"Of course I can tell you another."  A smile at the girl is followed by a nod, but then the story stops before it even starts, smoke seen in the distance.

Moments later the girl ask about the smoke.

"I do not know, sweet princess."  With a frown Bilfro stands up.

"Is that coming from your... town?"

What are they doing in the village?  Setting it ablaze?  That would be a disaster and an outrage, regardless of the attitude of the so called guards.  Too many innocent, with no say in the goings of things, as not even the princess herself evidently can control the king.

Uncertain whether staying here with her or going to see what is happening in the village and leaving the cart unguarded, the would be storyteller stands on the proverbial fence with one foot in the fire and the other in the frying pan even as a chill runs up and down the spine like a squirrel with too many nuts of the nutty kind.

"City." Nata corrects Bilfro, "The City of Crossroad.  Fairest city in all the Land."

Shortly thereafter she catches on to what Bilfro said.  Her mouth drops open.  Closes again.  And finally speaks.  "The city is being burned?"  And then the tears come.  Lots of them.  Accompanied by a certain amount of wailing and bawling...

Eilieen's question is, sadly, fated to remain unanswered for the moment.  At least by her target.  Before more than half the words have emerged from her mouth, the man is suddenly a head shorter, thanks to Aarnr's casual flick.  Fresh blood fountains quite prettily in the morning light.  And then the screams come.  Lots of them. 

The old woman pushes the child behind her skirts and draws a knife from a sheath at her waist.  "You may have slain Minister Currinder, dogs, but you'll not touch the King while I have breath in my body!"

All about, terrified villagers are in uproar, while the few remaining guards are trying to avoid Aarnr's attention.

Minister ... sounds like someone important.  Aarnr nods, quite pleased with himself.

But his smugness is shortlived, as the crone pulls a knife on him and he contemplates his options.  An authority figure such as the grey-beard, that's no more than his god requires, and quite rightly so ... but an old woman, literally half his size, armed with something that barely qualifies as an eating utensil ...

Quite frankly, even if the stripling behind her is the ruler of this city, as now seems rather likely, the priest would be ashamed of himself to raise his greatsword in anger against such as this woman.

But, she does seem to have got quite the wrong end of the stick (and not the sharp pointy end either).

"Is every puttock in this reeky hovel simple ?!!  I don't want to touch that mewlin' whey-faced popinjay, thou wart-necked, guts-gripin' strumpet !" Aarnr clarifies, quite loudly.  "I just want those froggin' dog-hearted, vile-standin', villainous masons !"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:35, Sat 27 May 2017.

Arkan's eyes widen in shock as Aarnr casually decapitates the disgusting old man. Though the village folk are simpletons and did attempt to murder them, it still seems a bit extreme.

"Old woman, you have seen your townsfolk are little match for us. Tell my companion what he asks, else he will not stop until everyone of you is headless," he says quickly to the old woman, hoping to get some answers regarding the cultists and prevent further bloodshed.

"Masons?" the old woman looks confused by the question, but she heeds Arkan's sound advice, and at least tries to clarify the situation.  "Does this city look like it has any master stoneworkers?"

And then she pauses, still waving the knife about in as threatening a manner as possible considering that her hands are shaking somewhat.  A thoughtful expression flickers across her features.

"Unless you mean those friends of Currinder?"  She glances round, and points to a group of five ill-favoured individuals standing some way off.  They start nervously as they notice her gesture, and begin to edge away.  "It comes to mind that Currinder said they were masons, or some such, though they look more like rogues and miscreants to my old eyes.  Least ways, I'll not risk Arranol's life for the sake of a bunch of goblin-bred foreigners."

Stunned, Eilieen can only reel backward in shock.

Appearance aside, the old man offered no threat, besides words.  His only crime - of which they knew - was standing in defence of his ruler...a passive defence, barring Aarnr's path with his body.  And now, he lies slain for this?  Questions begin to pile in Eilieen's head, questions about the rightness of their acts, here.  Yes, the guard on the road were little more than brigands...but is this any better?

Sickened, she takes several steps forward, past Bowbe's priest, and drops her spear between him and the old woman...and the girl behind her.  It's a fragile barrier, but a barrier nonetheless.  "Aarnr!" Zadastha's priestess cries.  "No more, do you hear?  No more deaths of villagers!"

Her voice shakes, but her fingers tighten, white-knuckling their grips: spear in one hand, Zadastha's symbol in the other.

The priestess's demand puzzles Aarnr greatly.  He's killed quite a few guardsmen, of course, as well as the grey-beard who turned out not only to be a minister and likely the one running the village as the child clutching the old woman's skirts does not seem capable of such ... but also a friend of the masons and goblin bred to boot.

But he hasn't slain any of the villagers ... unless perhaps by accident while the god was riding him, though he'd thought everyone who met their end by his blade within the palace was clutching a weapon of their own.

Maybe Eilieen means the old woman ?

"I wasn't froggin going to touch her ... or the unchin-snouted urchin," the priest protests, "or any of these reeky pox-marked minnows !  I'm going to get those fobbin' malmsy-nosed, misbegotten masons !"

Aarnr points towards the five crook-pated nut-hooks that the crone indicated.

"Thank you !" he doesn't need to lean around Eilieen to express his gratitude, as he's still just shy of nine feet tall, but does dip his head to the old woman mostly because she reminds him disturbingly of his grandmother.

"Masons ?!!" he reminds everyone.  "Don't let them get away !"

"Oh my dear goodness word me...."

Bilfro, without thinking of the 'do not touch me' decree by the royal higness, reaches out and scoops up the princess into an embrace.

Briefly torn between staying right here and hurrying over to check on the little girl's home and brother, the feet begins to carry them both towards the city gates, or what passes for all of that here, either way.  Perhaps it is the smoke that causes both eyes to tear up, perhaps it is not, but it is sympathy that hugs the child closer.

What hath they wrought?

A sudden yearning for the power to summon clouds heavy with rain to calm the raging flames goes up into the sky with the smoke and scatters in vain to the winds.

The buckets are forgotten for the nonce, and the flames, like some wild, opportunistic predator see their chance to spread a little further.  Though still not visible on the outside, the smoke billowing from the palace tells the tale.

As does the ominous creaking from somewhere beneath the smouldering roof...

The masons, if such they be, are definitely moving away now, at a brisk walk, in the general direction of the tavern, such as it is.  Or rather, they appear to be heading towards the side of the ramshackle structure,

Their purpose, though, is unclear.  There is nothing of interest in that direction, unless they have some inexplicable interest in the small herd of swaybacked, spavined, tick infested horses in the small enclosure behind the building...

"Seize those masons, in the name of the King!" shrieks the old woman, canny enough to realise that doing something to please the ogre is likely to result in safety for her charge.

Some of the villagers start to move towards the fleeing group, at which point one of the masons turns, swings his arm in a wide, sweeping gesture, and calls out something in a guttural tongue.  Black smoke boils up from the earth between the masons and the villagers, and from somewhere comes a sound like a shrieking howl...

Outside, Bilfro, bearing his struggling burden approaches the open gate, though he is still at quite some distance from it.

Concerned about the confrontation between Eileen and Aarnr, Arkan thinks about how to find an amicable solution but then the old woman finally reveals the cultists!

'Aha!" Arkan says, pointing at the foul ones with his blade, but before he can do much else they start to flee.

"Beware, black sorcery!" he yells as one of them seems to start conjuring something foul.

Stopping in his tracks some distance from the cultists, Arkan raises his left hand and points at the one doing the conjuring and mutters spidery words, the sound drowned out by the ensuing chaos.

Fire sputters at the end of his fingers and a fiery orb surges forth at his target. Unfortunately the boiling black smoke obscures Arkan's vision and his aim is off.

Way off.

---

Finally !  The masons stand revealed and it seems everyone has got the hang of doing something about them.

Still recovering from the efforts of carrying his god, Aarnr is slow to begin the chase, but when he does finally lumber into motion, it is with murderous intent, and no black smoke nor ominous howling is going to give the priest the slightest pause.

Sword raised, Aarnr howls back, loudly and wetly as he charges the masons ...

An orb of fire surges forth from Arkan's fingertips and hurtles in the general direction of the fleeing masons.  Or, rather, it hurtles in their general-ish direction.  All it strikes is the broad side of the barn-like tavern.  Being constructed mostly of wood, straw and, panels of dried mud bound together with more wood and straw, the ramshackle structure starts to burn. 

It is, perhaps, all for the best that most of the tavern's occupants had come outside to watch the palace burn.

Aarnr pursues his quarry, weary, but undeterred by the cloud of oily black smoke.  And then a great black wolf leaps forth from the reeking cloud.  Black it is, black as a bucket of pitch in a cellar at midnight, but with eyes which blaze like crimson flames.  It spots the approaching Aarnr, and sprints to meet him.

It leaps, jaws gaping wide, ready to rend flesh, and...

Aarnr's sword splits its skull in mid air.  The priest has toad licking, demon worshipping masons to catch, he doesn't have time to play about with some Hells-spawned warg.

The masons continue to hurry towards the horses, even as the dead wolf's fur starts to burn.

Aaaaand...another building falls victim to their rampage.  This infested town won't be in a better way when they finally finish, Eilieen muses.  Now, however, is not the time - the 'masons' are clearly up to deviltry, and need to be stopped.

Once that happens, her own group can also cease its deviltry.

"No, that's no good," the priestess mutters as the black wolf appears...and is summarily dispatched.  "Let me show you."

A quick, muttered prayer as she hurries in pursuit; nothing else, not this time.  "Zadastha - lend thy servant against this darkness."

After wetting his blade on the hell-beast, Aarnr does not even pause to consider the improvement in property values that the licking flames are the cause of, as he continues his relentless pursuit of the masons.

"Frothy, fly-bitten devil monks !" the priest bellows.   "Stand and fight, ye filthy, half-faced giglets !" he demands.

PM, because Erista

Masons!  Just the people they were looking for.  The summoning of the black wolf seems to confirm that they were the sort to be up to no good.

Without further ado, Colwyn fits arrow to bow, chooses his target carefully, then sends the shaft hurtling towards the one who had called the fiendish (if short-live) beast.

Hissing in irritation at his missed spell, and hoping none of the villagers will be burned by the fallout (at least none who wanted to murder them), Arkan joins his companions in chasing the cultists.

Leaping over the still twitching carcass of the hellhound dispatched by Aarnr, Arkan balances his naked blade over both shoulders and behind his neck with a hand, while pointing his other at the fleeing masons.

"Halt! In the name of...Bard's Gate!" he yells, not really sure what else to say.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Wed 07 June 2017.

The black wolf, its fur still smouldering, fades away into nothingness even as Arkan steps over it.  His demand that the cultists stop brings nothing but laughter and rude gestures from them as they reach the pen with the horses. 

Aarnr actually manages to come within reach of the rearmost mason.  Forunately for said miscreant, some sixth sense seems to warn him (or possibly he slips in the mud) and the giant barbarian priest's blade swings harmlessly above his head.

In any case, he draws a long curved knife as he turns to face Aarnr...  The curved steel slashes at Aarnr, but aggression vies with caution, and the latter wins.  The blow comes nowhere near Aarnr, simply because the mason is trying to maintain a safe distance.

The one who had summoned the wolf points a finger at Aarnr, and starts to speak in the same strange tongue, but his words turn into a shriek of pain as an arrow from Colwyn embeds itself in his gut.

One of his companions moves to stand by him, curved knife in hand, while the remainder hurry to open the pen.

Further back, Eilieen calls out a prayer to Zadastha, and is answered by a distant barking, which moves rapidly closer,  Soon the lean, muscular form of an Alesardin Mastiff, with eyes the colour of a summer sky, and a pelt of short golden furtrots to a halt before her, tail wagging furiously.

Meanwhile, the townsfolk are looking about for things to throw at the masons.  Some have already found likely objects, and a few stones fly through the air.  A smaller number of them actually strike their targets...

There is a sudden creaking noise, and a crash, and flames leap to the sullen sky as the palace roof collapses...

And at the gate Bilfro tries to shield the eyes of his charge, the Princess Nata, while also wiping tears from his own.  He shakes his head sadly, as he beholds the carnage being wrought in the Grand City of Crossroad, soon to be naught but a collection of burning hovels.

OOC: I think it's all going frightfully well...

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Masons              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Arkan :           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 16:33, Sun 18 June 2017.

Aarnr the Giant¹ fears neither blade nor spell nor anything else save perhaps being laid low by the infirmities of old age.  However even as he advances with murderous intent upon the masons, a smile teases at the edge of his lips as a volley of stones comes from the villagers as the pignuts finally recognise the peril in their midst.

With a terrifying roar, the priest steps forwards, swinging his blade with the specific intent of helping at least one of these dealers in undeath towards a meeting with their foul master.

¹ actually any sized Aarnr, really.

Zadastha's hound - not capitalized - is on its merry way to deal justice to these miscreants.  That leaves Eilieen free to do what she does second best: heal.  With that in mind, she hurries to Arkan, this time, leaving Bowbe's priest to continue his assault on both cultists and language.

Should she reach him, the priestess chants a brief prayer.  "Zadastha, shower this worthy one with your loving ministrations, that he might continue to stand against the darkness!"

And divine energy - fuchsia, in fact - flares.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:42, Tue 13 June 2017.

Erista, inspired by her brave comrades, stands up boldly - if coincidentally in the shadow behind a barrel and happening to be on the side the mason's aren't looking.  Casting her hand out, she says, "彩色 浪花," emitting a cascading spray of her own light - jacinthe, amaranth, chartreuse, and sepia - which spreads out to flow over and around the fleeing masons.

Arkan charges at the cultists, aiming for any that are armed and standing their ground. "Stop them from releasing the horses!" he yells as he dashes, slashing in a downwards arc with his sword.

---

Charging, +2 attack, -2 AC
Attack: 11; Damage: 14

Colwyn wastes no time.  He nocks another arrow, and launches it at the same man, even as that worthy raises an empty hand in Aarnr's direction and starts to yell another incantation...

Arkan rushes forward, as Eilieen trails behind him.  His fullblade swings down in an arc that is calculated to kill.  Unfortunately his target steps aside at the last instant, and Arkan's foot slides on the slick, muddy ground as he tries to follow the mason's evasive motion.  The heavy sword bites deep into the earth, and sends a painful jolt running up his right arm, as far as the shoulder.

Beyond the enclosure, Erista appears from behind a barrel, and an effulgent cone of colors sprays from her hand and engulfs the masons near the horses in a scintillant polychromatic haze.  The effect is immediate, and most of the masons don't even cry out before they fall to the ground.

Aarnr closes in on the spell caster, but the self-appointed body guard intercepts him, even as the master starts to gasp out the words of a new spell.  The man even raises his knife in a futile attempt to parry the priest's weapon.  His curved knife breaks, as Aarnr's sword drives down, and cleaves the hated mason from collar bone to waist.

And at that precise moment, Colwyn's arrow strikes home, straight into the mouth of the yelling caster, killing him instantly...

Arkan flexes his jarred arm in an attempt to work some life back into it.  And then Eilieen touches his shoulder and chants a prayer to Zadastha, and a warm luminance suffuses Arkan's arm, easing the pain.

Meanwhile, the man who had avoided Arkan's blade backs away from the large dog which is approaching him, teeth bared in a savage snarl.  And then he stops and falls, as a length of damp firewood, wielded by one of the villagers, brains him.  The dog wags its tail happily, then sits down to watch the unconscious man...

The priest looks around for any more of the foe ... but the one felled by the villager seems to be the last of them.  "Well done, thou scurvy lewdster !" Aarnr offers in approbation, his cunning wit spotting an opportunity to befriend the benightened denizens of this town.  "I ..." reconsiders as he turns to Arkan, reaching down to pat his friend on the shoulder "... he will buy thee a mug of the cat's piss they serve in yon tavern, thou foot-licker !"

Aarnr regards the bodies of the fallen followers of Orcus.  Some appear to still be breathing, in quite an offensive manner ... but he's vaguely aware that Eilieen said something about not killing somebody.  It is possible that she seeks to question them first.  Pity.  He stays his hand, looking to the priestess expectantly.