he's known her seems almost disgusted by every morsel put before her. "Fro ..." no, that'll not fly on the heels of the monk's words ... "Just eat up," he encourages her.  The priest doesn't believe in abstinence himself, and will be damned if he'll tolerate it in others.

Colwyn rises from his crouch, sheathing his blade as he does so, and steps back into the circle of light.  "Aye, well, I'll still see ter it that yer the first ter go if I's thinkin' yer've crossed us, but yer can live fer now."

Taking his place close to the fire again, he glances at Eilieen, "If'n yer don't want yer scram, yer can chuck it over 'ere, gal, I's bloody starvin'.  Me bleedin' belly reckons me gullet's been slit."

"Good questions, and fairly asked." Corian pronounces, sitting down again a decent distance from Erista, "For my part, I can't say, with any certitude, whether or not I'll be carrying on to Bard's Gate.  You are all, however, free to continue with your journey, and you will all be paid the agreed sum, after we have searched Eralion's keep, no matter what I chose to do afterward."

"One of the reasons I selected Bard's Gate as my spurious destination was, in fact, that Fairhill lays along the road to that fair city.  For anybody who truly had reason to go to Bard's Gate, Fairhill represents a minimal diversion and as little inconvenience as possible.  This seemed better, to my mind, than recruiting people who might believe they were going to be travelling to Tsar, for example, and might be somewhat put out to find themselves taking the road in entirely the wrong direction."

The young man sits in thought for a moment, "I believe that's everything.  I can't think of any part of my plans that I haven't told you.  Let's see now... go to Fairhill and investigate Eralion's former home...  No, that is everything, Master Aramil."

Eilieen pauses a moment at the Nameless One's words, unused to making sense of them so quickly.  "Eat?  Leave?  Now?"  She turns in a circle, studying the growing darkness and the drizzle.  "Oh, no, no indeed.  Of course, honored monk."  She shoots an appraising look at Aarnr, startled by his lack of crudity - it seems it's a moment to remember, between the two surprises - then offers a slow bow of the head in reply.

"You are wise, both of you.  I will..."  She looks down at the bag of rations.  "...partake."

More threats from Colwyn, followed by a request.  Brushing out her abused skirts, Eilieen seats herself.  "Apologies, dearest Colwyn, but our friends are most correct.  I must eat this...food...to keep up my strength.  It will be needed, I suppose," she mumurs, considering the time ahead.  A thrust of the hand into the bag liberates nuts, dried fruit, and possibly grains, she isn't certain.  With the proper spices, it might be a light snack in the temple.

Without, and after many full meals of the same, it's torture.

Chewing is agony, swallowing worse, but she chokes it down, following up with a watered wine from her skin.  Too sharp, too bitter, and the aftertaste of leather is best left undescribed.  Oh, how her tongue longs for the light, fruity vintages of her temple, complete with shavings of ice to cool them in the hot season...

Ice.  Oh, she had to go and remember the ice, didn't she?  The ice, the arch-abbess and her new boy-toy...errr, young apprentice...  Eilieen stuffs another handful into her mouth, the awful torment of eating thankfully wiping the images from her thoughts.

"Good enough for me," she chokes out to Corian.  "Aarnr, has mighty Bowbe seen fit to grace you with any intuitions?"  Privately she doubts it - Bowbe has always seemed the sort to let his followers walk straight into danger, grinning at their plight - but seems worthwhile to ask the enormous priest.  She might not trust his god, and she certainly doesn't trust his tongue, but Eilieen feels solid in trusting him.  Like the rest of those around the fire.

"That fen-sucked nut-hook wouldn't grace a froggin blind man with a straight path !" the priest carefully explains religion to Eileen. "The gods don't give ... least not willingingly. Thou hast to froggin' demand what you want of them and curse them till they yield to ye !"

Having provided helpful pointers on that score, Aarnr is loathe to display his ignorance, all but chewing on his beard in an effort to still his tongue ... but curiosity gets the better of him.

"What's intuitions anyway ?  I'm good with a sword ..."

And, the more things change...

Mind, Eilieen doesn't roll her eyes at Aarnr's foulness.  Her own temple had its own, far more disruptive methods of worship, so it's very difficult to maintain any sort of moral high ground for judging.  Were she actually interested in so doing.

His devotion is, in its own appalling way, truly inspiring, and he certainly gets the point across.

Washing down another mouthful of the...one hesitated to call it food...with the wine (an equally nebulous naming), Eilieen leans forward for some instruction of her own.  "Intuition.  Consider the crawling a swordsman feels on the back of his neck a moment before he is attacked from behind, or sudden realization our own Colwyn might have that warns him of a hidden trap.  It might be cues so small one does not realize they have been seen, a presentiment of things to come, or even the whisper from one's god in one's ear."  Oh dear.  He'll make something horrid of that, no doubt.

She smiles, teeth shining in the dim light.  "I think of it as the voice of my heart."

"Whispers ?  Bowbe doesn't do froggin' whispers !" but Eilieen's remarks about a warrior's instincts strike a chord of understanding - enough at least that Aarnr feels he can ignore presentiment, anyway - and he nods to show that he has grapsed the sense of it.

"I heard a few tales of Rappan Athuk," the priest ventures.  It's possible that the god sent him to those taverns for just such a purpose, though privately he doubts it, "but naught of this puking Lich-keep."

"So," Erista says, grinning mischievously, "`Intuition' is the word for the sound `Ba-thumpa'?"

She gestures towards the campfire, and one of the roasting rabbits pulls itself off the spit and floats over to her waiting hand.  She pulls out her dagger, and starts cutting it to bits, soon offering roughly half to Fergus.

"That was awfully thoughtful of you," she agrees.  "And I do think that answers all of our questions except, `what if it's full of dust and a Lich?'  But that's well enough; I have my own answer for that, and I don't think you're likely to have one I'll like better."

The monk merely smiles gently at Eilieen, lips not parted, expression cryptic.  She returns to where she was seated before to indulge herself with the meal where she eats methodically, in silence, and cleans the plate of food to the best of her ability.

"What are we but dust blowing through the echoes of a morrow that never comes?" she says to Erista and tilts her head, "Perhaps the Lich is in need of a duster then?"

"Or perhaps a dusting?  Or do you suspect a dustup?" she muses into the night, setting the plate down next to her.  After a few moments she chortles and looks around, "If we take turns we can allow our cautious employer to rest all night.  Who will stand guard with me, and when?"

Fergus is content to sit and watch the others talk.  He is confident that, with the decision made, the details will be settled without his help; that's how these things usually work anyway.

If nothing else, the discussion about food seems entirely unnecessary.  It was food, if you had any, you ate it.  Indeed Fergus had been pleased to find that the adventuring life involved better meals than farming, certainly you got to eat more meat (he thinks, as he accepts a serving of rabbit from Erista with a muttered thanks).  He had made a concerted effort to eat sparingly and, as a result, he only went through trail rations about twice as fast as most of the others.

Part of Corian 's explanation belatedly registers with Fergus.  He swallows a mouthful and says, "I can't go into Fairhill."  The admission might seem more serious if Fergus' hands and chin weren't dripping with grease from the rabbit.

Fergus doesn't respond to the monk's questions.  She confuses him.  Fergus thinks she's pretty but she doesn't behave like the girls he grew up with and he doesn't understand most of what she says.

"Fergus, why can you not go into Fairhill?" the monk asks him gently, resisting the urge to go over and wipe clean his chin, while awaiting answers or offers to share the guard duty.  She did not know much about him, yet, and the best way to find out was, usually, to ask.

Colwyn, not pausing in his eating, doesn't even look up from his dinner, "I'll 'ave the middle watch.  I's awake more at night any'ows.  Good thing in my work."

When Fergus announces that he can't go to Fairhill, that does give the rogue pause, and a broad grin spreads over his face, "Lookin' at the size of 'im, the most likely thing'd be 'e can't go back 'cause 'e ett all the bleedin' grub in the town.  That it, Fergus, yer's ett everythin' they 'ad?"

He chuckles and pats Fergus on the back, "Jus' kiddin' lad."

Ozzy pipes up, his small stature working against him yet again as he is nearly lost in the conversation of the larger people. He waves his hand eagerly and says, "Dibs on first watch! I hate being woken up halfway through the night." he volunteers, then squats down in the dirt near Fergus. Leaning forward with his hands crossed, Ozzy looks to be the gossip collector of the group as he goads, "Yes Fergus, do tell us why you can't go into Fairhill. Are you a wanted criminal? A travelling gigolo? A gambler who welches on his debts? A family man who ran out on his kids?" the possibilities are endless, but the halfling falls quiet waiting for an answer.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:54, Sat 30 July 2011.

Aarnr has to think a bit, but is pretty sure they've never heard of either him or his tribe in Fairhill.  From all accounts the place isn't so big that a raiding party would be put off, but if his reckoning is right, it's much too far from the coast for his kinsmen to have paid a daring night-time visit.

Doesn't surprise him that any free spirit would fall foul of the laws these froggin' foot-lickers come up with.  Though he never ceases to be amazed at how long they can hold a grudge.

"The man's troubles in Fairhill are his froggin' own business," the priest rumbles.  "Thee and me can skirt around the place, lad, and meet the rest of our warband on the road."

And he'll be froggin' fried in filth before he spends a watch listening to the Nameless Monk blathering on in his ear.  "Fergus an' me will take the last watch," he suggests.  That's when it's the most dangerous ...

Aramil nodded at Corian when he noted nothing else to add to his story. Sitting, eating and listening seems to be all Aramil wishes to do, but a smart man listen more than he talks, even one who is gifted with the use of his tongue. Intrigued by everyone's comments Aramil wants to know about Fergus just as much as the others, but no point hassling the boy, he will tell his story when he is ready.

Aramil doesn't care about which watch, but he does want to spend some more time with Oswald. Speaking quietly yet with a firmness which is easy to hear around the camp "I don't care which watch I take, but I would prefer 1st watch if possible."

Fergus stares glumly at his boots.  For a moment it seems that he will not reply, but he reacts with sullen anger to Oswald's teasing (though he makes a note to ask what "gigolo" means when he gets the chance to ask someone in private).  "It ain't anything like that!  There's too many folks as know me in Fairhill an'd try to send me home.  I can't go home, my pa would kill me."

"I'll watch with Aarnr." Fergus doesn't understand how any god could approve of the kind of language that Aarnr uses and he has a growing suspicion that the priest has an inflated opinion of Fergus' abilities as a warrior, but he appreciates Aarnr's support.  Also, years of farm labour have made Fergus an early riser so the morning watch suits him best anyway.

The monk smiles briefly at Fergus. "Thank you for sharing with us, Fergus."  She is not completely convinced his father indeed would slay him, but leaves it at that since she do not know anything more beyond what Fergus has said.

She then falls silent, watching the others to see who wish to take what watch with whom.  Watching and waiting.

Corian considers Fergus' dilemma briefly, then agrees with Aarnr's assessment of the situation, "Indeed, as far as I can see there is no need for us all to stroll into the marketplace in Fairhill and announce our presence.  While it may be necessary for at least some of us to converse with the locals to obtain detailed directions to Eralion's keep, there is no reason I can think of that others could not await us beyond the outskirts."

Forestalling Aarnr's expected response, Colwyn adds, "'e means the lad don't need ter go inter the village."

"Precisely so."

Corian stands and stretches, before stifling a yawn, "Well, my bold companions, it has been a long day, made longer still by the inclement weather.  I believe I shall retire for the evening."  He crosses to where his bedroll lays on the ground and starts to prepare for sleep.

Beyond the circle of light, the darkness has closed in around the camp, and the loudest sounds are the rustling of leaves overhead as the wind shakes the trees, and the dripping of water from the dense green canopy...
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:08, Sun 31 July 2011.

Ozzy settles back into his nook in the tree roots close to the fire. He once again picks up his lute, taking a moment to tune it once more as the others prepare their beds for the night. Once everyone is tucked in, he begins to play softly, singing the lyrics from an old McCartney ballad...

Once there was a way, to get back homeward,
Once there was a way, to get back home.
Sleep pretty darling do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby...

Golden slumbers fill your eyes, smiles awake you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby...

Once there was a way, to get back homeward,
Once there was a way, to get back home,
Sleep pretty darling do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby...

He plays the louder parts softly as well, not wishing to wake the others before their turn in the watch rotation. As he plays, he takes mental note of his surroundings and carefully marks any subtle changes to the shadows projected from the evening fire.

Eilieen has been daydreaming - well, dusk-dreaming, dusk-and-rain-dreaming if one is to be particular - about the good parts of the Temple.  That is to say, the food, the beds, the services.  It does occur to her that each and every one of these things had a lamentable habit of turning out to be disgusting and purile in some form or another, but she sets that aside for the moment.  It's a wonderful dream, warm and cozy, and unfortunately it distracts her enough that she ends up stuck on the second watch.

With Colwyn, though that's not a problem.

"Ugh and drat," the priestess mutters, fuming - angry with herself, not the others.  Witless fool.  Now you won't get your eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.  "Second watch it is," she chimes in, striving for good cheer, not wanting her foul mood to infect her companions.  "Best I sleep, myself..."

Out comes the bedroll.  Making a little tent over her head with her cloak and some handy twigs thrust into the ground, Eilieen crawls in.  No silk sleeping clothing.  No silk sheets.  No silk mask for her eyes.  The perils of travel and adventuring...well, at least there's no one crawling in with her, then giving a surprised, offended look when shooed away.

At least twice a night that used to happen.

Erista pats Fergus on the hand.  "Nothing to be worried about," she promises.

She does some quick math in her head, and then offers cheerfully, "I'd be happy to get up with Monk later.  I've gotten a bit more nocturnal since I bonded with Astral."  The tiny little owl that accompanies her makes a sudden little peeu chirp, turning her head to blink at Erista, and then snapping something even tinier out of the air.

Erista smiles at her, finishing up her rabbit.  She looks at Eilieen thoughtfully for a moment, and then shakes her head, taking out her bedroll, laying it relatively near the fire, and snuggling in.  She falls asleep quickly.  The owl flits over to land near the opening, and, for a while, stands its own quiet vigil against mosquitoes, before burrowing in next to her a little later in the evening.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:56, Mon 01 Aug 2011.

"Thou'll be right with me, lad," Aarnr slaps Fergus on his shoulder, truly appreciating the urge to be absent from one's extended family.  Having craftily gained the pair the best watch of the night, the priest is in rare good humour, and forebears from any comment at all as he watches Eileen's night time ritual, waiting until the priestess is nice and comfortable before he unstraps his own roll from his pack, shaking it out with no little vigor before tossing it down to the ground.

"Jus' checkin' for spiders ..."

The monk, having watched the others as they got ready for the night in one way or another, remains seated where she is, eyes closed and once more seemingly oblivious to the world.  The only sign of life is a slow, relaxed breathing, in and out, until it is very hard to tell she is indeed still breathing, for now.  But she is, possibly to some people's annoyance.

One by one, people get themselves settled for the night, save only Oswald and Aramil, who have the first watch and so must remain alert for any sign of danger.  Their vigilance is, perhaps, heightened by Corian's tale and his mention of rivals whom he seeks to avoid on the road to Fairhill.

The two of them quietly patrol the perimeter of the camp while their companions drift into sleep, some to dream (peaceful or otherwise) and some not.  And the first watch passes slowly...

Aramil watches as the others get ready for their sleep, wishing he could join them, mainly just to get him out of the weather to some degree. Walking around slowly Aramil is happily thinking about the uninterrupted sleep that will happen later when he notices something. Stopping to listen to the noise over the wind, rain and other campers Aramil stands still for longer than he should. Turning to see if Oswald has noticed anything, Aramil seems unsure of what to do.

Ozzy, who has been walking the opposite direction of Aramil stops when their paths cross. "What is it? You hear something? he asks in a hushed whisper, knowing elves had far better hearing than most. He then falls quiet, looking and listening in the direction Aramil faces, but catching little more than the sound of raindrops and the sight of flickering shadows in the trees. "It's too dark, I can't see anything." he grumbles.

Listen: 9, Spot: 6

As Aramil and Oswald change their patrol pattern, stopping to peer through the surrounding trees on the uphill side of the camp, it becomes clear that some of their companions are lighter sleepers than others.

While Colwyn, Corian, Eilieen and Erista continue to slumber, Aarnr, Fergus and the monk begin to stir.

"There it is again! Did you hear that?" the halfling says excitedly, a look of anxiety forming on his features. If it was what he thought it was, it was definitely more horrifying than anything he was ready to deal with tonight, "Sounds like a kid crying. Do you hear it Aramil?" he whispers and then quickly falls silent, looking back at the campsite as a few turn restlessly in their sleep. Good thing his watch was almost over, he did not want to babysit.

A slow exhales escapes the monk as both eyes open.  Still seated in a lotus position she looks around, moving only her head, and neck, not saying anything.  Her eyes sweep over Oswald and Aramil but does not linger, neither do they linger of any of her other companions, sleeping or not.

Still uncertain what to do Aramil is not really reassured by Oswald's comment about babysitting. Not about actually babysitting, but finding a child out here by itself. With others in the camp starting to stir Aramil decides its time to do something. Quietly whispering to Oswald "I cannot leave this be, I'll go and have a closer look." Aramil then moves off slowly in the direction of the calling out. Cautious of trouble Aramil doesn't call out, but waits for the reason that a child is out be itself.

OOC:08:46, Today: Aramil rolled 7 using 1d20+2. Spot  check.
08:45, Today: Aramil rolled 7 using 1d20+2. Move silently check.
08:45, Today: Aramil rolled 9 using 1d20+2. Listen check.

Froggin' bat-fowling canker-blossoms !  The racket spouting from the tongues of Aramil and Oswald disturbs Aarnr, at least enough to have him roll over, pulling the thin blanket up over his head to try to block their babble out.

Oswald nods and then turns back to those still feigning sleep by the fire. He pulls the blanket from Aarnr's head and whispers loud enough to wake the others, "Getup!Getup!Getup! Aramil's going into the woods to find the lost kid. There's a little kid crying in the dark, maybe he's lost. Getup. Getup."

"Maybe he's just froggin' stupid !" Aarnr comes close to throttling Oswald, as he is rudely roused from his beauty sleep, but reluctantly extricates himself from his blankets, picking up the great big sword of his that is ever close to hand.

Gaining his feet, the priest peers out into the darkness. "ARAMAIL !  GET THY SKINNY BEHIND BACK HERE THOU RANK SHEEP-BITING RATS-BANE !" he yells out into the night after the bard, hopefully in the direction of the wailing, but with enough volume that it shouldn't really matter.  "Lucky we brought a spare minstrel," he mumbles, looking towards Oswald. "Thou stay put !"

Colwyn crosses the roof of the temple with consummate ease, moving over the sloping tiles quickly, and with a light step, producing no noise to alert the guards in the courtyard below.  He reaches his goal, the skylight he had seen when he first came to the city.  Subsequent studies of the temple interior, in the guise of a worshipper, had revealed that the skylight did not lead into any of the temple's public areas.

Further enquiries among some of the cities... less lawful denizens had turned up tales of a chamber where the temple's great treasures were stored, only brought out on holy days.

This had not struck Colwyn as fair, he was determined to liberate the gems and jewels which he felt certain must lay within the chamber.  Such fine, bright stones and precious metals should be outside, sparkling in the sunlight, not locked in some dusty vault.

He draws his knife, and with a cunning flick of the wrist, pops the skylight open.  It's a moonless night, and peering down through the opening reveals only darkness.  Colwyn secures his rope to a gargoyle which bears a startling resemblance to his Uncle Merthyr.

Then he climbs through the opening and slides down the rope.  He lands on something, but instead of the expected *clink* of coins or rattling of spilled gems, there is a quiet "Oh!" and a giggle.  Somebody brings a candle, and Colwyn finds that he is in a room filled with about a hundred naked temple maidens, all stirring into wakefulness.  And every one of them is smiling and beckoning seductively.

He also seems to have lost his pants at some point in his slide down the rope.

He turns around, taking in the wondrous sight, and comes face to face with a bear.  An angry bear which, unaccountably, is wearing a colourful vest and a small red hat.

The creature snarls, leans forward, wraps its paws around him, and bellows... "ARAMAIL !  GET THY SKINNY BEHIND BACK HERE THOU RANK SHEEP-BITING RATS-BANE !"

Sitting up, tightly bound in his bedroll, Colwyn looks around the camp with sleep-bleared eyes.  "Mirkeer's shadow!  Wha's goin' on?"

Alerted by Oswald's waking of Aarnr, the bold adventurers start to awaken.  It doesn't take long before all are in various states of wakefulness.

From the woods comes a sudden sound, like a combination of a yowl and a roar!
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:57, Sun 07 Aug 2011.

Corian is dragged from sleep by Aarnr's yell, and sits blinking owlishly for a few heartbeats.  Then he starts to get to his feet, and at that moment a strange, feral cry sounds amid the trees.  His head snaps around in that direction, but beyond the firelight he can see nothing.

He stands up straight, raises one before his face, where it starts to perform a series of odd gestures, and strange words flow from his lips, "Bydded goleuni.  Gadewch i'r tywyllwch cael eu halltudio."

Fergus had quickly fallen asleep after dinner.  He still wasn't quite used to sleeping rough but Fergus had grown up on dirt floors and straw pallets and was, by necessity, a versatile sleeper.

Unfortunately, Fergus lacked the wit to plan ahead and had laid out his bedroll in a slight depression that was slowly filling with water as the persistent rain continued.  The rising damp had almost roused Fergus when the quiet conversation between Aramil and Oswald woke him.

As Oswald's half-whispers become more urgent, Fergus stirs.  He rises quickly, if a little clumsily and snatches up his axe.  He looks around in confusion, waiting for someone to tell him what to do, or at least what's going on.

Walking through the trees towards the child crying Aramil almost cringes at the noise he is making.He wishes he could see and hear better as this situation is making him nervous. His suspicions about the cry is re-enforced when he hears Aarnr's yell though the air.

Suddenly Aramil sees something out of the corner of his eye. There stands a hideous creature, a mixture of natural creatures that to Aramil remembers out of stories and songs rather than real life. Turning to it as the creature roars Aramil brings up his shortsword up and slashes at the creature as it reaches him.

Finally awake, though horribly unclean and without a mirror to assist with her coiffure, Eilieen fights with the unfamiliar sensation of having her hair stand on end.  "Goddess, what..."  Pausing, the priestess reaches up into her sadly dishevelled 'do' and, with some effort, manages to extract a large, hairy wolf spider that had taken refuge the night before.  With the arachnid imprisoned in two cupped palms, she hurries to the side and drops it safely into a bush before examining the small bite on her hand.  "Poor little thing," she murmurs.  "Must have been terrified."

Her eyes narrow.  "That...will swell," the priestess notes with some disgust.  A swelling imprint upon an otherwise pristine (if dirty) hand.  Just the thing to ruin her day.

Now...where was she?

Snatching up her spear, she glances around the campsite.  "Aramil!" Eilieen cries.  "Where is Aramil?"

Ozzy laughs at the sight of the madwoman clutching her spear like some disheveled and distraught Amazonian. His laughter calms to a giggle as he looks away and tries his best to forget the image and he points off in the direction he had last seen Aramil dash off to.

"I's trying to tell ya! We were watching on our watch as watchful as a watcher could be when we both heard it! A little kid crying in the underbrush, probably lost and looking for his mama, maybe even one of Fergus' unmentioned bastards, and Aramil says,

"I cannot leave this be, I'll go and have a closer look." (in his best Aramil Impression)

...then he up and runs off into tha' woods! We haven't seen anything mind you, but we both heard it, yes we did! And he goes and runs off looking for it alone!" The last word is spoken with special dramatic emphasis, intoned low and ominously. Even though his babbling mouth has finally gone quiet, the little halfling cannot sit still. He bobs up and down, leaning left and right as he cranes his head forward in hopes of actually seeing the elf or the lost child(?).

Everybody in the camp is awake now and peering into the darkness beyond the firelight, hoping to see some sign of what is happening.  Their only guide to events is the terrible bestial roar from the night shrouded woods, and the sudden thump of metal against... something!

Corian starts chanting and gesturing...

A terrible shriek comes out of the blackness, and in that instant Corian holds his hand aloft, grasping a coin, which suddenly starts to glow, flooding the area with light.  Then he throws it out among the trees...

And there, as the coin lands, at the very limit of the illumination, perhaps thirty feet away, Aramil can be seen in combat with a hideous beast, like some awful mixture of deer, badger and lion, with burning red eyes.  The creature looks to be about four feet tall at the shoulder, and has its jaws fastened on the elf's leg.

As Corian's spell lights up the area, the thing lets go of Aramil, and turns to flee...

Scrambling out from her own bedroll, Erista is looking at Oswald with a very strange mixture of anger and amusement.  "And the roar...?" she's asking, as Corian finishes his spell and hurls the coin.

She breaks off, almost certainly because she, too, is interested in Aramil's fate and the danger at hand, and not at all just being distracted by a shiny thing.  As the thing cringes back and starts to turn, she scurries forward, into the near edge of Corian's light.  "彩色 浪花!"  A brilliant rainbow arcs out from her hand, splaying out through the trees towards the creature...

A little surprised at being quicker than the creature makes Aramil's attack a little clumsy, but it was enough. Then when the creature clamps onto his leg another more familiar roar echos through the trees as Aramil screams in pain as the jaws tighten around his leg.

While the creature continues to hold on Aramil prepares for another swing of his sword. Suddenly the area lights up and the creature lets go and turns to run. Aramil swings, yet with the creatures retreat and the glare from the sudden light he misses.

"Aramil!"

The wound calls her, and Eilieen can do nothing but respond.  Spear in one hand, she breaks into a stumbling run, hurrying toward the beleagured half-elf, her free hand clutching the silvery pendant at her neck.  "Zadastha, look upon your servant with favour," she chants, skidding to a halt behind her nimble friend, one hand reaching for his shoulder as her gaze flicks left and right, hunting for more enemies.

"Love heals all hurts, stitches all wounds, and comforts those in need - so may it be!"

Aarnr grunts as Eileen daintily relocates the spider.  For a moment he is greatly tempted to plant a large boot upon it, yet is distracted by the wailing and blabbering.  "Cease thy froggin' jabber," he tell Oswald, "I can't hear what's goin' on out there ..."

"Nor see anythin' either ..." he begins, breaking off as Corian casts his spell and hurls the glowing coin into the darkness.

"Never mind ..."

"Spawn of Tsathogga !  What in the festerin' fens be thee !"  Aarnr seems almost pleased to see the beast.

Hefting his big sword, the priest starts forward, picking up speed and bellowing loudly as he gives chase ...

Having been silently waiting and watching the monk shrugs as Aarnr takes off after the creature and starts forward in turn, in pursuit of either of the beasts, although it is uncertain which one, for the moment.

The creature starts to turn away, and Aramil, momentarily dazzled by the sudden brilliance of Corian's light misses as he cuts at the bizarre horror.  Help is close at hand though, as Aarnr charges into the fray, his heavy sword swinging down in a slash which bites deep into the thing's haunch, even as its hind feet slam into Aramil's gut.

Aramil goes down, sprawled on the ground, his eyes closed and his face deathly pale in the magical light.  The beast shrieks, and staggers sideways, blood running down its leg.

An instant later Eilieen is kneeling beside the downed elf, touching his shoulder.  She utters a quick prayer to Zadastha, and a faint pearly luminance flows from her hand into Aramil's body.  As it fades, his eyes open, and he gives a sudden, shuddering gasp for air. 

The monk, who so far has not seen fit to reveal her name, if she even has one, arrives next to Aarnr at a run, ready to help battle the creature which, close up, is less than impressive.

Hanging back, Erista sends a fan of coloured light spraying out into the forest, engulfing the monstrous beast, and everybody close to it...

In an instant, only the monk and the severely wounded beast are still standing, and the latter is staggering away from the camp...

Back in the camp Colwyn, Corian, Oswald and Fergus watch for attacks from the woods behind the group, just in case the attacker was meant as a decoy.

And then, out of the darkness, from the direction in which the horrible creature is fleeing, comes a voice.  The voice of a child.

"Momma?  Where are you Momma?"  A dark form pushes itself up from the undergrowth.  Another creature, somewhat larger than the first, but similar in general shape.  "Momma?"  The voice issues from the beasts horrible mouth.  It makes no move towards the monk, or any of her unconscious companions, but waits for the smaller version of itself to limp across to it...

---

OOC: Nobody quite dead yet.

Combatant            Init
Aramil                22
Aarnr Foultongue      21
Small Creature        20   AC=13
Eilieen               14
Nameless Monk         12
Erista                 7
Colwyn Akbar           -
Corian                 -
Fergus Andarson        -
Oswald Osbourne        -
Adult Creature         -

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue:   Good
Aramil:             Hurt
Eilieen:            Good
Erista:             Good
Fergus Andarson:    Good
Nameless Monk:      Good
Oswald Osbourne:    Good

Corian Barade:      Good

The monk glances back after the light shoots past her, giving a small but crooked smile before kneeling down at Aarnr, putting a hand on him.  She does not look at him, however, but in the direction where the beast was last seen.

"Go on, go to mommy, little one."

Then her attentions turns to the man on the ground, fingers at his neck, although she is not ignoring the dark that hides the creatures.  "Not sure if this one is alive, but then, I'm not sure if I can feel much through the beard and... things...  What spell did you use?"  She still does not turn away from the dark where the beasts are.

"Did yer see that?" Colwyn sounds shocked, his voice little more than an awed whisper, "Did yer see it?  That thing, whatever the Hells it is, it jus' killed 'em all with some kinda bloody magic!"

He dives towards his bedroll, and the gear piled next to it.  When he straightens up, still on his knees, he's holding a bow as he tries to nock an arrow with violently trembling hands.

For the first time since leaving Reme, but probably not the last, he starts to wish that he'd thought better of joining this expedition.

Satisfaction is brief but deep; Eileen collapses to dream of small spiced cheeses.

"Hey!" Erista turns to look at Colwyn, since Nameless seems to have the creature in hand.  "That was me!" she protests.  "Er, and they're not dead.  Actually, they'll all be just fine, in a moment," she admits, turning back to explain it to the Monk.  Her tone is somewhat reluctant, as, to her ears, it sounds rather less impressive all of the sudden in the face of what Colwyn thought had happened.  "A little woozy for a bit, but fine.  It's a good spell for breaking things up a bit without really hurting anybody.  Or, you know, slowing things down for a bit while you hurt them.  Whichever."

Aarnr shrieks back at the beast, spittle flecking his beard.  As it staggers away, he strides purposefully after it, one step, two step ... then collapses, dropping to the ground as if poleaxed.

"Come here, thou ranc ... ugh !"

Ozzy finds himself completely fascinated by the drama and action of the battle unfolding before him. Inspired by the chaos and encouraged by the fact that it was not yet over, the little halfling scoops up his lyre and begins playing a slow melody which builds into a fast stacatto to match the inevitable confrontation between Aarnr and the little creatures 'momma'. Ozzy had a feeling this could be a bloody fight and he would do what he could to inspire...

"The days grow shorter and the nights are getting long
Feels like we're running out of time
Every day it seems much harder tellin' right from wrong
You got to read between the lines

Don't get discouraged, don't be afraid, we can
Make it through another day
Make it worth the price we pay

The Good Book says it's better to give than to receive
I do my best to do my part
Nothin' in my pockets I got nothin' up my sleeve
I keep my magic in my heart

Keep up your spirit, keep up your faith, baby
I am counting on you
You know what you've got to do..."

He keeps his distance from both creatures and the dwarf, singing the age old Triumphant chorus loud enough for all to hear...

"Fight the good fight every moment
Every minute every day
Fight the good fight every moment
It's your only way!"

INITIATIVE: 20
INSPIRE COURAGE: +1 to all your saves vs. fear AND your attack/damage rolls :)

As Oswald starts to sing, the larger creature lowers its head, keeping a wary eye open in case any of the adventurers choose to attack it.  It sniffs at the smaller one, then stands straight again, its eyes burning like two coals.

It speaks again, but this time its voice is far different from the childlike cries it had produced earlier.  This time it sounds more bestial, more in keeping with its savage appearance, "You has to hurts my baby.  You will all to dies."

The youngster moves past the adult, beyond the light, and vanishes into the woods.  "I will to hunts you."

The thing starts to back away, following its offspring...

Watching as the creatures retreat the monk moves over to Aramil  and checks him too, then shrugs and shifts over to the fallen Eilieen, where the monk finally smiles a little.

"Luckily the wild beasts are retreating, so you will have the pleasure of dealing with our companions reaction once they awake.  And I can at least say that Eilieen is happily snoozing."  She calls back to the camp and then looks after the vanishing beast and the promise that they will all die.  "This should make future nights quite interesting."</Red>

Fergus looks confused.  There were bright lights, lots of loud noises and people rushing around.  The creature revealed by Corian's spell didn't help.  Each part was normal enough, familiar even, but the whole was horrifying.  Better to destroy such an unnatural creature, but it spoke with a human voice - what did that mean?  And it had a Momma?

Fergus moves forwards to stand next to the monk, keeping a watchful eye on his unconscious companions.   He clutches his axe tightly, ready to defend himself if the creature or its mother come closer.

"Should we go after it?  I don't want to be hunted?"

The hideous creatures move away into the woods, and are soon lost to sight in the blustery, rain-filled darkness.  The last sign of them is a voice which carries back on the wind, calling out its threat once more, "I will to hunts you!", followed by laughter as horrible as the beast itself...

Shortly afterwards, some of the unconscious heroes start to stir.  Their awakening is accompanied by brief moments of incoherent panic as each realises that they are blind and incapable of doing anything.  But the effects fade, and eventually each of them can see, and has full control over their physical and mental processes.

Corian feeds a little more wood to the fire, and demonstrates his lack of survival skills by choosing damp twigs and branches.  Not that he has much choice under the current conditions.

Finally he asks, "Do any of you have the faintest idea what those frightful beasts were?"

In all, the pleasant dreams are poorly balanced by waking up cold, damp, and blind.  After a few heartbeats of scrabbling helplessly about on the forest's floor, Eilieen finally begins to see the sparkling of firelight.  Calming, she waits a touch longer and yes, her sight begins to return.

Frustrated, she collects her spear and moves to check on Aramil.  "Still injured, Aramil?  Not to worry, I'll have that fixed in a moment!"  With a frown, she once again reaches out with her spirit for the power of her goddess.  "'Those who stand in love's grace need not fear injury'," the woman intones, light flickering around her fingers for an instant as she touches the half-elf.

Glancing past him, she shrugs at Corian.  "Sadly, such knowledge isn't precisely what was studied back at Temple."  A moue of irritation touches her lips for a moment as she begins brushing twigs and damp leaves from her gown.  ...those bloody wood-cuts we had to study, night after night.

Cursed good thing she left that place.

OOC - Cure light wounds.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:06, Wed 17 Aug 2011.

Aarnr unsteadily pulls himself to his feet and then staggers around in the darkness for a little bit, feeling his way with his Greatsword, until the world grows brighter once more, even if only by the flickering fire light.

"Wha' the frog did tha' thing do to me ?" the priest enquires belligerently, though his voice is still slurred. "I was on the froggin' heels of that hedge-born horn-beast, and the next thing I know I'm face down in the gleeking muck !"

"Did thee see how it did it ?" his eyes narrow as he looks from one companion to the next. "Or where the froggin' thing has got to ?"

Aramil stirs in restless slumber waking slowly to the aching in his chest and leg. Still assuming he is dreaming Aramil lays still till the light penetrates his eyes and he becomes accustomed to the firelight and gloom. There were voices in his dreams, and a lot of swearing, but he is not sure what was the dream and what was reality. While laying quietly the swearing resumes and Aramil recognises Aarnr's voice.

Aramil looks around for the hideous monster. It has gone, but not before taking some of Aramil's leg with it. Without realising that the question had been asked already Aramil asks again "What was that creature? What a trick to call out in a child's voice, yet not be a child. And why are there so many people on the ground or groggy. What happened?"

"It was creepy, is what it was," Erista asserts.  "I'm afraid you were all in the way, so I didn't see what it might've done to you," she adds, entirely truthfully, in response to Aarnr's question.

She nods a little, moving closer to Fergus.  "I don't want to be hunted, either.  All we did," she adds, her voice lifting a bit, "Was try to get its kid off of Aramil's leg before either of them got really hurt.  We sure could have done a lot worse!"  By the end, she's outright calling out into the forest, hoping the...parent-creature might still be listening.

Then she claps a hand on Fergus's...leg, companionably.  "Well, the important thing is, everybody's OK, important lessons learned, and we can all get some rest tonight, right?"

Questions are asked and explanations provided, though not always in matching sets.  Eilieen tends to Aramil, who is, so far as anybody is able to ascertain, the only member of the party who was actually injured during the encounter. 

Gradually things settle down again and the watch is changed...

In spite of the dire warnings of the strange creature, the rest of the night passes quietly.  The only incident of note is that in the cold, dark hours shortly before dawn the rain actually stops.  Sunrise reveals that the clouds are breaking up, and the morning mist, while caressing flesh like grave-chilled fingers, does hint that the coming day might be a bright one.

As Corian eats a light breakfast, he seems in high spirits, "If the weather holds today, then we should make good time." he announces.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:51, Fri 19 Aug 2011.

<backpost>
Fergus wasn't in any position to offer explanations to those gradually regaining consciousness, so he simply stood, watching and feeling rather awkward.  He would prefer to pursue the creature, but even Fergus' limited understanding was sufficient to know that now might not be the best time, so he accepts Erista's suggestion with good grace.

Fergus settles down to sleep again but his dreams are troubled by the bizarre monster and its threats of vengeance.  He sleeps poorly and the morning watch is a trial.  As the others wake and breakfast, Fergus nods at Corian's remark and answers "It'll hold.  Should be fine today."