Shortly before mid-afternoon the ox cart, now laden with a more pleasant cargo than when it had arrived at Crossroad, sets out along the eastern road.

In spite of the close proximity of a fresh side of bacon, Colwyn seems a little more morose than usual as he follows the cart deeper into the forest, where the overhanging branches provide some shelter from the rain that can still be seen falling when the sky shows through some break in the canopy.  The road winds through an endless green-lit tunnel, and Colwyn's mood grows worse with each passing mile.

Finally he stops and watches as the cart carries on.  He looks back, towards Crossroad for several heartbeats, before shaking his head and hurrying to catch up with the others.

And it is shortly after this that the wooden markers signifying that the road is neutral territory, belonging to all of the petty kingdoms in this region, come to an abrupt end...

"Did thou froggin' forget somethin' ?" Aarnr asks Colwyn, annoyed that his attempt to spur the oxen on and make the rogue think that he's been left behind has failed miserably since the beasts best efforts made no appreciable improvement in their steady plodding.  At least he thinks they were trying to comply with his orders ...

The priest is quite pleased that he can now see the trees for the wooden markers have stopped cluttering up the landscape.  Maybe if they'd all had heads nailed to them it would have been more interesting, but the incomprehensible scratchings upon the bare planks signify nothing.  Whereas a head nailed up says quite plainly that 'I can and will do this to ye if the mood takes me'.  Certainly gets the message across.

"Not far now !" Aarnr enthuses, perhaps rather optimistically.

Colwyn shakes his head, "Naw.  I were 'avin' a bad feelin' 'bout movin' on so late in the day.  'specially 'avin' a villige what we was jus' burnin' down be'ind us.  I mean, they was maybe actin' friendly ter get us ter move on so's they could be comin' up on us an' killin' us in our beds."

"Then I were 'memberin' 'ow we was bein' told 'ow these 'ere woods is full of tiny little kingdoms, an' they's all bein' scared of strangers, an' none too friendly like."

"If'n these 'ere woods is bein' filled with places like that there Crossroad, we mightn't be findin' good lodgin's fer a bit.  'specially if'n we keeps burnin' them down."

"I beg your pardon!"  The falsetto cuts through the air like a rat in a frying pan caught under the foot of a stampeding herd of nondescript stampeding things.  "We were burnign down?!  I, I remind you, had less than naught to do with that, thank you very muchly!"

Bilfro Gabbings gathers up his beard and harumphs in dignified protest to such widely cast web of lies of accusative nature, in all its falsehood of inaccuracies.

"Next time you do that, I will put my foot down, I tell you!"

"Not that there will be a next time!" he corrects himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:04, Sat 30 Dec 2017.

"It's all the froggin' same," Aarnr assures Colwyn. "In cities they try to rob and kill ye ... outside in the wilds they try to rob and kill ye."

The priest is still a little foggy as to exactly how the palace in Crossroads burned down, but assumed Erista, as the only wizard present, was responsible, and in any event approved wholeheartedly ... but is not minded to argue with an esteemed madman.

The road winds on, the space beneath the forest canopy growing ever gloomier as the rain-soaked afternoon slides towards an evening which promises to be no more dry.

At last, with the way ahead as black as night, a light appears in the darkness ahead.  Then a second.  A third.  Until, in all, there are six torches coming around a curve in the road.  As they come closer it becomes apparent that they are being borne by a group of riders.

Nearer, and it can be seen that the riders all hooded, and swathed in heavy cloaks an robes.  Not all of them are holding torches.  In all there are about a dozen of them.

They steer their horses to one side and slow their advance, until they come to a dead stop.  Their leader throws back his hood to reveal that "he" is, in fact, a "she".  An elf by the look of her.

"Well met travellers." she says, her voice soft and musical, yet carrying over the rumble of the cart wheels, "Come ye from Bard's Gate?  Bear ye news of that fair city?"

Aarnr's disappointment that the riders don't immediately appear to be after their blood (though on the upside, the conversation is just getting started) is entirely banished as he hears the words spoken by the pointy-eared, whey-faced flax-wench.

Finally !  Someone who learned to speak Common proper, not the odd dialect that his companions seem to have picked up !

Basking in the heady glow that he understood every word directed his way, the priest simply enjoys the moment, mindful that his friends might have some questions for these fat-kidneyed, sheep-bitin' lewdsters before he picks a fight¹.


¹ ie, before he says anything ... anything at all, really

Still solemn from the ceremony, still caught in a dark mood over Ozzy's loss, Eilieen remains quiet for much of the beginning of the journey.  She rouses herself, however, as the travellers approach, staring at them curiously.

Raising her hand in greeting, the priestess rides forward.  "Well-met indeed," Elieen replies.  "We travel from Bard's Gate," she affirms.  "There is some unrest, but it otherwise stands, a welcome respite from the dangers of the road.  And yourselves?  From where do you hail?"

The elven woman replies, "We come from Varagost, on the coast of the Great Sea, and have travelle via Freegate and Derindin, bound for Bard's Gate, that we may attend the marriage of my husband's niece."

One of the other riders clears his throat and bows his hooded head, before speaking in a gruff voice, "My Lady, if there be unrest in Bard's Gate, as this priestess attests, then it were perchance best if we turn back.  Events there may put ye in peril.  Ye should... "

Raising one bejewelled hand, she silences him, "Mayhap we can determine the degree of danger to my person, Veldrostin, afore making such a decision."  Then she addresses the party, "What form does this unrest take.  Think ye that it would imperil me sufficiently that I should forego this visit?"

Those ye's continue to be music to Aarnr's ears, albeit the heavy thrumming drumming kind which he favours, though the conversation loses a bit of its gloss at the mention of the marriage of the husband's niece which sounds suspicious, even though the convolutions of the relationships involved are beyond his understanding.  Certainly the sort of thing his mother and his father's other wives would frown upon.

'Imperil' ... sounds like the sort of thing that the priest might be accused of.  Indeed, he'd be the first to admit, even boast, that now that he's left the city it's almost certainly a lot safer for both residents and vistors.  Much less likely to catch fire, for one thing.

Just one thing is puzzling him, or at least one thing puzzling him enough to stir him to ask his companions ...

"Which froggin' one was Bard's Gate ?  Was that where we buried Ozzie ?"

Pursing her lips, Eilieen considers her reply. "I was accosted in the street by a gang of toughs," she recalls - it didn't end well for them, "but that is not out of the question for any large city.  However, the Justicars of Muir had an issue in their crypt - an infestation of undead," strained, her smile, "which we assisted them in cleaning out."

There is a peculiar emphasis on the final two words.

"As it so happened, the undead in question were part of a plot of a demonic cult."  Not exactly casual conversation, but Eilieen states it as fact.  "The cult, however, has been driven from the city -" that they know of, mind "- and as such, it should be safe now."

The priestess beams.  "I feel the marriage will proceed without issue; only be wary upon the road, though I am certain you already are."

She shoots a glance at Aarnr.  "In Bard's Gate," the priestess corrects with a doleful sigh, "we lost Fergus."  Everywhere they go, they leave dear ones behind.

The priest listens with rapt fascination to Eilieen's reply.  Certainly this Bard's Gate sounds like a place he'd be keen to visit.

Lost Fergus. That's another puzzler.  He thought he remembered his friend dying at the hands of the giant that also slew the old Justicar, and being planted in the ground in the temple of his goddess.  Perhaps the priestess meant 'mislaid'. These people do have a lot of words that all mean much the same thing.

And of course, 'mislaid' is far more appropriate as Aarnr was against burial from the start, preferring a proper bonfire such as Ozzie got.  Pity his blood-brother was six feet under it and not on top of it though.

"There were froggin' bandits on the road," he decides to be helpful.  "You might find their rottin' corpses disturb thy horses."  Skittish beasts, not at all stolid and dependable like his oxen.

"My thanks to ye.  'tis good to be forewarned of possible dangers.  Though I believe I have sufficient warriors accompanying me that I need not be overly concerned."  The elf smiles.  Then, "Mayhap I can reciprocate ye for the kindness ye have shown.  Where are ye bound.  If I have news of your destination, then I will gladly share it with ye."

Her mount fidgets nervously, and the elf lays one pale hand against the side of its neck to calm it...

"We're goin' to Rappan Athuk," Aarnr assures the spokeself, proudly, boastfully even. "To kill all the froggin' monsters."

If the priest were one for second thoughts, he might regret those words, for undoubtedly such a prize might tempt these travellers to join him and his companions in that endeavour ... but he's not, so he doesn't.  There's supposed to be plenty of monsters there anyway - more than enough to go around.

There is an uncomfortably long pause, then, "Ye may find that things are not so simple.  Though I would wish ye good fortune in this... "

"Not so simple?" Veldrostin seems stunned, "My Lady, methinks that ye have underestimated the folly of this course of action.  Have ye forgotten the War of Autumn?"

"I have forgotten nothing, Veldrostin.  Have ye forgotten that my own brothers fell during that accursed War?"

Veldrostin looks abashed, "A thousand apologies, My Lady."

The woman continues, "I feel that I must apologise to ye, travellers.  Veldrostin misspoke.  Three centuries ago a group of adventurers entered Rappan Athuk - they were neither the first, nor the last, to do so - but some deed they performed in the Dungeon of Graves, ere they perished, caused an evil horde to spill forth and ravage the communities of my people in the Forest of Hope.  We were forced to scatter, and many of us hold bitter memories of that time."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:47, Sun 14 Jan 2018.

Aarnr is concerned by the Elves words.  Their tale is indeed a cautionary one.

"Ye should froggin' fear not," the priest assures the travellers. "We'll take great care to let none of the clouted guts-gripin' pignuts escape."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:26, Tue 16 Jan 2018.

Eilieen purses her lips.  That...does sound less-than-ideal.  Aarnr, of course, offers up a potential solution, but that assumes they have the power to contain the issue (and not, for example, be eaten themselves).

"I understand," Eilieen replies.  "Buy entering Rappan Athuk, we risk endangering those who live close by.  A dreadful chance, then."  Her shoulders lift, then fall, and she opens her hands helplessly.  "But what to do?  Allow it to continue?  Evil grows and spills forth from that place.  Orcus' foul brood use it for their breeding grounds.  And slowly, the dark will spread to cover the land with its taint - all lands, yes, starting with those closest to it."

She releases a heavy sigh.  "Sometimes, one must chance danger.  I realize that we have no right to endanger YOUR lands with our acts, and yet...it is the beasts from Rappan Athuk who attack you, not us.  And I will not sit by as the darkness grows, leaving the world a worse place for our children and their children."

Silent and morose since the funeral, Arkan had been becoming moodier the closer they ventured to their destination. However the appearance of the elven travellers offers a welcome respite and he listens attentively to the conversation between the travelers and his own companions.

"Lady Eilieen speaks true, though the dangers are great, both within and of a possible fallout from our actions of stirring a demons nest, we cannot remain idle. At the least we hope to scout the place, and perhaps send word to Bard's Gate and the Justicars of what stirs."

Arkan flexes a gloved hand out of habit as he speaks with determination, and looks the elven lady in the eye. "If we can but strike at the heart of the evil within that accursed place, be it a foul priest of the demon lord or some other manifestation of its will, it is possible the spawn within will scatter like dust in the wind. Rudderless and leaderless they will pose far less of a threat to the lands and forests around here."

Erista nods solemnly.  "I'm sorry to hear about your home, and especially your brothers.  I hope someday we or those who come after us can win your home back, at least."

"Methinks that ye have misunderstood." the elf responds, "Despite Veldrostin's words, I do not seek to dissuade ye from this quest, but merely to urge caution in the undertaking of it.  Much danger is to be found at the Dungeon of Graves.  Many, it is said, perished in the graveyard, ere they had even entered the dungeon proper."

She hesitates a moment, and looks at the back of her right hand.  Then she slips a ring from her index finger, a silver band, set with a green gem, and holds it out before her.

"I would grant ye this boon.  A gift, if ye will, from my brother Beldrathastase, who was slain by creatures of darkness which crawled forth from that accursed place.  It is not magical, as ye would use that word.  But it was crafted by an elf smith, and I believe that the stone holds a part of my brother's spirit, for he was fond of this colour.  Mayhap it will bring ye good fortune."

Aarnr has spoken out about the folly of graveyards before, so the elf's words do not surprise him at all, though the warning is appreciated.  Of course they'll need to deal with any unliving first ...

... and is equally impressed as the elf offers the ring with her brother's bound spirit.  His own half-sisters are fearsome enough, though he's certain that in the event of his demise and in the unfortunate instance that his soul was trapped, they'd not seek to have it sent to such a place of horror and evil as Rappan Athuk.

Fairly certain, anyway.

Still, the elf seems to be trying to be helpful, and if she wants her brother damned for all eternity it seems but small recompense.

"If that's what thou wish," the priest shrugs, holding out his hand.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:27, Sun 21 Jan 2018.

She hesitates for a moment, before placing the ring in Aarnr's grimy hand, and then she pauses with her fingertips resting on the tiny item as it lays in his palm.

"Just promise me this...  If ye should die there, ye'll do all that ye may to wreak vengeance for the deaths of my brothers ere ye fall.  Do ye swear this by that which ye hold most sacred."

The priest is momentarily nonplussed by the elf's demand.  He holds but few things sacred, and solemn oaths is not one of them ... but most sacred ?

Ne'ertheless, Aarnr is very much keen on the wreaking vengeance bit, and perhaps with this woman's blessing on the venture his companions will be less disturbed by the odd accidental death or fire.  Certainly that would make the journey to Rappan Athuk much more pleasant and enjoyable.

"Thou has my word ... I shall bring upon that foul den of bat-fowlin', hell-hated nuthooks such bloody slaughter that if any of the  pukin' half-faced rats do survive they will froggin' piss themselves at the memory of it !  This I swear to ye in the name of Bowbe, Bringer of Battles and wielder of Bm'fob and Wytch-Killer ... by this sword I bear, born in the forge of mighty Gonder ... by the last drop of my friends' lifeblood ... and as a son who could not look his mother in the fobbin' eye were he to do gleekin' otherwise !"

Eilieen bows her head, pleased that Aarnr has accepted the ring and not made a hash of it.  "Aarnr speaks for all of us," she states, then pauses.  "In a way," the priestess clarifies.  "I am honoured by this gift, and promise to stand strong against the darkness."

A glint of grim humour enters her eyes.  "I do not intend to die in the doing, but if that be how things turn out, rest assured I shall not go quietly."

The elf woman smiles, and dips her head.  "Know ye that ye have the gratitude of Sedalla'iatu, merely for swearing to do this thing.  Should ye enter Rappan Athuk, and return, then ye are free to come to my domain outside Varagost, where ye will be greatly honoured.  Thus do I swear before Darach-Albith and Rialae-Aibaru."

A moment's pause, and then, "At Varagost ye need but speak my name, for all there know of me, and can direct ye to my realm.  Ask for me at Varagost.  I am Selloriana Hakalatur, once a queen in the Forest of Hope."

Shocked, Eilieen remains riveted for a long moment before bowing deeply.  "Your majesty," she states.  "You do us great honor; I can only hope we prove worthy of your gratitude."  The pale priestess straightens up, hand clasped around her holy symbol.  "Once queen, queen still, though your lands have fallen upon hard times.  I pray that will turn around once again, for you and your people, in the future."

A moment's pause, then she continues.  "Is there aught more you might ask of us, your majesty, that we may make the attempt, in the lands of the Forest of Hope?  Or is there anything you might tell us of those lands which might make our attempt more successful?"

Aarnr too is impressed.  A Queen no less.  And while he was initially reluctant, he has now accepted her ring, which from what little he understands of the customs of the decadent civilised world, means he's now married to her and therefore King of this Forested realm !  As anyone who comes from the swampy fens can tell you, wood is an extremely valuable commodity.  And all he has to do now is vanquish all the evil in Rappan Athuk and venture to Varagost to claim his prize.

Not a bad morning's work really ...

"Ye may look for our arrival !" he assures Selloriana Hakalatur.

A gift might be appropriate when next they meet.  Perhaps a few severed heads to show intent.

Selloriana Hakalatur shakes her head sadly, "That honorific is no longer mine.  The elven demesne in the Forest of Hope is no more.  The land over which I ruled is now a haunt of demons, wights, and worse.  The elves are scattered like leaves on the wind, living in a dozen minor realms, and no group greater than a few hundred strong."

"I was a queen, but I have renounced my title until the elves return to their ancient home.  Some, such as Veldrostin, and the people of Varagost, still accord me the honour associated with my former position.  To most, though, I am but a minor noble remembering a lost past, and they name me Sedalla'iatu - the Dream Regent."

Aarnr seems most enthusiastic to visit the Elven realm; it's uncharacteristic, barring him having gotten the wrong idea about them being enemies, and worrisome.

However, that's for a later date.  Maybe.  Now, she deals with deposed nobility, still a few heads above anyone in this group (barring someone hiding something in their background, for which Eilieen would never forgive...well, a week at least).

"A once-queen awaiting the liberation of her lands?"  Another bow.  "Your renunciation is your choice, and I shall respect it.  Your majesty," Eilieen finishes with a small smile.  "Noble or royalty, you are due honour for your past, and for the past of your nation.  I pray it returns to its glory, once Rappan Athuk falls."  As an elf, Lady Hakalatur has more opportunity for patience than others; should their party fail, another will certainly come within her lifetime.

"I can assure you, there will at the least be less demons, wights, and worse in your lands when we are finished."  One way or the other, the priestess grimly considers.

Aarnr is pleased to now be royal himself, trifling details aside, though wouldn't want to be thought an effete noble and would kill anyone who dared insult him so.  Though in truth he was already rather well placed as his father was among those vying for leadership of the tribe, with the strong encouragment of his mothers.

... and is equally pleased that Eilieen is at last entering into the spirit of things - indeed it seems the priestess of Zadastha is almost as keen as he to slay demons and undead.  He certainly admires that she is planning ahead what to do once Rappan Athuk is emptied.

Bowing her head at the courtesy shown by both Aarnr and Eilieen, Selloriana Hakalatur declares, "We must take our leave, noble travellers.  We shall remember this meeting, and ye shall reside in our thoughts."

She urges her mount forward, and her followers move to take up positions behind her.

Veldrostin, though, moves aside, and watches as the other elves pass.  When the last of them has passed, he speaks, "Ye should be wary on the road.  Not all is as it seems in these woods.  Great evils wear fair faces, and await unwary wayfarers."

This message was last edited by the GM at 16:02, Sun 04 Feb 2018.

Veldrostin's confession appears to be casting a slur upon his new bride's moral character, but King Aarnr elects to let him live, since his Queen seems to like the nuthook and he's feeling a sort of regal charity in the heady afterglow of his recent ascension to the throne.  Should Selloriana Hakalatur or whatever her name was wish to prey upon unwary travellers ... well that's their lookout. Should have been taking more froggin' care.

The priest grunts noncommittally as he urges the oxen forwards hopefully.

Colwyn follows after the cart, nodding at Veldrostin as he passes, "We's knowin' all 'bout them there evils, mate, an' ol' Aarnr there, 'e's 'avin' a way with them.  Ain't never seed nothin' what 'e could'n' be 'andlin'."

"All the same, be wary." Veldrostin replies, "This land was once a mighty kingdom, Tarkanen, noble and just, but it fell to Vaedrakil, and the realms that came after are petty and filled with cruelty and the lust for power.  I'd rather ye weren't stirring them up, and making the journey back to Varagost harder for us."

The Elf does have a good point.  And not just his ears.

"Ye will find it is froggin' quiet back that way," Aarnr calls out, jerking his thumb over his shoulder where lies a still smouldering village now freed from the sway of bat-foulin' toad-spotted mold-warps, and the corpses of rather a lot of pukin' tax-collecters litter the path.

"If any pox-marked, mammerin', maggoty hedge-pigs on the road ahead do cross our path then the ground will be stained black with their blood.  Ye will find thy journey home gleekin' peaceful enough."

After bowing the former princess on her way, Eilieen waits patiently for the Elves to pass.  Veldrostin, however, chooses to repeat his concerns regarding them creating problems.  Well, that's his choice, but his lady has decided that it's worth the risk.

"We shall be wary," she puts in after Aarnr 'clarifies' the situation.  "But we shall not turn from evil where we find it, and hope to make the land the better for it.  Tolerating such things out of fear leads to their growth, unchecked; I believe those who bow beneath evil will find more of their freedoms taken, with less hope to resist each time."

The priestess releases a small sigh.  "It must be resisted and rooted out; for that, there shall always be a cost."  Zadastha knows that three of their companions have already paid.

The Nameless One.

Fergus.

And now Oswald.

Closing her eyes, Eilieen bows to the Elf.  "Safe travels, sir.  Zadastha's blessing upon you and yours."

Arkan too bowed to the queen after she revealed herself, and arose as she passed. Veldrostin though receives merely an inclination of the head from the warrior-mage, as Arkan finds the elf's passive-aggressive condemnation more than a little slighting.

He cracks a smile at Aarnr's words of reply to the elf and adds in an even voice, "The only things we intend to stir are inside the dungeon itself; an evil that yet festers for those around it take no action against it."

The implication is clear in his voice and he makes no further comment, instead hitching up atop the cart being driven by Aarnr

Aarnr's brow furrows like a well-tilled field ... but no, there's not a glimmer of understanding there for what 'wary' might possibly mean.  'Unwary' he's heard of, but he can't imagine the two words are related.  Probably he misheard (everyone does seem to speak rather unloudly compared to him) and Eilieen undoubtedly said 'weary', which makes a lot more sense as it sounds like there's going to be a lot of fighting and killing to look forwards to on the way to their destination.

Pleased that he's cleared at least one mystery up, the priest continues to drive the cart, something that seems to demand considerably more work than it should, having watched others perform the same task.  Indeed he's beginning to suspect that perhaps the oxen are paying little if any attention to his hauling on the reins and are making their own way, as they will, taking whatever direction Aarnr seeks to provide as mere suggestions.

"Do ye think we'll make it there by nightfall ?" the priest asks his companions hopefully.

"Doubt it, Mate." Colwyn responds to Aarnr's query, "There's still bein' a bloody long way ter go.  I's more 'opin' ter be findin' somewhere dry ter kip afore it's gettin' too dark ter bleedin' see."

The rogue heaves a sigh as a curve in the road turns out to have only more road beyond it.  Add to that the elf's warning about the dangers of travelling through this toppled realm.  By the sound of it, the kingdoms along the road are more dangerous than any potential bandits they might encounter.

All in all, it doesn't look like it will be a good day.

Then another thought strikes him.  One that just increases the dismay on his face.  Tarkanen was destroyed by a dragon, which just begs the question...

"'ere... is any of yers knowin' 'ow long dragons is livin' for?"

Dragons !  Now such a thing Aarnr has heard of, though to his great disappointment he has not yet seen one.

"Depends how froggin' big it is," he informs Colwyn wisely.

The larger the beast, the longer it'll take him to hack his way through its hide to its heart ...

"Dragons?" Arkan replies to Colwyn, his interest piqued by mention of the legendary creature. "Not that I have met one, I doubt I would still be alive if that were the case, but I have heard they live for centuries, longer even than elves."

Peering ahead at the curve in the road from his position in the cart Arkan sighs, leaning back and looking forward to a hot campfire at the nights camp, wherever they chose to stop for the night.

"Only, I were thinkin', like... " Colwyn explains seriously, "A couple of folks 'as been tellin' us as 'ow this 'ere dragon, What's Its Face, was ruinin' the old kingdom what were 'ereabouts.  But there ain't been none what's been tellin' us as where the bugger went after he was done doin' it."

"I's meanin' as 'ow it might still be 'round."

The oxen, meanwhile, seem totally unconcerned by the idea of impending death by dragon fire...

A few moments later a rumble of thunder sounds from above the forest canopy, distant, but definitely noticeable.

"Bugger!"

Sitting up in the back of the wagon, Erista stretches a little.  "I doubt it," she reassures Colwyn.  "All these little kingdoms have popped up now, so that sounds like the area was left open.  I had the feeling it more sort of came in, burned the place down, and then skipped off."

She frowns a little as she finishes that sentence, realizing that sort of behavior sounds uncomfortably familiar.

Aarnr is concerned. "She has the right of it," he informs Colwyn.  "Even if the beast is still around, the forest is huge ... the spleeny, fly-bitten flax-wing might never find us."

"Do ye think perhaps we might track the full-gorged horn-beast ?  Or somehow get it's froggin' attention ?"

The priest realises not everyone might be as keen as he, having been down this path before, and so tries to get in his winning argument before anyone raises the inevitable objections.

"We might save the unwash'd, tickle-brained, puttocks that dwell here !" He notes, slyly.

Eilieen, as always, ponders.

Granted, it's more about the thunder.  Thunder usually means lightning (usually!).  Lightning often means rain (but not always!).  Rain...means getting wet.  The priestess sighs, fingering her cloak.  Repeated prayers to her goddess have kept it sturdy and fresh, but it would be nice not to depend upon it to keep her hair dry....

Dragons, however, seem the prevailing topic of conversation.

"Aarnr...has a point," she concedes.  "The counterpoint being that I am unsure we are capable of defeating a dragon that devastated a kingdom.  We lost Fergus to a wyvaart, and poor Oswald to arrows!  Were we to attack a dragon, now, I suspect we would fail."

That might be a tough nut for Aarnr, but she hopes the examples made the point.

"And if we want to save the people, we must succeed, not fail gloriously," she adds, just in case.

"If we caught the beast napping, that would be a different story," she continues.  "But if not...well, I suspect we need time."  Time to find better equipment.  Time to grow in power.

"As it stands," she hazards, "I would guess this forest will have all manner of lesser things to throw upon us...."  Hopefully that will keep Aarnr happy.

Erista nods, toying with one of the small rocks she carries as her primary weapon and trying to envision it taking down even a sleeping dragon.  The vision quickly turns to one of staying safely hidden while all her friends die, and she shivers, glad that `prophecy' isn't a part of her inborn magic.

"Better to save the dragon for after, on our way back from Rappan Athuk, if it is still around," she suggests, shooting Colwyn a quick, `had-to-put-ideas-in-his-head-didn't-you Look.  "It'll be easier to get its attention when we're famous, with all the parades and cheering and everything."

As he is casting his gaze around the cart, looking for something to use as a drum, Aarnr misses a lot of the fine technical detail as to why it might not be a good idea to go looking for dragons today, though does catch her last remark ... and even he can see that the priestess has cleverly used the same argument that he'd been relying on to win the day.

"Ye think the weedy puttocks are as like to fall prey to even the least of the froggin' huggermuggers ?"

The priest nods sadly, conceding the point, much as he'd like to wrestle it to the ground and best it.

Erista too makes a fair stab at it ... certainly it'd be good to have an audience when they slay the dragon ...

"Ye may have to hold thy water," Aarnr commiserates with Colwyn, knowing how keen the yeasty rogue was to go dragon-hunting.

Colwyn clears his throat nervously, then, "Aye.  I's supposin' yer's bein' right.  Sides, when we's comin' back, it might be bein' bigger an' stronger."  The fact that Aarnr no longer wants to go hunting for a dragon brings a smile to Colwyn's lips, where it sits looking uncomfortable.

"Bigger dragon'll be givin' more glory."

The cart continues to lurch along the road, as the gloom beneath the forest roof deepens.  Thunder still growls in the distance, but the lightning (if there is any) is concealed from sight by the dense foliage.

Eventually, with the light faded to the point that Colwyn is about to suggest just stopping in the middle of the road and lighting some torches, the rogue shuts his mouth, listens for a moment, then says, "'ere!  I's 'earin' water splashin'.  Over that way."

He points to the south east.

Aarnr too had been on the point of ordering torches lit, though he was quite prepared to push on through the night to Rappan Athuk following the torchbearer.

The discovery of running water is of far less interest to the priest than a sighting of a dragon.  All he can suppose is that Colwyn, and perhaps others in the group are feeling the need to bathe, unclean habit that it is.  On the other hand, if all his torchbearers rush off, then he's going to be a bit stuck in the fading light.   Besides there was something Fergus said ...

"We need to feed and water the beef-witted oxen !" Aarnr proclaims in triumph, turning the cart south east.

Eilieen peers in the direction Colwyn indicates.  It's getting dark, but perhaps she'll catch sight of something?  Aarnr, however, is already 'on it', and their cart shifts toward where Colwyn indicates.

"I hope it's an actual stream," she murmurs, "and not a dank pool with a sharp-toothed beast frolicking about."  Dank pools, ugh.  Shuddering, the priestess roots around in her pack in search of something.

"You should smile more often, Colwyn," she absently states.  "It's a good look."  A pause.  "When we can see you, of course," Elieen qualifies.

OOC - sorry, need clarification from GM before continuing.  :D

The cart moves off the road, and into the forest, crashing through the undergrowth with some difficulty.  The sound of water becomes clearer, until all are certain that it is flowing, rather than simply splashing.

In a small clearing the party find a stream, which at this point forms a graceful curve no more than forty feet from the road.  Here, on the outer edge of the water course's bend, the ground is level, and the grass cropped relatively short.

On the other side the grass is longer, and there are numerous shrubs and small bushes, black beneath the darkening sky.  And looming above them a giant form, some nine feet tall, motionless and silent...

Grinning broadly as the cart bucks and bounces on the uneven ground, Aarnr hauls back on the reins to bring the oxen to a halt at the edge of the clearing.  Oxen eat grass, he remembers, his gaze tracing a speculative path along the ground.  Not much for the beasts here ... but on the other side of the stream it seems a lot long ...

Aha !  He'd been hoping for another giant so he could replace the head that was accidentally left behind in ... whatever the name of that sinkhole of toad-knockin', malmsy-nosed foot-likers was.

Tossing the reins to whoever is nearest, the priest jumps down from the cart, unhurriedly grabbing his blade from the back, before taking a few steps forwards and assuming an offensive pose, holding Gonder's sword out before him.

[Language unknown: "Ce alth pami is ol tr cesack atleho esis endiol !"] he challenges the giant, choosing to favour it with one of his own people's battle cries.

The giant, if giant it be, stands still, and utters no sound in response to Aarnr's incomprehensible challenge.  It does, in fact, give the impression of ignoring the man... and everybody else in the party.

Colwyn, meanwhile, is rummaging through his pack, searching for something, and muttering angrily...

With an eek and a squeak Bilfro does peek
Upon yonder form - and - a dormant giant
In a whisper so hoarse it could feed a horse
Instructions are passed to the owl, who is arsed
To investigate a bit just to watch Bilfro's wit
Flail in the dark; it is such a lark.

On wings like death, not unlike Aarnr's breath,
The owl so does soar to the shape afore
Supposedly to gleam if it is but a dream
Or if it is what it seem (oh, will Bilfro scream)
In truth the owl rather drop a bowl
Of worms into beds upon sleeping heads.

Eilieen studies the 'giant' suspiciously.  "Aarnr, hold a moment.  It may simply be a statue."  If only she had finished her 'torches' - something to do in the future.

Humming quietly to herself, she hops off the cart and slowly moves forward, eyeing the 'giant' with some trepidation.  "Of course, some statues have been known to come to life," the priestess notes.

Eilieen moves closer to the running water.

And still the hulking figure refuses to respond to Aarnr's challenge...
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:24, Mon 19 Feb 2018.

Ever more concerned, Eilieen raises her free hand before her.  "In Zadastha's name," she intones.  "In love lies true clarity; grant sight into the secrets of the world."  And for an instant, brilliant fuschia energies play about her fingertips.

OOC - Casting Detect Magic.

With a hoot and toot the owl turns to scoot
Back to the arm that it sometimes may harm
With it talons so sharp as they dig and warp

Before it can settle and test Bilfro's mettle
The wizard gives word to Death quite Unheard
'It is made of stone, not out of flesh and bone!'

And then with a shriek followed by an eek
The big bird does land right next to the hand
And the wizard does whimper, shudder and simper
This message was last edited by the player at 04:32, Tue 20 Feb 2018.

Erista peeks cautiously over the edge of the wagon.  "Is it?" she asks.  "There'll be a story behind that, I bet."

"Bleedin' got yer!" Colwyn exclaims triumphantly, and after a moment's fumbling in the dark, there is a spark which ignites some kindling, and that, shortly afterwards ignites a torch.  The rogue advances, holding the torch aloft, but is careful not to pass Eilieen.

"It's bein' a statue." he declares, as light washes over the stationary figure.  This declaration doesn't seem to be a surprise to Bilfro.

"Blimey!  I's not knowin' who 'e were, but 'e were bein' a bloody 'ideous bugger!"

The rogue's assessment is quite accurate.  Whoever the subject was, he was not a very prepossessing figure.  In fact numerous years of erosion, bird droppings, and the accumulation of general forest detritus in various nooks and crannies of the statue may have improve its appearance.

"Froggin' big puttock," Aarnr appends to Colwyn's assessment, taking it as given that if one were to carve likenesses of another in stone, one would naturally take care to get the size roughly right.

The priest is rather disappointed that it's not an actual giant, but somewhat heartened by Eilieen's claim that the statue might well come to life, which is something he did not know, not that he'd ever admit it.  Indeed, Aarnr is considering hacking the thing's head off anyway, which given the general consensus (of the rogue, at least) can only improve its appearance.

In fact if statues in general are known for suddenly rousing themselves, it might not be a bad idea to behead any he comes across in future ...

As he jumps nimbly down from the cart Arkan's gaze is, like everyone else's, taken up by the large statue towering over the clearing. He is relieved it is not an actual giant of flesh and blood, as the last time they fought a similar creature they incurred a heavy loss.

"As the statue is not a threat, I suppose this is as good a place as any to rest for the night," he announces to the others. "I volunteer for the first watch, if no one else wants it, and if someone else handles the cooking."

The clearing does, indeed, seem like a good place to make camp.  There is running water, pasture for the beasts, and the surrounding trees provide sufficient shelter from the weather.

The statue, though, might make sleep difficult.  In the light of Colwyn's torch the face does not appear entirely human, even taking into account the general decrepitude of the effigy, and the general sourness of the creature's expression.

The body, too, seems inhuman, with oddly proportioned limbs, and a torso which seems a little short in comparison to them.  The clothing that the subject had apparently worn when the likeness was carved is also peculiar (though, it must be admitted, that could be a result of changing fashions in the time since the statue was erected.

Still gazing at the statue thoughtfully, Arkan walks closer while unstrapping his sheathed Fullblade in preparation of making camp, balancing it in the crook of an arm as he gazes at the large sculpture in the light of Colwyn's torch, wondering if he has seen pictures of such a thing in any of the many tomes he has studied over the years.

"An early ancestor perhaps of the men who dwelt here in ages long past, or some other creature akin to orcs that made this land their domain long ago?" he muses out loud, placing the tip of his sheathed sword on the ground and resting his weight upon it as he looks up.

---

Trying to determine if he can figure anything out about the statue:Knowledge (History): 05; Knowledge (Arcana): 15

Erista shrugs.  "Beats me.  Seems like a funny place to leave a statue anyway," she admits.

Then she takes a step back, looking at it warily.  "Are there creatures that turn to stone in the sunlight, and turn back when it gets dark?" she asks.  "I heard a story like that once."  Coming up cautiously a little behind Arkan, she adds, "偵查 魔法," tilting her head as she studies the statue with him.  And a little bit behind.

"No magic," Eilieen muses. She slowly turns in a circle, feeling out the area - why waste the prayer?  "Curious features.  Not entirely un-appealing, though the likeness could do with some positivity in life."

Her lips purse.  "Assuming he's still alive."

"I can manage the cooking," she hastily puts in before Aarnr volunteers.  He hasn't, yet, but might at some point and the idea gives her shivers.  "My thanks, Arkan.  I shall take the last watch, being the cook now."

It'll give her time to get ready in the morning.

"Mind, Erista has a point.  Statues are normally where they are for a reason, so I find myself somewhat concerned...but it's dark, we have water, and perhaps this area is a sanctuary.  So long as we keep watch, shouldn't everything proceed well?"

Silly question, of course.

"Do ye think we could get the bat-fowlin', churlish mumble-news in the cart ?" Aarnr asks, not sure either that his companions are up to the task of lifting their end, nor that their transportation will take the weight.

"I heard Dwarves turn to stone when they die," the priest informs Erista of this important fact, though he'd be the first to admit that this statue is not a Dwarf, unless it was a very tall specimen.

Cooking is fairly easy, just requiring the application of fire to whatever it is you just killed, but even so Aarnr is happy for someone else to do that.  He's gathered enough wood today too, for Ozzie's funeral pyre, so he doesn't want to do that either, but in any event he's got to feed and water the oxen as he promised Fergus that he'd look after the beasts.  As luck would have it these two seem rather good at drinking from the stream and cropping at the grass, but it's easier for them if they're not dragging the cart around with them, besides which someone has to tether them and tie the rope to something solid, be it tree or statue.

Colwyn laughs out loud.  "They's callin' me a thief in some places, but I wasn't never thinkin' of stealin' no bloody monnerment.  Yer bein' my kind of cove Aarnr.  Yer's thinkin' big."

He considers for a moment, "Some ol' king from that there Tarkanen place maybe." he suggests, then, "No... 'e aint wearin' no crown."

Bilfro, who had been suspiciously quiet since declaring it a statue, harrumphs where he sits on a fallen log - having carefully checked it out for crawly things.

Another harrumph and the alto singing commence, soft and sombre.

    In days of yore I walked this land
    that you may call your home
    I strode forth valiantly as
    a giant amongst men

        They put up statues of my guise
        so I’d remembered be

    I ruled the land I was its king
    my name was known to all
    But now it is since long all gone
    And all forgotten is

        It is the way of life and death
        It is the way things are

    I lived I died and I once knew
    the paths on which you walk
    I ruled the land I was its king
    a giant amongst men

        But never shall I see again
        the land I once did love
 

Silence then embraces the figure on the log, the gaze lost in the flames.

(https://soundcloud.com/ittybit...known-statue/s-N2I3x)

The priest is somewhat confused as to how Colwyn might consider taking this obviously abandoned statue as stealing, but as a subscriber to the "have what you can hold" philosophical school, isn't against taking and keeping ... and in any event is pleased to be complimented.

Bilfro's song, on the other hand, is a cautionary tale, showing the importance of living your life so the goat-faced, tickle-brained huggermuggers couldn't forget you if they tried.

Both men's remarks do rather beg the question, though ...

"This ruttin' pud," he nods at the statue for clarification, "must've been someone froggin' important or froggin' rich if he's got a statue of him.  If not a gorbellied king then who do ye think it be ?"

Musing over Bilfro's song, Arkan kept his eyes on the statue until he hears Aarnr speak. Turning to glance at the warpriest he says, "I don't recall seeing anything like this particular statue before, but if I had to hazard a guess I would say it is hundreds of years old."

Raising a gloved hand to scratch his chin he adds, "And for some reason it reminds me of ogres...though whether its the shape or just the size I am not sure."

"A statue of a fobbin' ogre ?"  Aarnr looks up at the stone creature with gruding respect.  "It must've made quite an impression on the puttocks round here, then."

Colwyn squints and scratches his cheek, "Size'd be right, but 'e ain't quite lookin' like none of them ogres what we were seein' afore.  Fer one thing, 'e's 'avin' britches."

He waves the torch in the general direction of the statue.  "See where 'e's bein' standin'.  'e's on one of those there stone blocks. only most of it's bein' 'id in the grass an' maybe as it's bein' sunk in the groun' a bit.  I's wagerin' as if someone was goin' over that there stream, they'd maybe be findin' some writin' as'd be tellin' us who the bloody 'ells 'e's bein'."

"Then we can all be 'avin' a bite ter eat, an a bit of a kip."

Eilieen, after a moment's fascinated staring at Bilfro, draws herself up.  "Well, ogres or not, I shall see if there is any writing."  Studying the stream with some annoyance, she finally shrugs.  "My boots need a wash, in any case."

She's going to mend everything tonight, anyway.

With that, the priestess sets out across the stream to have a look at the statue's base.

splash splash splash

OOC - If something eats me, I shall be briefly disappointed.   

Eilieen wades across the stream and discovers that the water level only rises above the top of her boot at one point, when she steps into a depression hidden by the swirls and eddies of the turbulent current.

A quick survey of the surrounding area reveals no dangerous animals lurking in the long grass and wild growth (at least none that are clearly visible in the gloom, so she approaches the statue.

The plinth stands about a foot above ground level, but may extend below the surface.  Pushing the grass and weeds aside, the priestess bends closer to examine the block of grey stone...

"Ugh, ugh," the priestess mutters as she sloshes ashore, one boot made vastly more uncomfortable by the watery intrusion.  Limping to the statue whilst murmuring words under her breath - none that any would believe could fall from her lips - Eilieen leans over, squinting, and runs her fingers over the stone.

"Certainly there are markings," she calls out over her shoulder.  "But I lack the light to see.  Might someone bring a torch this way?"

Erista looks doubtfully at the river, and then takes out her sling and one of its stones.  With a quickly stated, "光," the stone begins to glow, and a brief whirl and toss sends it flying towards the priestess with none of their usual deadly force, but rather a gentle arc in hopes she might even be able to catch it without having to dig it out of the taller grasses.

Reading is a vastly overrated talent, and Aarnr is of the firm opinion that it's better to have minstrels sing your praises than note them down in dusty tomes the likes of which any mean clerk or magistrate might scratch in.

Though he will admit it seems unlikely that there's anyone lurking in the thick undergrowth poised to leap out and provide an impromptu rendition of the life and achievements of the ugly statue.

Erista's trick with the illuminated stone is a good one ... and something he'll bear in mind in future.  It'd certainly be funny, if rather unsporting, to send a few arrow shafts towards any opponent whose attention is drawn to a glowing pebble lobbed in their direction !

The priest strains to hear what Eilieen is muttering under her breath, happy to be amused.

Arkan watches Eileen enter the water and wade forth investigate the plinth and the markings thereupon. Flexing a gloved hand he stares at the water with narrowed eyes in case something nasty decides to surface for a meal.

"Nice move," he says to Erista as she launches the glamoured pebble. "Is that enough for you to read by Eileen?" he calls out to the priestess, ready to use a spell of his own in case she is still unable to make out the markings.

The priestess of Zadastha responds in the affirmative to Arkan's question.The luminescent pebble is certainly sufficient to illuminate the markings.

"Thanks," Erista replies, blushing just a little.  "I'd have taken it over, but..."  She gestures at the water.  "You know.  Calf-deep for you guys is waist high to me."

"Thank you, Erista!" Eilieen lobs back across the water, after a momentary start at the appearance of a glowing pebble next to her.  Squinting, she tries to work through the glyphs.  "I cannot translate these!" she cries back to the group.  "Perhaps another might - they seem to be more runic.  Aarnr, what of your people's runes?  Does anyone else possess a facility with language?"

"I speak all sorts of languages!" does Bilfro squeaketh.

"Although, runes are rarely spoken, except in the company of fellows named Rune-eh...  Or any other such combination, such as Rune-eh-the-Prune, although that was more of a nickname for a fellow in the village next over from the neighbouring village where I briefly stayed for a couple of semi-quarter half decades to research how fungus interacted with fire under water during a thunderstorm, which I must admit was rather underwhelming as far as dramatic and epic events are concerned and yet, yet had this tantalising quality of making you wonder what could, nay, would happen if you use more or less of any of the elements involved, except for Rune-the-Prune, of course, because he was quite a few straws short of a hat, if you know what I mean, and by a few I mean a whole brim and a half," he elaborates, tapping the tip of his nose knowingly.

A brief pause to inhale and a confused look.

"What was the question?"

Erista pats Bilfro on the hand that isn't tapping his nose.  "It's a lucky thing you have your whole hat," she says.  "Eilieen was hoping you could go over there and read her a story.  Apparently there's one carved onto the statue."

Colwyn successfully makes a laugh sound like a cough, and all too clearly doesn't look at Bilfro.  Instead he moves to the edge of the stream and calls out, "Eilieen!  Don't be touchin' nothin', in case there's bein' traps!  I's goin' ter be comin' over fer a look-see!"

Eventually.

After Eilieen has had a chance to trigger any traps that might be over there.

Blinking, Eilieen considers both Bilfro's offering - or whatever it might have been - and Colwyn's warning.  "I shall certainly avoid touching this filthy statue," she reassures the man.  Although...glancing around, the priestess grimaces.  Had there been traps in the area, it's fairly certain she would have set them off.

Well, she'll wait anyway.  Colwyn can still ensure the statue itself is safe, and perhaps Bilfro will get it together enough to peruse the writings, though what information he'll receive (and the group will receive from him) she has no idea.

Oh."

A vigorous shaking of the lump at the top end of the neck ensues.

"Never said I can read runes, merely stating they are not actually spoken."

A brief pause.

"I can't read runes," comes the clarification, in case it was unclear.

What might be a sweet smile spread across Bilfro's visage like fleas on a mutt, only much, much faster.

Resisting the urge to smile at Bilfro's admission, Arkan merely sighs as he keeps an eye on the waters around Eileen in case anything nasty lurks therein.

"I don't think there are any traps Colwyn, perhaps you should take a look see and try to decipher the runes. We don't want our healer catching a chill," he advises Colwyn.

It was a pity he hadn't looked over a certain spell he had that may have aided in this situation, at least if the runes were of a magical nature.

Once he's had time to give some thought to the situation (and for Eilieen to not unleash terrible doom upon herself just by being too close to the statue) Colwyn walks away from the stream a short distance...

Then a bit further...

And a little further still.

Then he runs, flat out, towards the water.  At the last moment he throws himself into a  long. low, leap... and lands with a splash about two feet short of the distance.  He falls and ends up prone in the long grass at the water's edge.

"Bloody boots is bein' filled with water now!" he growls, before crawling forward to look at the statue.

Aarnr looks around in puzzlement.  It might be dark, but he was fairly certain his night vision was no worse than anyone else's so it's rather annoying that he can't make out what everyone else seems to see so clearly.

"What froggin' ruins ?" he asks, at length, watching as Colwyn jumps in the stream and noting he nearly missed it.  Undoubtedly something to do with the decadent tradition of bathing.

Erista looks at Aarnr for a long moment, totally unsure how to field that one, and then looks up at Bilfro again.  "Bilfro?" she asks, hopefully.  "Could you tell Aarnr about the ruins, please?"

Upon request, Bilfro glares into space and begin speaking in a bleak and morose tone.

"Yes, the ruins.  The ruins of a city and a palace, now left a smouldering ruin.  The ruined remains of the guards trying to perform the duty that was asked of them to safeguard the realm.  The ruins of lives for ever change and offhandedly left behind in a wake of death and destruction.  I can still see it from here.  Still hear it.  Feel it."

"You mean those ruins, I assume."

More and more consternating ...

Aarnr tries to follow the gaze of the holy madman, his face twisting into something only slightly uglier than the orgrish statue as he squints and and stares.  This grand city that Bilfro describes certainly sounds as if some disaster befell it and would probably be well worth gazing on, but ...

"Yes ! Those fobbin' ruins thou infectious, fat-kidneyed haggard ! Where the frog are they ?!!"

"Right where you all left them, you flop-brained squirrel chewer!!" Bilfro bellows belligerently as he stands up and points at the enquirer, eyes not quite aflame, but smouldering - if figuratively speaking only.

Colwyn lays on the ground, squinting at the plinth.  First with one eye, then the other.  Somewhere behind him, he can hear somebody yelling.  It sounds like Bilfro, which is possibly an improvement - the man has been a little taciturn of late, and Colwyn has felt a certain amount of concern.

Even if he wouldn't have used those exact words to describe the situation.  If Bilfro is coming out of his shell again, that can only be a good thing, right?

He reaches out and runs his finger tips over the runes.

"The runes is bein' orc, but they isn't makin' no sense.  Close as I can be makin' out, they's sayin' 'Daargukh'.  But that isn't meanin' nothin' in orc.  Dangarukh is meanin' a bit of open land, like a field or somethin'.  An' jargukh is bein' a axe."

The yelling is getting louder, so Colwyn rolls over and looks across the stream.  "Is Bilfro bein' all right?"

Helpfully, Eilieen removes Colwyn's boots as he lies on the ground, shakes them out, and places then next to him.  He'll have to put them on himself - she'd not normally have a problem with that, but he has been walking all day and now his feet are wet.  She pauses, though, and searches around for any sharp objects that might have fallen from his footwear at their up-ending.

Bilfro is shouting.  Well.  She'd say it's a new thing, but the priestess has given up expecting consistency from the mage(?).

"So the runes are Orkish, but not in the Orkish language," she muses.  "Perhaps we need more translators."  Then she brightens.  "Or perhaps it's the name of the...person...who is the inspiration for the statue!  'Axe that cleaves the open fields?'"  Her eyes narrow.  "No, that's not right for an Orc.  Hm.  I'm stumped.  Any thoughts, clever one?"  With one hand, she waves off his concerns.  "I'm sure Bilfro is apoplectic at the moment; I'm also sure it'll amount to little, in the end."

Aarnr grins broadly at Bilfro's invective, impressed enough to consider adding squirrel-chewer to his own litany, even though he's not really sure what a squirrel is.

As a consequence, the priest is now less interested in the ruins, but as Bilfro points, dutifully looks behind him.  Still nothing there ...

... but as Aarnr turns back to seek further clarification, he notes the burning intensity of the wizard's gaze, and the concerned glances from Colwyn and Eilieen, so takes pity on the lumpish, crook-pated bum-bailey.

"Oh ... those ... ruins."

The priest nods, in a manner he considers might resemble thoughtfulness.

Arms folded Arkan watches Colwyn try to make sense of the runes, without much luck it would appear. "If there is nothing to be made out lets hurry up and make camp while there is still light," he offers helpfully to the duo by the plinth.

He glances at Aarnr and Bilfro to see what they are excited about but cannot make anything out aside from them talking about some ruins.

"I isn't reckonin' as 'ow  it's meanin' anythin' like that.  I's thinkin' it might jus' be bein' a name what's soundin' a bit like them words."  Colwyn stands, and tries to brush some mud and earth from his clothes, but mostly succeeds in smearing it about a bit.

"Jus' a name what ain't meanin' nothin'.  Like my uncle Jun - 'is name wasn't meanin' nothin' special.  Least not while 'e was bein' alive... after 'e were dead it were comin' ter mean a special way of swingin'.  Side ter side, an' spinnin' widdershins like, only real slow."

Colwyn smiles.  "'Swingin' like ol' Jun.' folks used ter be sayin'.  Jun were bein' famous in Tsar, but only after 'e were bein' dead." the rogue states, proudly.

"Addle headed proprietor of cranial density of unimagined magnitudes," mutters Bilfro with one last glower at the somewhat slightly obtuse not-quite-a-gentleman before him.

He marches over to sit on the back of the cart, arms crossed and muttering emitting under his breath, paused now and then to pick the beard out of his mouth.

Having successfully mollified Bilfro, the priest turns his talents to unravelling the mysteries of the statue.

Carving your name on things.  That's a new one.

Of course, Aarnr had heard of books and from what he understood they were bursting at the seams with names, but to go to the trouble of inscribing your name on a block of stone, signifies something of importance ... and to the priest's mind that most likely means a threat has been issued, along this lines of - 'this is me, what you're standing on is mine, and if I catch ye hedgepigs I'll froggin' strangle ye with your own entrails'.

Luckily Aarnr can't read or he might take that personally.

Slinging his boots over his shoulder, Colwyn wades back across the stream.  He gestures towards the statue.

"Near as I's makin' out, this 'ere cove were name Daargukh.  The writin's bein' in orc, but the word isn't bein' a orc one, so I's reckonin as it's bein' 'is name."

He pauses, and stares through the gathering gloom towards the statue.

"Come ter think on it, 'e's bein' ugly 'nough ter maybe be bein' a 'alf orc.  Or at least two fifths."

Aarnr has heard of orcs, doubts that any of them can write ... and while he's grudging prepared to admit that they're generally on the large side, finds it hard to believe that any of them would be twice the size of that statue (half he can cope with, two fifths is in the realm of the fanciful).

"Wake me up if the half-faced, ruttish pignut is troublesome and I'll froggin' kill it," he assures his companions, coaxing the oxen towards the water so they can drink their fill.

"THE DEATH FIRE!!!"

Bilfro springs to his feet and shouts out as loud as he can.

"What you mangle with your pronunciation, mister Akbar, is not Orchish, nay, but Draconic!  It is not a name, but a word, often connected to dragons, for they spew forth the fires of death itself!"

"Mayhap 'twas this very fellow, it is not unheard of that dragon can change their form at will," he muses more quietly, unlikely to be heard by those on the other side.

"The bawdy flap-mouthed boar-pig !" Aarnr is quite moved by Bilfro's announcement, though as the mad wizard points out, everyone else does seem to be struggling to grasp the obvious today, so ...

"The fobbin' dragon !" the priest elucidates.

Now, hopefully Eilieen or mister Akbar was paying attention and listened to a little more of whatever conversation revolved about the beast than Aarnr did.  He did recall there was some suggestion of hunting the creature down ... but if pressed would be prepared to admit that was probably his own idea.

Being on the right side of the river, Aarnr is in a position to hear Bilfro's last remark and lays off looking for a good spot to set a dragon trap to see if any of his companions shows the slightest indication of being a bit dragon-shaped.

And perhaps it was the dragon who burned down those ruins ... or whatever they were before they caught fire and became ruins ?

Erista jumps when Bilfro starts shouting, in a most un-dragonly way.  She looks down at her hands for a moment, and says, "Huh.  That's interesting."  Then she looks back over to Bilfro and says, "OK, but it's still just a statue, right?  Dragons don't change their forms into statues, do they?"

Colwyn scratches his head, and then tentatively suggests, "Per'aps orcs was makin' a statue ter be 'memoratin' the dragon as was ruinin' ol' Tarkanen all them years past.  No I's knowin' as 'ow that bugger were bein' called Vaedrakil Iron Scale, or some such... but a dragon's maybe 'avin' more'n one name.  Maybe the orcs was knowin' 'im as Daargukh, like Bilfro were sayin'."

The idea that someone, even a dragon, might have more than one name is just the sort of duplicitous behaviour that Aarnr expects from ... well from anyone who is not related to him.

"Do ye want me to froggin' break it ?" he asks, nominally of everyone, but mostly looking at Eilieen.

He's broken a cottage before, so a statue should prove little challenge.  Setting fire to it might pose a problem though.   For one thing, Bilfro seems rather het up about fire at the moment ... and for another, it is stone and if experience has taught the priest anything, it is that it is quite hard to burn stone.

Eilieen, sadly, is still stuck on Colwyn's Uncle Jun.  Swinging.  Swinging, turning as he did...how...why would they...he died...

Oh.  That.

Blinking (and shuddering), the priestess refocuses on Aarnr's query.  "Break it?  No, no.  It has lasted this long, and is..."  She studies the statue for a long moment.  "Historical," the priestess concludes.  It's certainly not handsome.  "Best we leave it, as it harms no-one."

"Also, best we follow Arkan's advice and make camp for the night.  I shall begin dinner."

The mystery of the statue might not be wholly solved, but more important matters have sprung to the fore.  After all, the statue has been there for a long time, and is unlikely to vanish before the group have eaten their dinner.  It might, suddenly, come to life and start slaughtering everybody in the vicinity (Colwyn has heard tales of such things), but there would usually be some warning of such an event, such as the scraping of stone on stone, or a strange chanting from deep under the ground, or the like...

In any case, camp is set up and Eilieen commences the cooking of a tasty and filling meal.  Before too long, the aroma of delicios food fills the clearing, as does the light from the campfire.

As an amusing prank of nature, the flickering light and shadows make it appear that the statue is breathing...

"Rather creepy," Eilieen murmurs, finishing off the dinner.  Stew isn't easy to make, and takes time - all the simmering.  There are a few potatoes to go with it, though, baked in the coals of the fire.  "I am concerned with how much food we have remaining.  Should this continue,  I will need to pray to Zadastha for our daily bread...and that will limit my effectiveness in other areas."

It's not a small thing, at all*.

She keeps one eye on the statue, wondering if it will come to life.  Wondering if it's waiting for something...a triggering condition.  Or for them to sleep.

* Level 3 spell...

Aarnr finds nothing creepy, though he's the sort of person who gives other people nightmares, but can at least set Eilieen's mind at rest on the food score ...

"This is froggin' good !"  Any surprise in his tone is due to the discovery that he likes the taste of baked potatoes, a foodstuff he'd previously dismissed as just a vegetable.

"Don't ye worry about the food," the priest assures her.  "I'll fobbin' kill it and ye can gleepin' cook it."

The statue doesn't concern Aarnr at all.  If it attacks him then he'll attack it back again.

In the firelit gloom, beneath the unblinking gaze of the statue, Colwyn eats his meal in silence, except for the occasional monosyllabic comment on the quality of the food (he approves of it).

Every noise from the darkened forest beyond the fire's glow causes him to start nervously, and glare in the direction of "Daargukh".

One particular sound, though, brings more reaction.  A distant howling that carries far on the night air.  The rogue sets his (almost empty) bowl aside and picks up his blade from the ground beside him.  He lays the weapon across his thighs before he continues eating.

Chewing noisily, Aarnr has no need of cutlery (or soap), though he shares Colwyn's interest in the forest noises, albeit his is more in the way of hopeful anticipation.

"Fobbin' wolves," the priest suggests happily, even though he was hoping for something bigger.  At least that's breakfast sorted then, if the beasts aren't just all talk.

"If we pretend to sleep, perhaps the flap-mouthed, fishified gudgeons won't be froggin' scared off ?"

Pleased with the enjoyment of those consuming the meal and more than happy to continue with her work, Eilieen collects the bowls from those who have finished.  Humming to herself, she moves to the stream with the bowls.

She does not, however, immediately wash the bowls directly in the stream.

Instead, she splashes water into one, uses that to rinse into another, and another, and so forth, until the bowls themselves are relatively clean.  The filthy water goes to nourish the grass.  Only then does she dip each bowl in the stream and wash it completely.

"For this work, I expect I should garner the pleasure of first watch," she notes, returning to the campfire.

"Froggin, right," Aarnr agrees wholeheartedly.  Nothing much happens during the first hours after the camp setttles down for the night, in his experience.  Much better to have one of the later watches so as not to miss out on any of the excitement.

The wolves, as it turns out, come no closer, and after a little while the howling stops as night falls over the forest.

Eilieen takes the first watch, and settles into her duties as her companions settle down to sleep.  The night air around her fills with the sounds of myriad insects.  Somewhere a fox barks.

Arkan thanks Eileen for the meal, which in fact did turn out to be tasty. He made a mental note about her concern over their provisions, but at the moment lacked anything to do about it. His skills in magic and hunting were not up to the task in conjuring up food, in any case, but he could help the others in rationing what supplies they had left.

Relieved that no wolves would be attacking them as it may first have seemed, Arkan spends some time cleaning his weapon and then studying his spellbook quickly, barely able to keep his eyes open, before finally turning in for the night. His travel-bag and sword are within easy reach in case they are needed and before closing his eyes he calls out to the others, "Wake me when its my turn for watch."

After assuring Arkan he will be woken, Eilieen commences  her task of watching.  She takes it seriously, for what it's worth; it's not just better for her sleep to take the first watch, but better for the group as a whole.  Far more likely something will attack in the wee hours of the morning, and at that time they'll have a better guard.

Of course, things don't always wait.

With the arrival of that unpleasant, nagging feeling at the base of her skull, the priestess slowly stands, spear in hand and ready for use...butt-forward*.  Reaching out, she carefully prods Colwyn with the blunt end of the weapon**  "Colwyn," she hisses.  "Awaken!"

He'll be crabby if it's nothing, but right now?  She needs his keen senses.

* the spear, this isn't a spine-snapping MMOrpg wallpaper

** let's be 100% clear on this - the BLUNT end - because I know how our GM will otherwise take it

"... bugger off Aarnr, or I'll be cuttin' yer bleedin' tongue out an' usin' it ter lick my boots." Colwyn grumbles, and then his eyes open, unfocussed, and he growls at Eilieen, "What the bloody 'ells?  Is it bein' time ter get up?"

He looks nervously at Aarnr, who is still snoring fit to shame a thunderstorm, before turning his attention back to Eilieen.

"It's still bein' the middle of the bloody night.  What's yer wantin'?"

"I won't tell," Eilieen assures the rogue, with a quick glance toward Aarnr.  Not that Aarnr would mind; he'd probably figure it to be polite dinner conversation.  "But Colwyn - it's possible something is out there."  She grimaces.  "I know, I might just be worrying about nothing...but I have a fair bit of experience sitting at fires, on watch, and this doesn't happen all of the time."

Reaching out, she taps his forehead.  "I chose to wake you, because of your keen senses and stealthy nature.  Congratulations!"

"Colwyn stands, drawing his blanket tight around his shoulders.  "We's bein' in the middle of a bloody forest what's dark an' filled with noises.  I's not thinkin' it's possible summat's bein' out there, I's thinkin' it's bein' bloody certain summat's out there."

He sighs.  "I suppose yer's wantin' me ter be scoutin' roun' a bit?  If'n I's gettin' killed by a bloody bear, or one of them there wolveret things, I'll be makin' certain as 'ow the gods is knowin' as whose fault it were."

Seating himself on a fallen log he starts to pull his boots on, "Still, the 'owlin' 'as stopped, which is bein' nice.  'ceptin' it's meanin' as 'ow they's stopped scarin' off enemies, an' they's 'untin'."

Standing, the rogue checks his blades, and moves out into the darkness beyond the firelight...
This message was last edited by the player at 19:20, Sun 22 Apr 2018.

Colwyn quickly disappears from view in the blackness of the night time forest.  No sound drifts back to Eilieen's ears to betray his location.  After a little while fruitlessly listening for him, Eilieen finds a log to sit on close to the fire, and starts reading a scroll, with occasional glances at the surrounding night... 

After a little while the rogue returns, walking silently into the circle of firelight.

"I weren't findin' nothin', just a 'edge'og, an' one of them there things what's lookin' a bit like a ferret - I's fergettin' what they's bein' called.  Nothin' as is goin' ter be eatin' any of us.  Tell the truth, I's reckonin' Aarnr's bein' the most vicious thing roun' 'ere.  Can I be goin' back ter bed now?"

A roar suddenly ensues without warning, as is common when things happen without warning.

It originates from Bilfro and as the wizened old wiz rolls over the snoring stops.

"Thank you, Colwyn!"  Eilieen considers a moment.  "You can wake me for part of your watch, then, if you wish to sleep, in return."

Trusting in Colwyn's senses, she seats herself and gets a little light reading* done.  Hmm.  That's interesting.  Now all she needs are a few torches...

Up she glances, with a start, when Colwyn returns.  "Oh!  My goodness, Colwyn.  You ARE quiet."  True, and praise costs nothing.  She didn't even need to feign surprise.  "A hedgehog?  Very sweet."  Her brow crinkles at the 'weasel'.  Stout?  No, that's not quite correct.  Perhaps Martin?  That doesn't sound quite right either.  Or is it something to do with 'fish'?  No, that's nonsensical for a weasel-like creature**.

"Well, I do appreciate it," she returns.  "You wouldn't happen to have a torch on you, would you Colwyn?"  Of the bunch, he's the biggest pack-rat and tool-carrier they have.

* Hahaha...inside joke with the GM.

** Amusingly, she's closer with all three guesses than she is to getting 'Wyvern' correct.

Startled, Colwyn glances towards the source of the roar, which appears to be Bilfro.

"Bloody 'ells!  If'n 'e can be makin' a racket like that, then maybe we should be settin' 'im ter stan' guard.  'e were soundin' like a angry bear or summat.  Were 'e doin' that while I were bein' away?"

"No," Eilieen replies, somewhat shaken by Bilfro's shout.  "I...suspect you would have heard it over the noises of the weasel and hedgehog."  Holding a hand to her chest, she breathes a few times to regain control.  "Bilfo...has been erratic of late."

There's a short pause.

"Moreso," Eilieen clarifies.  "At least, that is my feeling.  I wonder what is going on in that head of his...."

Another short pause.

"Though I cannot imagine trying to find out," she confesses with a sigh.  "At least it was nothing truly dangerous."  Save to their nerves.

For a few moments Colwyn considers the word "erratic", and is about to ask Eilieen if she has really found Bilfro so attractive lately, or is it a Zadasthan thing?  Just as he's about to speak he realises that he's thinking of a different (though similar sounding) word, which definitely is a Zadasthan thing.

He rethinks his words...

"'Of late' yer's sayin'?  'e's always been a bit bleedin' batty, if'n yer asks me."

And then he makes what could be a grave mistake...

"'ere, Bilfro!  What's bein' wrong mate?"

Too late he realises that he's just asked the question in a somewhat louder voice than Bilfro's own yell, and has almost certainly awakened everybody from here to Reme...
This message was last edited by the player at 18:08, Sun 13 May 2018.

"More explosive," Eilieen states, realizing full-well that could be taken incorrectly.  But there really isn't a better way of saying it that can't be taken in a worse manner, so she goes with the small evil, rather than the large.

She also wonders about the curious look in Colwyn's eyes.

Then ducks, wincing, as her friend lets go with a shout of his own.  "Your reputation for silence just suffered," the priestess murmurs, drawing her cloak about herself.

Quicker than a boulder rolls up a hill but slower than a arrow let loose, Bilfro bolts upright in his bedroll and calls, nay, screams out louder than even Colwyn.

"THE TITTERING!!  THE TITTERING!!  NO EYES!!  NO EYES!!"

He throws his head up so quick it would not have come as a surprise if his head had rolled over a few times before settling at staring at the sky.

"EVIL!!  EEEEEEVIIIIIIILLLLL!!!!!"

He lowers his eyes to look rather calmly at Colwyn.

"The statue, that is."

He throws his head back again.

"EEEEEEVIIIIIIILLLLL!!!!!"

Erista rolls out from under the wagon, eyes wide, and thrusts her hands out, fingers splayed, towards the incoming attackers.  "彩色 浪花!" she says, emphatically, but quietly.

There is a sudden flare of brilliant multicoloured light, spreading in twisting streamers across the camp site, and things happen.  For one thing, Colwyn slumps to the ground with a groan and a thump...

"Ooooh, pretty!"

Bilfro smiles happily and claps his hands.

"Again!"

Aarnr ... slumbers on, blissfully undisturbed by events unfolding as he takes up the mantle of snoring loudly now that Bilfro has abdicated the position.  The Sword of Gonder that he cradles slips from his fingers as a particularly violent snort dislodges it from his grasp.

"Really?" Eilieen cries out, staggering in a circle.  "Zadastha's Teeth -" terrible blasphemy, for her "- might we hold off on the hurling of magic?"  Pulling herself together, she stands stock still, not wanting to blunder into the fire.  "It's naught but Bilfro's usual madness!"

Nothing to do but wait out the effects of the spell, the priestess lets out a heavy sigh; she'll need to apologize to Erista for her outburst (the spell is rather distinctive, even when one is the target).

"Sorry!  Sorry," Erista says, blushing enough to be glad everyone else is probably too blind to see it for the moment.  "I thought I heard Colwyn yelling, too, and I didn't know what was going on, and... I suppose I could have gone with hurling rocks, but then people get hurt.  But I'm sorry."

She pauses for a moment, and adds helpfully, "It should wear off in a moment."

Her equanimity restored, Eilieen (blindly) waves a hand in Erista's general direction.  "Oh, poof.  Not to worry.  As you say, it should wear off -" stated hopefully "- and nobody was hurt.  Better safe than sorry, I expect, and fine reactions, Erista."

There comes a pause as she digests the fact that Colwyn is not complaining about his blindness*.

"Erista," she carefully continues, "Colwyn isn't harmed, is he?"

* exceedingly out of character.

Eilieen's foul language fails to rouse Aarnr from his sleep, though it might just be that he can't hear her over the loud and offensive snoring.

"Bilfro's usual madness!?"

Bilfro, as he is the speaker, mimics - or mocks - Eilieen's voice, albeit hitching up into a rather high pitched tone.

"Then you go 'better safe than sorry' about the Beautiful Area Rainbow Flow, or BARF for short, while ignoring my Vision of Monish Is True, or VoMIT for short?!  Pah, I say, PAH!!"

Harrumphing he gets up and points to her, waving a finger at her.

"Do not look at me with your blind eyes when the statue stuff itself with you not unlike the stuff you Zadasthans stuff yourself using stuff I refuse to mention in places I also refuse to mention!  Stuff your places and your stuff!"

"Just not here and now, please.  Thank you."

Bilfro turns to glare at the statue, mumbling under his breath.

Colwyn rolls over and stares at the canopy of leaves above him.  "Glart habu nephethda blarga..."  He stops and shakes his head, which results in a groan, and the rogue clutching both hands in his hair.

When he tries to speak again, it is with considerable care and a couple of false starts...

"Hadu...  Haht wru...  Wha' were tha' bein'?" he finally manages to slur.

At Colwyn's possibly arcane utterances, Aarnr springs awake, rolling to his feet in one fluid motion, brandishing his ...

"Where's my froggin' sword !" the priest demands, glaring indiscriminately at everyone before noticing it lying on the ground at his feet.

With a low rumble, Aarnr stoops to pick up his blade.

"Sor ... so ... ah, soppin', onion-eyed pignuts !" he manages by way of apology.

"Where are the pox-marked bugbears ?" his beady eye tramples around the clearing looking for the foe.

Straightening up to his full length, Bilfro slowly draws his sword.  Eyes narrow as he peers ominously into the dark outside the range of the light from the fire.  He speaks slowly, the tone sombre and dead serious.

"They are coming."

"Not by me!" Erista answers Eilieen, her tone worried.  "It only lasts a moment or two, it... it wears off!" she says, triumphantly, as Colwyn sits up mumbling.

Then her breath catches, and her voice drops.  "I think they really are," she adds to Bilfro's warning.

"A relief, to be sure," Eilieen replies to Erista, still waiting for the blindness to fully recede.  It might take a little longer due to the contrast, she realizes.

For once it seems his companions are doing everything right, at least in Aarnr's book¹.  Colwyn has obviously been drinking, which is always a good sign, and it seems they've woken him up just in time to enjoy a good fight.

Indeed, the only mildly concerning matter is that Bilfro is holding a blade ...


¹ a thin volume, perhaps a bit short on those descriptive things, ah words, but with lots and lots of very detailed pictures in a nice shade of bright red

OOC: Anybody care to roll for initiative and stuff?  Eilieen and Arkan are still somewhat disadvantaged by Erista's "friendly" fire.

Still seeing sparkling colors bursting in his vision due to Erista's hasty conjuring, Arkan is reminded of the old tale of the lad who cried out 'Ware! Raksahasha!' one too many times in jest so when something nasty did come for him he was ignored by all and sundry (and promptly eaten, though the story did become vague in its ending)

Still, the sound of approaching noises and then the chattering in a strange tongue and finally, the chilling laughter convinces him this time the danger is real. Quickly he reaches for his blade and crouches low trying to present a smaller target in case of any enemy archers; there is no time to reach for a scroll but he always prepared defensive battle-spells for use in emergencies, and the words to one such blazed in his minds eye.

---

Initiative: 25, Move Action: Draw weapon; Move Action: Fall Prone

Well, that's a problem.  One creating a sickening feeling in her stomach, what with the sound of the approaching calls....

"Please make certain everyone is awake," Eilieen states to the world at large; she can't do so, herself, being still somewhat blinded.  And still blinded, she can't actually prepare any kind of directed spell, or even defend herself properly.

That leaves a single option.

Closing her eyes for an instant, the priestess fumbles for her holy symbol with her free hand.  Whispering to herself, she readies a prayer for divine assistance.

OOC - Initiative 10.  Holding action, will cast Summon Doggie II when the fighting actually starts.

Colwyn, still a little unsteady, looks around for the intruders.  Nervously he draws his sword, as fear clutches his heart in an icy grip.  As an afterthought, he reaches for one of his daggers with his left hand.  The blade gleams brightly in the firelight.

He can see the shapes clearly, clustered near the statue, though he wishes fervently that he could not...

OOC: Colwyn Akbar rolled 16 using 1d20+4.  Initiative.

"Ye froggin' reeky, vile-standin' maggot-pies !"  Though pleased to have something to hit and hit hard, Aarnr is ne'ertheless angered beyond measure and taking it as a personal insult that the dead would dare climb from their graves in his presence.

"Ye see this, ye fishified, hell-hated death-tokens ?!!" the priest demands, as he strides forwards, the sword of Gonder held in one hand as he taps with one pudgy finger on the wooden disk that hangs from his neck.  "I'm a froggin' priest of froggin' Bowbe, and ye can just elf off !"

"For Fnaferlang!!"

Bilfro shouts as he waves the sword about not unlike a drunk pig during a rope-walking exercise.  Somehow he manages to not cut anything of his own self off, nor anything from his companions.

The ghastly figures drift away from the statue...

Arkan crouches low and bides his time, waiting for his vision to clear.

Meanwhile Erista, who can see all too well, thank you very much, lurks under the wagon (although she doesn't seem to lurk as well as she sees).

Colwyn, sword in one hand and a silvered dagger in the other, holds his ground a safe distance from the creatures.

Bilfro too has a sword in hand - the blade Valkyria which had been gifted to Fergus by the priestess Shandril.  The weapon glimmers with a pale blue light, which bears no relationship to the light from the campfire.  Bilfro yells a challenge, and slashes with the longsword.  His attack, however, only provokes more laughter from the spectral shapes, which hover just beyond his reach...

And then they start to advance across the stream, dark hands outstretched.  "Mortals," they whisper in the Common tongue, "we are the priests of the Dragon God.  Worship him at the feet of his statue, and we will spare your lives."

Still partly blind, her vision reduced to vague patches of light and shadow, many of which seem to be moving objects, Eilieen waits for her sight to improve...

And perhaps still a little disoriented by waking without a weapon in his hand, Aarnr takes out his confusion on the newcomers.  Bellowing out a torrent of abuse, he walks towards them.  The priest of Bowbe is, in all likelihood, as surprised as anybody when several of the creatures flee before him...

OOC: Behold the might of Bowbe!

Combatant         Init
Arkan              25
Erista             24
Colwyn Akbar       16
Bilfro Gabbins     11
Dragon Priests     10 (AC=13)
Eilieen             9
Aarnr Foultongue    7

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

Without any capacity to fight -- blind -- Eilieen is somewhat at a loss as to what she might do to assist.

Fortunately, she isn't alone, so to speak.

OOC - Summon Monster II -- Celestial Riding Dog -- to attack our enemies.

"Froggin' come back here, thou artless, bunch-backed devil-monks !" Aarnr demands, incensed that some of the creatures have chosen to flee.  The priest strides forwards, the sword of Gonder now held out before him in a most threatening manner.

"Don't fobbin' let any of the rank, pheasant-baitin' gudgeons escape !" he exhorts his colleagues, treating the words of these ghosts with the contempt they deserve.

Running a nervous tongue over his suddenly dry lips, Arkan shifts his position to be closer to Eileen. "My sight is still spotty but I believe they appear to be wraiths...or some other form of undead," he says to the others in a quiet tone.

He could be wrong though, and Arkan quite wishes he is wrong. Fighting the living dead in the dead of night is not a prospect that makes for a bright future under the best of circumstances.

ᛋᚻᛁᛖᛚᛞ

His lips move soundlessly and he traces a quick pattern in the air before him; there is an barely imperceptible shimmer as the battle-spell comes into effect. Gripping his blade in both hands he stands ready to meet this foe.

---

Quickly, before everyone has a chance to start mingling, Erista moves forward and perhaps a bit to the side, and holds her hands out again.  "彩色 浪花!", she says, sending another spray of scintillating lights washing out towards the spectral creatures, quite possibly because Bilfro asked nicely.

"This ain't bein' lookin' good." growls Colwyn, as the self-proclaimed priests of the dragon god advance.  In fact, the only good side to it is that some of them, at least, seem to be terrified of Aarnr (and he can't blame them for that).

Flipping his knife end over end, he casts the silvered weapon at one of the horrific creatures... only to see it fly far wide of the target, and embed itself in the ground.

"No thanks, feet are usually smelly, especially those of a dragon.  Although, they would probably be called paws, normally," Bilfro retorts rhetorically and swings the sword around as if trying to behead himself from behind - quite a feat indeed.

The fact that Aarnr has effectively halved the number of assailants seems to have little effect on the remaining five.  Still they advance, crossing the stream without disturbing the water, with their hands outstretched like claws, and dark vapour seeming to boil off them.  The air grows perceptibly cooler as they approach...

Arkan, his eyesight slowly clearing, moves closer to the white blur that he believes to be Eilieen, an casts a spell which doe not require keen vision to locate a target.  A faint shimmering appears in the air before him. 

Again the polychromatic light bursts out, this time washing over the enemy as they step up onto the near bank of the stream.  The low, sibilant voices are replaced by wails and three of the figures seem to freeze in place before beginning to wander almost randomly.

Colwyn hurls his silvered knife, to no effect.  "Oh, nadgers!" he curses, and makes a mental note to retrieve the weapon later...

The wildly swinging Valkyria, wielded as it is by one unused to swordplay, passes over what might be assumed to be the head of one of the creatures, and bites into the trunk of a nearby birch, where it sits fast for the moment.

Bilfro's adversary claws at him, but the mage steps back half a pace, which is as far as he can move while still keeping his grip on his stuck weapon.  Still, it is enough for him to avoid the creature's touch... and Valkyria shifts a little where it is stuck in the tree. 

The other still-active enemy reaches for Aarnr, but is perhaps distracted by the hate filled eyes of the priest of Bowbe, so its attack falls short of its mark.  Aarnr lashes out in response, and watches as his heavy blade cleaves through the thing... only to see that it has no effect, as the ragged gash across the torso seems to knit closed immediately. 

Close to Arkan, Eilieen shakes her head slowly, trying to restore her sight... 

OOC: Behold the might of blindingness!

Combatant         Init
Arkan              25
Erista             24
Colwyn Akbar       16
Bilfro Gabbins     11
Dragon Priests     10 (AC=13)
Eilieen             9
Aarnr Foultongue    7

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

Yipping and yelping, yanking and skiddimisanking with all his might - oh what a sight - Bilfro the Magnificent gives a pull munificent and frees the sword like a mighty lord to once again lethal blows to rain on undead foes, or so it goes.

Erista smiles proudly as her cascading lights wash over the creatures and have an effect.  Half turning back, she almost asks if Eilieen saw that, but seeing how she's shaking her head, instead moves a little closer to her.  "They're ghosts of some sort," she says.  "Do you have to see them yourself to ask Zadastha to burn them?"

Pointing to the one attacking Bilfro, she adds, "破壞 幽靈."  A brief beam of light darts silently towards the creature.

Aarnr is looking over his shoulder at froggin' annoyed in the far distance as his mighty blade passes harmlessly through the creature, the lack of any meaty resistance putting him off his stride.

"These scurvy flap-mouthed pignuts are undead !" the priest bellows in a rather accusing fashion, warning his friends as he hefts his blade once more, though he uncharacteristically pauses.

There were some nuggets of wisdom passed on by some of the elder priests of his tribe, but since they were accompanied by a lot of singing and drinking and shouting and the clashing of blades, and he wasn't really paying attention anyway, it's quite difficult ...

... something about healing magics tearing undead asunder ?  Sounds like total rubbish.  No, if anybody suggested that, they must have been a lot further in their cups at the time than he was !

Now he thinks on't, seems more like the fact that they're undead means they don't know they're getting hurt, because, well, once a body is dead what more can happen to it ?  Dismemberment is an option, of course and often quite satisfying ... but that's fairly pointless if they're not even aware of limbs being severely severed.  No, there's only one thing that such foul-smellin', rottin' grave-warmers understand, and that's the wrath of a vengeful god !

Grinning horribly as he waits for the horror of understanding to dawn in the raven-plucked eyes of these dead men, Aarnr taps his amulet once more.

"Bowbe."  A simple threat, delivered with the smug expectation that the corpses before him are just about to wet themselves.

His vision was finally clearing, and Arkan takes a long moment before their enemies close to rub his eyes deeply with one hand, trusting in his magic and his companions to protect him should their foes make a mad dash to close the distance.

He also racks his mind to see if he can recall anything useful about these sorts of creatures....

---

"Undead, is it?" Eilieen murmurs in response to Arkan.  Beginning to build a good head of unadulterated rage, she is interrupted as a bolt of pain shoots through her head.  With a weak cry, she closes her eyes, struggling against the sudden spike running through her mind.

She can see, now, but her concentration falters.

"A moment, Erista," the priestess gasps, fumbling for her holy symbol.  It's here somewhere, there's a cord around her neck, she can't have dropped it...

OOC - Apparently Stunned and Unable to Parry this round.  :( 

Colwyn considers his options.  He's seen undead before (though, to be honest, only since he's been on this expedition) and he's certain he doesn't have a weapon that can harm these things.

Or does he?

Perhaps fire can hurt them...

The rogue looks about and locates his pack.  And moments later he is searching through it, until he finds a ragged ball of filthy cloth.  Unwrapping this, he drops a glass flask into his right hand.

"This'll be doin' fer them." he says, with a wicked smile.

Arkan stands his ground for the moment, squinting his etes and peering at the attackers.  They're some kind of undead, of that he is almost entirely certain, but as for the type, that is another matter... 

A pale beam of light pours forth from Erista's hand, reaches across the intervening distance, and strikes Bilfro's assailant, causing it to burn.  The creature shrieks, and turns to find the source of the sudden pain.  With an angry hiss, it starts to drift towards Erista.

Which gives Bilfro ample opportunity to extricate Valkyria from the birch... and now his enemy has its back turned!

Colwyn searches through his pack, then stands, a round glass flask in one hand, and the most cruel of cruel smiles upon his lips.

Eilieen fumbles for her holy symbol, apparently confused.  Finally her hand, still twitching slightly, closes around the silver token of Zadastha... 

The second still-active enemy tries to grab at Aarnr, but the priest is too fast for it, and steps back to avoid the blow and, realising now the futility of trying to strike it with his blade, he calls upon his god for aid.  With ear splitting shrieks, all of the remaining undead flee, scattering into the forest like clouds of noxious vapour...

"Nadgers!" growls Colwyn, with a rueful look at the flask in his hand.

"I'm going to throw that froggin' statue in the gleepin' river !"

Aarnr moves forwards purposefully, quite annoyed that the ghosts got away.  He has knocked down a house before, but if the huge carved block of stone proves less co-operative ... well, he's got a pair of oxen and he's sure someone will have some rope.

Someone better have some rope ...


OOC: rules be damned - for a priest of Bowbe, it's not so much 'asking for aid' as 'bringing the undead's attention as to exactly what's going to happen to them if he should get his hands on them.'  ;>

Taking heavy breaths though he has hardly moved, Arkan stares at the retreating wispy forms of the wraiths. He still keeps staring some time after they have vanished from sight, then turns to glance at Aarnr, who is now striding purposefully towards the statue.

"Well done Aarnr, that probably saved all our lives," he says, noting the warrior priest continuing to move towards the statue. "Maybe we should leave the statue alone..." he adds, knowing though his words will have little effect on the stubborn barbarian.

Waiting to see how things play out Arkan keeps his sword drawn, keeping his senses as aware as possible.

Aarnr nods his agreement.  "Alone ... in the fobbin' river.  In elfin' pieces !"

A trifle disappointed in the lack of undead for her to ignite, Eilieen blinks the last of the blur from her eyes, and bows toward Aarnr.  "Indeed," she agrees to Arkan's compliment.  "Well-done Aarnr.  Well-done, everyone."

Her lips purse.  "Perhaps we should leave the statue alone.  It might be a monument from those who stood against the undead in the past."

"Those bat-fowlin', pottle-deep mold-warps," Aarnr is not shy in providing his honest opinion of the ghosts, "said that they were froggin' priest of the elfin', toad-knockin' dragon-god, an' said that was his gleepin' statue !" the priest explains in a most reasonable fashion, pausing only for a moment before continuing towards the aforementioned and imperiled statue.

"If we knock the spleeny, half-faced pud down an' smash it, that'll teach 'em !"

"He might.. actually.. have a point," Erista offers.  "I mean, we might have run them off, but we're..."  she glances around and forges on anyway, "Capable adventurers.  There's no telling how many people have picked this landmark to camp by and been less fortunate, but maybe if we bring the statue down the ghosts won't be able to stay and attack others?  I don't really know a lot about ghosts," she admits, "But it seems like that might give them reason to move on.  At the very least, it seems like it would give passers-by less reason to stop here in particular."

"It's bein' a bleedin' good job fer them as 'ow they was buggerin' off,  I were just bein' gettin' started on them." Colwyn declares, as he carefully wraps the flask and replaces it in his pack.  Then he goes to retrieve his thrown blade.

"I's 'greein' with Aarnr an' Erista." he says as he returns, "Be knockin' it down, an' smashin' it ter bits.  Then smashin' the bits ter littler bits."

"An' p'rhaps be findin' the bodies, an doin' what yer needs ter be doin' ter be stoppin' them comin' back as bleedin' ghosts."

"I may have missed the part about it being their god," Eilieen admits, having been stunned, blinded, and whatever else had transpired at that time.  "If that is the case, I have no issue with the destruction of the statue.  Only take care - such things may be trapped, and not by poisoned needles.  I saw no magic about it, but one never knows..."

As for the bodies?  "I shall see to the fallen," she murmurs.  "Colwyn?  Might you have a torch handy?"

Rather disconcerted that everyone seems to be agreeing with him, Aarnr ne'ertheless plumps for wanton destruction over stubborn contrariness and sets to on his task.

"Cut off their froggin' heads and nail 'em to the gleepin' trees ?" he suggests as a suitable way of 'seeing to the fallen'.  Seems to be the favoured method of warning people off round here.  Of course, his own people would just kill any and all people who might need warning off, so the problem doesn't arise, but when in the decadence of civilisation it behoves one to do as the decadently civilised would do.   When it suits him.

"I's 'avin' torches." Colwyn replies to Eilieen, "Why?  We's 'avin a fire an' all, what's yer needin' a torch fer?"  The rogue doesn't seem to be critical of Eilieen's need for a torch, but more genuinely curious.

Other members of the party, meanwhile, seem more interested in the statue.  Or, rather, the destruction thereof.

Colwyn snaps his fingers, "Yer's needin' the torch ter 'elp yer be findin' the bodies of them there priests!"

As the wraiths do not return again Arkan finally sheathes his blade with a quick twirling motion. He doesn't have any tool that might help in destroying the statue though, but he is willing to help in any way possible.

"Perhaps we could push it over, if its not completely affixed to the ground? Its own weight might crack it into pieces," he offers helpfully.

---

Colwyn plucks a torch from the bundle affixed to his pack and hands it to Eilieen with an expectant look...

Trailing mud and water as he stomps out of the stream, Aarnr looks around for any more of the ghosts to yell abuse at then sheathes his sword.

Thump !  Thump !  The priest's boot crashes into the ground around the statue, sinking into the turf just enough to bring a grim smile to Aarnr's face, which broadens as he gives the statue a shove, just enough to make sure.

"Right then, ye pukin', half-faced mammet," Aarnr snarls, spitting on his hands and putting his back into it, "ye are froggin' goin' down, ye totterin', pigeon-liver'd tallow-catch !"

"I actually need one for tomorrow morning," Eilieen replies to Colwyn, somewhat distracted and not realizing how ridiculous that likely sounds.  "But right now, I would like to go have a look at the bodies - if any exist - and it's rather dark."

She didn't see the fight - much at all - but everyone has been talking about bodies, seeing to them, so she assumes there are things to look upon.  And ensure they stay...well, dead and NOT moving.

Against his better judgement, Arkan joins the thewy barbarian at the statues base. His keen eyes had seen right, the ground was soft at the base and it should be possible for them to topple it, if enough force is applied.

"Lets see how strong you really are," Arkan challenges Aarnr, standing next to his companion and putting both hands on the statue while pushing hard with his legs.

"It's probably for burning," Erista explains to Colwyn.  "Otherwise she'd just ask me to light another rock.  Er, hopefully this isn't cheating too much, but..."  She focuses on Aarnr, pressing one fist into the other and then splaying the fingers of both hands as she says, "巨大的增长!"

"Right yer is." Colwyn says, with a brief nod to Eilieen.  He's not foolish enough ask a priestess why she would need a torch in daylight.  In his experience such questions generally lead to sermons, possibly with parables attached, about how all men are blind and need a torch to see the side of a barn at noon.  Or some such...

Nearby, Erista utters an incomprehensible (to all but her) string of syllables.  Aarnr experiences a brief spell of dizziness... and suddenly finds that the statue doesn't seem as tall as he remembers.  Nor do any of his companions...

Arkan, and the gigantic Aarnr push against the statue.  Nothing happens.  Then, after a few moments there is a tearing, sucking sound as the stone plinth shifts and tears itself free of the soft earth.  The statue hits the ground with a dull thud and a squelching sound, leaving a roughly square hole in the ground where it had stood...

Igniting the torch in the fire -- she could ask Erista, but this saves the magic for more important circumstances -- Eilieen paces around in search of the bodies.  "Perhaps someone can point the spot out," she calls, uncertain of where to begin.

Aarnr does indeed feel rather mighty as he towers over his companions ... but he's neither drunk enough nor saddled with a rampaging god, so even he realises something out of the ordinary is going on ...

"There's a froggin' hole here !" the priest complains.

There is, indeed, a roughly square depression, about four feet on each side, and about four or five inches deep, where the base of the statue had previously been embedded.  At the centre of the depression is a deeper hole, a little more than two feet on each side.  In the gloom, further details are hard to make out... 

The statue, meanwhile, lays face down, with its head in the stream, but still intact.

Regaining his footing quickly lest he go flying head over heels into the murky waters, Arkan crouches over the hole, gazing inside with interest, seeing the odd box shaped shadow in the gloom along with what appeared to be skulls.

"Colwyn, could you come over? We have found something, looks like a box, and possibly the remains of those dragon-priest wraiths, but I don't want to risk any traps," he says, waving the rogue over. "And Eileen, can you bring the torch, we need some light here."

"I did not expect that to work," Erista says quietly to Eileen.  Hearing Arkan calling back, though, she adds cheerfully and more loudly, "Great job, guys!"

"I expected more use of my healing prayers after the attempt," Eilieen sighs in reply to Erista, picturing a hand sticking out from under the fallen statue.  "I'm pleased to be wrong."

At the request, she stares at the stream.  "Wet boots," the priestess sighs, heading over.

There's probably no danger of the box rising up and trying to bite anyone one, but "Smash those froggin' skulls," Aarnr advises Arkan.  "Probably belong to those wayward, dronin' blind-worms."

Leaving all that to the others, Aarnr looks around for a very big fallen bough, else sets about acquiring one, then uses that to pummel the statue, hoping to break it before it gets hammered into the muddy streambed.

"Filthy ... toad-spotted ... fusty ... malmsy-nosed ... dog-hearted ... odiferous ... fishified ... pribblin ... giglet !"  There's a certain cadence to the priest's efforts.

While Aarnr sets about destroying the statue, Colwyn makes his way to the hole, ignoring the squelching sounds from his boots.

"Old skulls." he notes, "Bone's bein' yeller, an' rotted."

The box is of more interest.  Damp, decaying wood.  Worm-eaten.  A prod from the rogues dagger breaks off a large chunk of the surface, which crumbles between Colwyn's fingers.

A series of violent impacts indicate that Aarnr is hard at work.

"Lock's lookin' as it's bein' rusted.  Like as not bein' easier ter jus' break the box.  Only we's not knowin' what's bein' in it.  We might be breakin' that as well."

And all the while he's working at the wood with his blade.

There is a loud snapping noise, followed by a thud.  The statues ankles have broken, and the plinth (with the feet still attached) falls to lay flat in the dirt...

Crouching beside Colwyn, Arkan gazes at the box and notes how easily it crumbles at Colwyn's touch.

"Little surprise its rotting, who knows how long it was buried in the wet mud here. If you can't open it I say we cut away the wood gently; just look how easily it crumbles. If we are careful we could remove the wood without damaging whatever is inside," he says, gesturing at the container and turning to glance at Colwyn.

Aarnr grunts with what might be satisfaction as a bit of the statue breaks off ... then grunts again when he works out he's been putting all his efforts into thumping the wrong end !  With a stream of invective that is strangely little different from his earlier diatribe, the priest takes a couple of steps to the side and then continues his efforts, trying to break the ugly head off the statue.

"... dankish ... mangled ... flap-mouthed ... geekin' ... guts-gripin' ... pox-marked ... rats-bane !"

Colwyn reaches carefully into the hole and draws out the box, wincing as a couple of the skulls topple into the vacated space.  The box, laid on the ground beside the hole, is about eight inches by six, and six inches deep.  Very plain in design, and badly worm eaten.

Eilieen moves closer with the torch.  Colwyn bends closer to the box, peering at it.  More particularly at the lock.  Then he holds the tip of his dagger against the edge of the mechanism, before using the heel of his other hand to bang on the pommel of the blade.

After a few knocks, he lets go of the weapon and gives a satisfied grunt as it stays lodged in place.  Gripping it, he begins to twist it and work it back and forth.  With a sound of tearing, splintering wood, the lock starts to pull out of the front of the box...

Aarnr continues working, and seems to be making good progress on destroying the statue, as a number of the more fragile parts break off under the rain of blows...

"Careful!" Eilieen quickly states.  "A moment, Colwyn -- there might be danger here not easy for clever eyes to recognize."  Kneeling down (silently bemoaning the filthy muck), the priestess leans forward, holding out the torch to better illuminate the skull she has spotted.

"That skull, there.  There is a mark upon the forehead, perhaps burned in."  Squinting, she scrutinizes it.  "Arkan, Erista, do you see it?  Is it something you know?"

OOC -- Perfectly average Religion roll barely nets me a 20.

"Froggin' ... smash ... those ... cockered ... sheep-bitin' ... fool-born ... spongy ...skulls !"

Aarnr the giant repeats his earlier advice, this time forcefully punctuated by his continuing hearty whacks at the statue with the large bit of the tree that has by now seen better days.

Ignoring the sound of the statue being pulverized as well as the colorful language being used by his companion, Arkan turns his attention from the box Colwyn is working on look at the skull Eileen points at.

He squints at the mark in the light of the torch and racks his mind to see if he recalls anything about it. "Something to do with those dragon priest wraiths perhaps, these are likely their earthly bodies...perhaps it is the mark to their cult?"

---

ooc: Knowledge (Arcana): 19; Knowledge (History): 10
This message was last edited by the player at 17:53, Tue 19 June 2018.

Erista remains reluctant to cross the chest-deep waters, but at Eileen's query, approaches the river bank and looks at it doubtfully.  Then, in a moment of inspiration, she once again utters a magical phrase and suddenly doubles in size.

Wading out across the river, she splashes cheerfully on her way across.  "This is kind of fun," she observes as she gets to the other side, taking a moment to look Eileen almost straight in the eyes.  "I can see why you folk go stomping around everywhere.  OK, what?  Let's see.  偵查 魔法!"

There is another loud *crack*, and the statue parts company with its head.  A fracture opens up down the back of the torso.

Colwyn succeeds in prizing the lock away from the rotten wood.

Erista leans down a little bit, and then suddenly smiles.  "Oh!  Yeah, I've seen that - my Nana had this really old book, Milborg's Ancynt Beests for Chyldryn, had lots of old runes in it.  We were never sure what language they were from; Mum thought it was supposed to teach reading.  That one was on the Dragon page.  And then sometime somebody had written under it, `Lord of Death, King of the Upper Air, Sees All that Lays Below Him', but that was just in Halfling, so.. more recent, but older than Nana still.  I always liked the way it sounded.  My favorite was on the Nymph page, though; `Winsome, but ware her wiles'.  Didn't even know what it meant when I was little, it was just fun to say."

The rune sorted, she gives her attention to looking over Colwyn's shoulder.

Colwyn looks up, with a scowl, as Erista looms over him...

Eilieen blinks at Erista's explanation.  "Very impressive memory," she murmurs.  "That would dovetail with my own reading, that elder cults would at times brand their initiates with a mark."  She purses her lips.  "Said mark killing the initiates if they broke from their worship."

The nymph description sounds as if it would have fit right in, back at temple.

Aarnr was just about to go and smash the froggin' skulls himself, matter now how interestin' anyone else found the yellowed caluminous clouted bladders ...

... but that crack in the back of the statue was just too tempting.

<WHACK WHACK WHACK>

While Aarnr works on enlarging the crack in the statue's torso, Colwyn ignores the flying splinters of wood and fragments of stone, and carefully uses the tip of his blade to lift the lid of the box.  The hinges noisily protest the movement.

Finally, though, the lid stands open, and Colwyn peers in, in the flickering torchlight.

"Bleedin' nothin'!" he growls, indicating the contents, "Bits of parchment's bein' all what's there."

While he hadn't been interested in the box, Aarnr finds Colwyn's revelation extremely disappointing.  Coin wouldn't have stirred him in the slightest and if there'd been nothing at all in there it would have left him indifferent ... but the brazen taunt of stuffing it with useless bits of paper (whether with or without the scratchings that civilised folk seem enslaved by) makes him angry.  Or at least angrier.

In response to the insult, the huge priest resumes his assault on the statue with renewed vigor and just a touch more vehemence in his invective ...

"... saucy ... pheasant-baitin' ... currish ... base-court ... yeasty ... logger-headed ... totterin' ... paper-pushin' ... puttock !"

"Fascinating Erista, I too recall having seen something like this, though it has been ages since this runic tongue was used even in rituals or invocations. It does spell Dragon, at least in its simplest translation," Arkan remarks, gesturing towards the skull while looking up at his suddenly tall companion.

When Colwyn uncovers the contents of the box Arkan reaches out excitedly, "Allow me to have a look, perhaps I can decipher what is written upon them!"

Taking the parchments out in his gloved hands carefully, Arkan unfurls them in the torchlight and tries to make out what information they contain.

"Maybe it's a treasure map!" Erista proposes, hopefully.

"Nah!" Colwyn grumbles.  "They ain't bein' a map.  Jus' lots of bits what's got writin' on them."  He grabs a handful of the paper scraps, fans them out and examines them.  They're all about the same - roughly six inches by four, with a short passage written in a script like that on the base of the statue.

"These 'ere is all sayin' the same bleedin' thing.  See 'ere, it's sayin' Daargukh, jus' like what were on the statue, then there's a bit more what's not makin' no bloody sense, an' then there's bein' some nummers... says... lessee... ten thousan'."

"An' this one's sayin' five thousan'.  An' 'ere se'en 'unnert."

There is another loud report, and the status's torso splits in two, diagonally, from right shoulder to left hip.

There comes a low growl of distant thunder...

At last, Aarnr pauses, satisfied at last at the destruction he has wrought.  That in the long years to come, other adventurers will pass this way and wonder not at who raised this statue to the dragon god, but instead at what mighty force brought it low ... crosses his thoughts not at all.  Though the threatening thunder is a sign that he's on the right track here.

The priest is, however, still concerned at the continued wholeness of the skulls.

"Those elfin' ghosts," Aarnr turns away from the statue to remonstrate with those of his companions that seem entranced by the pieces of paper (covered in scratchings as he feared), "will as like forget their fears before much froggin' longer."

"If we break their fobbin' skulls, they'll have naught to gleepin' come back to !"

Without further ado the huge barbarian hefts his bough, bringing down one end hard upon one of the skulls in the hole, starting as he means to go on.

Puzzled, Eilieen peers over several sets of shoulders in an attempt to see the parchment.  "So you cannot actually read them, just the numbers and recognize the name," she murmurs, somewhat distraught.  The priestess has a strong feeling that the writings might be important.

Immediately so.

Whilst Aarnr continues his rampage against the skulls -- marked with dragon according to Arkan, and that word is coming up all-too-often for her taste -- she steps back.  "Ten thousand.  Five thousand.  They don't keep dropping, those numbers, do they?  Hopefully it's not some kind of 'count of years' until their dragon-god-thing returns."

Of course, it's possible they're counting UP, not DOWN.

Any form of counting is suspicious, whether up or down, though Aarnr nods his agreement with Eilieen's misgivings.  Ten thousand years sounds like a horribly long time to have to wait to fight a dragon or dragon god or dragon ghost or whatever it might be that's coming.

Aarnr starts smashing the skulls, pausing briefly as Eilieen explains her misgivings.

Colwyn shakes his head.  "I's not knowin'.  There's bein' lots of each nummer.  These is all bein' ten thousan'.  These is all bein' five thousan'.  There's jus' bein' one se'en 'unnert so far's I's seein'.  Other nummers too, in diff'rent counts."

Aarnr growls angrily at all the talk of numbers, and slams his cudgel down into the hole again, shattering the final skull.

There is a shriek of rage, and the stench of brimstone suddenly fills the air...

Erista shrugs.  "They'd make good firestarter, at least," she decides.  Then the brimstone hits her nose,and she looks up sharply.  "Not that good, though!"

"Hm.  Thank you, Colwyn!  We should probably keep the numbers in-mind; if we encounter something similar, there might be a connection."  Pat on the shoulder, and Eilieen stands, jumping slightly at the shriek and the smell.

"Goodness," she murmurs, turning slowly in a circle to scan the area in search of materializing spirits.  "That's...unhealthy."

OOC - Yes, I AM looking for enemies, just in case.

Why anyone would need numbers, let alone bother to write them on scraps of paper is beyond Aarnr, though judging by the interest his companions show in them it seems against all reason that there might be a ready market for such.

It amuses the barbarian to think that he could probably sell large tracts of insect-infested swamp to such people ... and that they would undoubtedly fall over themselves to be allowed to buy such.  He might have to talk to Erista and see what she thinks he could get for them.  Ale and swords, obviously.  Perhaps a freshly killed beast or two.  Even a couple of heads ...

The accompaniment of shrieking to the pleasant sound of breaking bone rouses the priest from such deep philosophical thoughts.  Smashing the skulls was sufficient unto itself, a bonus that it might banish forever the ghosts ... and even better if it angers them so, that they feel moved to retaliate.

Hefting his makeshift cudgel, Aarnr the Large turns his head, seeking the next fight ...

Scratching his chin as he thinks, Arkan wonders what the numbers could mean. Any number of things, to be honest, but none of them good, that at least he can feel to be true.

As Aarnr finishes smashing the statue and moves onto smashing skulls (literally!), Arkan watches with grim fascination. Until the smell of brimstone begins to permeate the air and an unearthly shriek resounds in the area.

"Better keep these in case they come of use later my friend," he says, handing the scraps of parchment to Colwyn, and moving to the side, unsheathing his blade and holding it sideways with two hands.

Colwyn shoves the parchment scraps back into the box, and rises to his feet to survey the surrounding darkness as the last echoes of the horrific shriek fade away into the night.

He's not the only one.

A number of his companions are armed and alert.  In the aftermath, silence hangs over the forest for several heartbeats... and then a fox barks somewhere, and moments later the air is filled with the chirping of crickets and cicadas.

Colwyn turns back to the box and picks it up.  "I's wondrin' why some bugger'd be fillin' a box with nummers.  Any 'ows, I's stickin' it in the cart.  Maybe's we can be findin' some bugger what's knowin' the answer."

"Fair enough," Eilieen murmurs.  "And why not?"  It's unlikely they're stealing 'wards' or the like from the box, but just to be certain she'll test that tomorrow.

For the moment, she slowly surveys the surroundings.  "I think," the priestess absently declares, "that my turn at watch is finished...."

As the chirping of crickets and various other animal sounds return, Arkan sheathes his large sword back into its back-mounted sheath upon his back with a lazy one handed twirl of the blade. Though the gesture seems casual it had taken years to build up the strength in his arms and wrist to enable him to do so.

"Well, this seems over, for the time being. Should we get some more rest before moving onwards to the source of all this evil?" he asks his companions. When he means 'the source' Arkan obviously refers to the dungeon that is the target of their quest.

Colwyn raises a hand.  "My sleep were bein' ruined.  I's thinkin' we'd best be stayin' 'ere 'til mornin', then movin' on in daylight.  This damned forest's bein' black as pitch in the night.  Least ways, in daylight we can be seein' what's tryin' ter kill us."

"'lessin' it's bein' envisibuled or some such."

Around the group, the dark forest seems to be filling, gradually, with normal night sounds...

The very big priest sighs at it seems the dragon priests have given up the ghost.  He considers going back to smashing the statue up some more, but it's already in enough pieces really.  Casually tossing the splintery bit of tree aside, Aarnr strides back across the rivulet.

"I'll take the next watch, in case any of those ratsbanes return," he avows, taking a seat by the fire and making himself comfortable, his blade resting across his knees.

If not, perhaps some of the returning wildlife will come close enough to become breakfast.

Much to the disappointment of some, the rest of the night passes quietly.

Morning, however, appears to promise more strife.  As the sun rises, it is hidden behind clouds the colour of spilled blood, and the dawn chorus seems subdued, as if Nature itself is nervous of the omens the sky presents...

The air above the clearing is still and heavy, and far off to the east thunder mutters sullenly.

Colwyn lays wrapped tightly in his blanket, glaring in the general direction of the sky, first with one eye, and then with the other.

Erista rolls out from under the wagon, smiling surprisingly cheerfully.  "I dreamt I was an ogre," she says, brightly, to anyone who might be listening.  "I was stomping through this village and everyone was running.  Do you guys feel like that all the time?  Just... huge?  Or does it seem normal to you?"

"Good morning, Erista!" Eilieen brightly greets the diminutive magus.  "What an interesting...and somewhat disturbing...dream," she continues, working on the morning's breakfast (as always).  "I don't particularly - good morning, Colwyn, rise and shine! - I don't particularly like to think of myself as huge," she continues.  "But yes, it is normal for us.  Much as your size is for yourself."

She frowns, considering the cart and its size, compared to Erista.  "Though...constantly moving through human communities must accentuate the difference."  An interesting thought; how might she feel if living among halflings for a long period?

Overlarge and clumsy, I would guess, the priestess considers.

"Colwyn, if you have yet another torch, I might have a present for you," she notes to the now-grudgingly-awakened rogue.

Erista's dream puzzles Aarnr as he habitually stomps through villages and often as not people are cowering away if not outright having it away on their toes, so to him it seems perfectly normal.

That said, the priest must admit that his companions do vary a lot in size - this morning, for instance, he merely towers over them, whereas while he was smashing the statue last night they all appeared to be a lot smaller.  He's heard of animals who can change their appearance so as to make themselves seem less attractive to their predators, so undoubtedly this is something that civilised folk do naturally else the more bloody-minded amongst the population, such as himself, would have slaughtered them all long ago.

As neither ghosts nor wild animals disturbed anyone's sleep, it was left to Aarnr's morning remonstrations with Bowbe to kick off the waking up process.  And this day the language was particularly choice, specifically in regard to the inability of the Sword of Gonder to harm said ghosts, setting out in scathing terms the priests opinion on that matter.

Colwyn seems a little reluctant to hand Eilieen another of his precious torches, at least until the concept of his getting a gift in exchange seeps into his sleep-befuddled head.

"A present?  Fer me?  What's it bein' then?"

Disentangling one arm from the blanket he drags his pack round in front of him and extracts another torchfrom the diminishing bundle.  This he hands to the priestess...

Humming to herself, Eilieen takes the unlit torch with a flourish and a small bow.  Peering at it, the priestess judges it serviceable; she would have preferred something of fine oak, polished, possibly with a nice finish on it, but...torches are torches, really, and expectations cannot be too high.

"Unquenchable love," she sing-songs, "unwavering loyalty, and the ever-watching ward against the undying!  Zadastha's light shall stand firm against the dark!"

And she passes her hand over the torch.

Pearly pink motes fall from her palm, coalescing about the tip of the torch.  There, they agglomerate, slowly coming together; the joining of two sparks produces a light with more than double their previous shine, and each further joining burns more brilliantly.  Finally, burning white, they rush toward apotheosis; there comes a coruscating flare...

...which settles into a cheery flame blazing upon the torch.

"Ah," Eilieen breathes.  "Without smoke.  Without heat."  Demonstrating, she grasps the burning end with her free hand for several seconds; the flame continues to dance, while her hand remains unharmed.  "Endless light, but it can be hidden or hooded like a lantern."  This time for the demonstration, the torch goes under her cloak, hidden away, then removed and offered to Colwyn.  "And...cuts down on how many you need to buy," she states with a wink.  "I rather owe you this, Colwyn, for the torches you have sacrificed."

The priestess cocks her head to the side, touching her lips with one finger thoughtfully.  "We might do the same for small objects to toss into a room, I suppose.  Or a little ball to roll down stairs."

OOC - Continual Flame cast upon the torch.  Where did Continual Light go in 3.5?  :D

Arkan had risen early, having fallen into an exhausted sleep the night before. Freshening up he perused his spellbook for a bit before cleaning his weapons and raking the mud off his boots, getting them ready for another days traveling.

As the others get up and about he watches and listens to them for a bit, making small talk  and smiling at Erista's dream. The light show Eileen makes with the torch catches his attention most of all though, as it likely does everyone else.

"A useful prayer that, though quite similar to spells some mages can cast. I have often wondered if we draw upon similar sources for our magic, but using different techniques to shape the power into form," he says to the priestess, gesturing at the heatless yet still lit torch she offers Colwyn.

Colwyn takes the torch, nervously, though with a muttered word of thanks.  He raises his left hand close to the flame, as if expecting some trickery from Eilieen.  It burns no more hotly than a cool breeze.

After a moment he covers it with his blanket, then uncovers it and examines the blanket for scorch marks or burned holes.

"I's reckonin' as 'ow even Aarnr couldn't be settin' fire ter nothin' with this." he says happily.  Then he stands and essays a shallow bow.

"Yer's 'avin' my thanks." he declares, oddly formal (by his standards).

He finds his spare shirt in his pack, only a little cleaner than the one he's been wearing since the quest began, and wraps it around the torch, which he then secures to his pack with the others.

And then he stops, with a shocked look on his face.

"'ere!  Wha's bein' fer brekkie then?"

A torch that won't set fire to things seems less useful, though Aarnr will allow that the light would certainly be a help as it can be hard to see what he needs to kill in the darkness ...

... and as far as he can tell, the torch itself is still wood, so assumedly would burn nicely as and when required.

For all the efforts of the night, they're merely left with a broken statue, some shattered skull fragments and some useless bits of paper.  Nothing there to feed a hungry priest.  Aarnr looks around the clearing, hoping to spot a wild boar or suchlike that might serve for breakfast ... but in the likely event than nothing palatable obligingly presents itself, will grudgingly concede that they'll have to make do with the provisions provided by the survivors good cityfolk of Crossroads.

Breakfast, as it turns out, is more than adequate, even if a little lacking in the bloody meat course.  Eilieen has done her usual sterling job of feeding the party.

With the meal out of the way, the group set out eastward once more.  The road, as previously, runs through dense forest.  The canopy casts the road into a gloomy twilight.

Some time before noon heavy rain can be heard drumming on the leafy canopy, and rivulets of water occasionally find their way through to leave puddles of mud on the surface of the highway.

Shortly afterwards several armed men appear walking along the road from the opposite direction.  They seem to be escorting three wagons laden with large crates...

Aarnr welcomes the rain, and passes the time till the next attack by attempting to steer the oxen either into or away from the puddles.  Even though the beasts plod along as they will, following some predetermined course known only to themselves, and puddle hitting or missing is very much left up to them, the priest is still cheered by the illusion of the occasional success.

When the guards appear, Aarnr resists the urge to introduce a new element to the game by steering at them instead, though equally he won't yield his side of the muddy road.

The priest stares hopefully (if somewhat disconcertingly) at both the escorts and the crates upon their wagons, hoping to see something that might indicate the work of foul necromancy or anything else that will do as a pretext.

"Thank you, Arkan."  Eilieen's brow knots for a moment.  "Are you considering that you draw your magic from a god?" she inquires, pursing her lips.  "My power is granted directly from Zadastha; while I admit it is curious that you mages can accomplish similar things, perhaps there are simply many paths to the same goal.*  It might be interesting to discuss this as we travel."

She watches as Colwyn toys with the torch, smiling with pleasure at his appreciation.  His somewhat formal thanks garner an equally solemn bow from the priestess.  "As do you, Colwyn, for all that you do for us.  If this proves of use to you, I am well-pleased."  Then a smile appears.  "Of course, I have breakfast already made...though it might be a tad short on what you consider essentials."

And away they travel.

When they encounter the caravan, Eilieen -- taking her turn curled up in the cart, huddled miserably beneath her hood -- studies them with some interest.  When they approach close enough, she stands (one hand on the cart's rail to avoid falling) and calls out to them.

"What word of the road you pass, travellers?"

* the D&D magic system -- identical for Divine and Sorcerous magic, and very similar with psionics -- occasionally gives me hives.

As is her tradition when the wagon stops for strangers, Erista takes the opportunity to go look at pretty flowers, or whatever perfectly innocent things an adorable little halfling like her must do when no one is looking.

And as is also traditional, when Erista jumps down, Aarnr (who hadn't been intending to stop at all) hauls on the reins, swearing a bit lot and says the magic word which brings both oxen and cart to a halt, before looking around crossly for the offending adorable little Halfling.  :P

The armed men, presumably guards, come to a halt.  Various weapons, swords and spears for the most part, plus a smattering of axes and mauls, are brandished bravely.

One of those who ride the carts steps down and throws back the hood of their cloak to reveal that she is a middle-aged woman, blonde hair tending to grey, somewhat round of face, and with a leather patch over her left eye.

She speaks loudly to the guards, "Steady lads, they've shown no sign that they're bandits."  The guards relax, at least a little.

"Well met, strangers.  We've come from Derindin, and all has been well so far.  We've seen no bandits on the road, so the lads are expecting us to be hit at any moment.  Superstitious lot."

Then she snaps her fingers.  "Almost forgot.  If you're bound eastward, there's a village about two or three hours down the road, with a good tavern.  I promised the tavern keeper that I'd tell any strangers I met about his place.  It's called the Red Barrel."

Still in the cart -- the mud is...well, muddy -- Eilieen offers a small bow at the woman's greeting  She waits quietly while the traveller grants them the boon of information.  "Thank you," the priestess gravely replies once the woman finishes.  "Your help is much appreciated."  She waves along their backtrail.  "There is a small glade at the side of a creek, with a -" now "- broken statue.  I strongly suggest not halting there for the night.  Deviltry occurred, and while we defeated the evil, it may yet linger."

Abruptly the priestess breaks into a sunny smile.  "And your words are well-taken; I would very much appreciate a stay at an Inn for the late afternoon and night!"

Do they have baths?  Please let them have baths!
This message was last edited by the player at 17:49, Wed 18 July 2018.

The woman's attire is somewhat confusing, for Aarnr knows that only pirates wear eyepatches ... though the other distinguishing feature of pirates is that they have a pirate ship and there seems to be no evidence of that here, though the priest supposes the sea might be nearby.  The only other export from Derindin that he knows of are necromancers posing as masons ... but this lot don't look particularly masony either.

Moreover the woman seems most knowledgeable about bandits ... so he's prepared to give her and her men the benefit of the doubt.

"Yes," Aarnr agrees with her on the point that bandits are a superstitious lot.  Or at least he might assume any who survived meeting him and his friends would be, if only he knew what the word meant.  "We met some froggin' bandits ..." pause for some intense cogitation "... two days back."  At least that's how he chooses to remember the self-confessed tax collectors.

"Some of the pignuts got away," he adds, resentfully.  "Watch out for them."  On the offchance they've recovered enough to resume their activities, perhaps all those weapons her men are displaying for his approval might be put to some use.

A tavern ?  They should have ale !  Bowbe !  Make sure they have froggin' ale, thou cullionly, fat-kidney'd bladder !!

"Oh, I wouldn't call it an inn." the woman says with a smile.

"It's but a single room, where the tavern keeper, Rotak, serves a decent selection of ales and wines.  Food too, though there's no kitchen.  You've not lived until you've tasted a pie or pasty, baked by his wife, Essa, in their own house, and carried over while it's piping hot.  ."

"If nothing else, the Red Barrel is clean though."

Aarnr smiles smugly as his demands of his god are more than catered for.  Ale and pie !

As they come across the armed men during their travel, Arkan nods at them as a way of greeting, but otherwise keeping his distance and listening to what they have to say. The mention of an inn a small village along their way excites him; after their recent travails the idea of relaxing at even a small inn in a backwater village sounds like a luxurious reward

"We thank you for this information. If we come across the inn I will be sure to tell Rotak and Essa of your help in sending us their way," he said to the woman with a smile.

Once more, Aarnr puzzles over this.  The idea of thanking someone, let alone for advice they offered freely is odd in itself, but nothing more than he has come to expect ... but given the trail of death, destruction and smouldering embers that he and his companions usually leave in their wake, it seems a bit harsh to blame this nameless woman and her guards for merely providing directions.

Still, maybe the Inn won't burn down and nobody will die.  Though he can always hope.

And perhaps he's supposed to respond in kind ?  Should he be telling these folk to stop in at that city they were in recently ?  You can't miss it, there's the severed heads of demon-worshipers nailed to the trees nearby.  Just follow the burning stench.  He's certain the locals will be overjoyed to learn just who sent this new group of heavily armed travellers their way.  Though it does go against the grain to be helpful ...

Ah !  There is one piece of useful advice that these folk will appreciate, and he did promise:

"Ye should stop by and see Gonder," the priest informs them eagerly. "He makes froggin' good blades !" he proudly indicates his own sword as a fine example of the art.  "I recomm ... recon ... reckon you could find no froggin' better!"

Not an inn.  No bath.  Eilieen droops slightly at the news.  At least they might manage a roof over their heads, that night, even if it means sleeping on the tables or the cold wooden floor.  "It shall be a fine change, with fine food," she rallies.

Better that than another night waking up covered in dew.

The priestess nods along with Arkan's thanks, and shoots a quick look at Aarnr for his own information.  Is it possible that Bowbë priest is mellowing?  Dare she hope?

"The Red Barrel will be easy to find.  The village, nameless as it is, stands athwart the highway, in the midst of a long ruined city, which was once called Khairak, and was the ancient capital of all the land of Tarkanen.  That was in the days before the wyrm, of course."

She smiles, "If you tell Rotak my name, he will doubtless treat you favourably, for I have, on occasion, supplied him with quality ales and rare wines, and always at fair prices.  I am Kailla Mirronen, and I count Rotak among my friends."

"Ah, so you have had dealings with Gonder?  He is a skilled craftsman, and I have known him for a long time.  Since before he settled down and opened his forge, in fact.  Back in the day he was a mighty warrior, though he's far too modest to ever reveal that himself.  Why, the mere whisper of his name alone could drive off bandits on this road, when he was younger and in full health."

Arkan nods as the woman gives them useful information, storing it away in his mind for later use. It will be good to get rested and refreshed before venturing into the dungeon. Speaking of which...

"You would not happen to know how much further from the ruins of Khairak Rappan Athuk lies would you? Our quest takes us in that direction, I'm afraid," he asked her curiously, wondering if she could provide them with any information regarding their destination.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:55, Sat 28 July 2018.

Athwart. Obviously a nonsense word.  Aarnr lets that one pass, along with the litany of names of places and people, hoping to hear more about the wyrm.  From the sound of it, the beast laid waste to the city, whatever it was called,  and made its den in the ruins.  That's how these things generally go.  Might make the beast harder to find, without screaming cityfolk to point them in the right direction, but luckily such creatures rarely bother with attempts as concealment, as he understands it.  They'll just need to get close enough and make a lot of noise.

It is interesting to hear that Gonder was once a mighty warrior, though sad that he was not granted a good death.  Perhaps the gods require service of the Dwarf still ... making his fine weapons that those warriors that follow in his footsteps can find their own deaths ?

"I'm not froggin' afraid !" the priest clarifies, glaring at Arkan.

"I've never travelled to that cursed place," Kailla Mirronen says quickly, "may its vile Master be driven forth, and the dungeon cleansed with fire and steel."

"I can tell you, though, that it is but two days from here to Derindin, where the road crosses a deep ravine.  From Derindin, it is, perhaps, three days to to Rappan Athuk... " she spits on the road, "... if you travel directly south-east across country, or a bit less than five, if you follow the road to Freegate, then take the Coast Road southward."

She glances about, as her men-at-arms mutter among themselves.  "What business do you have in that nest of evil?"

Puzzling further over whether three is bigger or smaller than five, Aarnr is pleased when the woman asks a question he can answer.

"We're goin' to slaughter ever last pukin', bat-fowlin' rats-bane we can froggin' find there !" the priest assures her, raising a pudgy finger to the heavens for emphasis, momentarily surprised to find a silver ring with a green gem set upon his littlest finger, before a glimmer of memory lurches forward.

"So I've sworn to both my froggin' god an my dismal-dreamin' queen !"

If only he could remember her name. Or even the lands that he's now nominally king of, especially since there was something about fighting to regain that throne which he wouldn't want to miss out on.

Aarnr's brow furrows.

Patting Arkan on the shoulder in sympathy, Eilieen decides it might be a good idea to convince their listeners that some level of sanity exists.  "As Aarnr says," she begins, looking for a reword, "the land has suffered under Rapan Athuk's darkness, a darkness ever-growing.  We seek to bring light to that foul place, and cleanse it of its evil."  She smiles sadly.  "Many have tried, and until now Rapan Athuk remains.  But without some kind of action, it will certainly overwhelm these lands completely."

Besides which, there are the un-dead and followers of Orcus to consider, and annihilate.

Three days, and three days only.  Eilieen suppresses a shiver; unlike Aarnr, she is afraid. But it will not stop her.

The attitude of the men-at-arms seems to lighten with Aarnr's answer, and they are noticeably more relaxed as Eilieen adds to her fellow priest's assurances.

"Then you have my blessing, my friends, as a worshipper of Belon the Wise." Kailla Mirronen states.  "At Journey's Start tomorrow I will call upon Him to watch over your group, as he watches over all travellers, and I shall make special mention of your destination, the difficulty of your journey, and the fact that your aim is to commit a deed which will make travel upon this road safer for all good folk."

She bows, making an odd gesture with her right hand, tracing the outline of a sigil upon her forehead with the index and middle fingers.

Followers of Bowbe are not the sort who engage much in debates around philosophy, morality, comparative religion - indeed anything other than who killed the most in the battle just gone - and so the name of Belon does not jog loose any ale-sodden memories as to, well anything at all about that god.

On the other hand, it would be a terrible thing where Aarnr and his companions die without reaching Rappan Athuk, so while the priest isn't particularly concerned that they'll meet anything on this road that is more fearsome than himself, he won't begrudge this chance-met traveller her sentiment.

Nor, despite the obvious temptation, will he gesture in return.  Instead Aarnr nods in a manner that might be mistaken for gratitude.

As Kailla Mirronen turns to remount the lead wagon, the guards start to move forward along the road.  Colwyn, ever suspicious of those whose function in life seems to be to stop him investigating other peoples' property, turns away from them as they pass.

He knows of Belon, of course.  A god who watches over travellers, and interferes in the honest business of highwaymen and those who pilfer goods from caravans, so a worshipper of his is no more welcome than a visit from a thief-taker.  Still, the promise of aid from a god, assuming he makes good on it, is always welcome...

For that reason, the rogue holds his tongue as the wagons pass.

Erista waves cheerfully from the wagon, where, apart from some fresh flowers braided into her hair, she might well have been the entire time.

"Zadastha's blessings upon you all in return," Eilieen calls as the wagons move past.  "May you reach your destination in safety!"  All of them, she prays, not only the employers.  Reaching out, she pats Erista on the shoulder.  "There.  We've now managed a meeting without anyone being killed, wounded, or even insulted."

Zadastha's priestes draws in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, happy sigh.  "An improvement!"

"They're froggin' learnin'," Aarnr agrees with Eilieen as he flicks the reins to suggest to the oxen that it might be time to consider moving forwards again.

Obviously word is getting around as to the prowess of himself and his companions and those they encounter are thus suitably cowed.

"Not far to Rappan Athuk," he adds cheerfully.

With the road cleared of the caravan, the party set out again on their journey.  The gloom beneath the overhanging leaves is almost oppressive.

At least until about two hours later, when the trees suddenly thin out to reveal a wide expanse of ruined stone buildings scattered through the forest.  Alarmingly, one of the shattered structures closer to the road bears the marks of huge claws, while another looks as if the stone was melted at some point.

And between the crumbling ruins are mounds of rubble.  Everything is swathed with tangled, sickly vines and stunted trees.

And ahead, alongside the road itself, stand a handful of newer wooden buildings.  One is brightly painted in red and white, and a barrel (also painted red) hangs from a stout beam above the door...

"And this must be the famed Red Barrel," Eilieen notes, probably unnecessarily.  She takes a nervous glance at the clawed and melted stones when passing them.  "A small community, even.  Well, we shall not sleep in comfort, but we shall at least dine decently."

With a whispered word, she passes her hands along her dress, and the material shimmers and dances, any fraying mending.  One must look one's best, after all....

"Shall we?" the priestess queries, indicating the building ahead.

OOC: Casting Mending, of course.

Erista watches Eilieen, and then tugs her own dress up just a bit, looking down at the rather ragged, muddy hem, and the fraying sleeves.  Looking up again, she asks hesitantly, "Um... could you... I mean, would Zadastha mind..?  I know she probably has better things to do, but... could you ask?  Is that OK?"

Colwyn glances down at his own muddied and worn garb.  Then shrugs.

He looks around at the ruins of the city.  "So this is bein' what a city's lookin' like after a dragon's been ter visit.  I's not reckonin' as 'ow I's likin' the idea of bein' in a city ehat's 'avin' a 'normous great dragon flappin' 'roun' the place."

He studies one of the nearby building fragments, then ponders briefly.

"It's bein'... what?  Eight 'unnert years since the dragon were 'ere?  Oh well, I's reckonin' as 'ow any loot what were left layin' 'roun' is bein' long gone.  Most like as the dragon were takin' it."

Having gotten wet early this morning when he waded into the river, Aarnr is already much cleaner than he generally is.

The remains of the city, of course, look much more enticing than the very flammable Red Barrel, and the priest for one is interested in getting a closer look at the claw marks, that he might be able to better estimate the size of the beast that was the cause.

Leaving a place in ruin and destruction ... Aarnr begins to feel that perhaps he and the dragon are kindred spirits.

"Maybe we can find it's froggin' bones ?!!" he suggests to Colwyn with a grunt of excitement.

"If'n it's bein' dead.  Dragons's livin' a bleedin' long time.  An' I was 'earin' as 'ow some of them isn't dyin' when they's bein' dead.  Some's bein' so strong as they's bones is livin' even after the rest of the bugger's bein' dead an' gone.  Colwyn seems less then enthused at the prospect of meeting a dragon that could destroy a whole city, on its own.

The claw marks are clearly visible from the cart, a set of parallel gouges in the stone of the wall almost six inches deep, and spread so that, had it been anything like a human hand, the dragon's paw would have had a span of nearly five feet from thumb to smallest finger.

The rogue eyes the marks glumly.  "An' yer's knowin', right, as 'ow the claws isn't even bein' the most dangerous part of a dragon?"

"Oh, my goodness, Erista!"  Appalled, Eilieen inwardly castigates herself.  Selfish, selfish...  "I'm so sorry.  I should have offered!"  The idea makes her miserable enough that tears threaten, but she resists them, reminding herself that this should be a happy moment, one where she can do something for someone else.  It's not all about her, and her failings.

Placing a hand on her friend's shoulder, she nods firmly.  "Zadastha would most certainly not mind; she offers gladly.  Unfortunately, in a thoughtless moment I have used that prayer for the day; it shall have to wait for tomorrow, but most certainly tomorrow it will happen!  You have my word on the matter."  Said with a second firm nod.  "It will perfectly repair your clothing."  She looks around the group for a moment.  "And each day forth, I shall do the same for another."

Wait...they're talking about dragons.

Eyeing the devastation with some trepitude, Eilieen finds herself agreeing with Colwyn's thoughts on the matter.  "An undying dragon...ugh."  As for the most dangerous part...is that the vomiting forth of fire and acid, or lightning...sundry other devastating elements?  Or the pace-long teeth?

Arkan finds the claw marks fascinating, and he studies the deep gouges in stone intently. "Indeed, I wonder if the dragon that did this yet lives. Perhaps it was drawn by the evil in the dungeon, and dwells therein?" he wonders aloud, something almost like hope echoing in his tone.

Then his expression turns grim as he hears Colwyn's remark. "Aye, dragons can master much of magic, some even managing to cling onto life after death. Such a creature would no doubt make for a powerful servant to the demonlord of the dungeon," he broods, careful not to name the demonlord in question or the dungeon itself.

Gesturing at the ramshackle looking inn he looks at his companions and says in a more jovial tone, "Well, at least we can make sure to make the best of our stay here. Likely our last before venturing into the den of evil."

"No, no, no!" Bilfro says, testily, from the back of the cart, his hat still pulled down low to shade his eyes (and conceal the fact that he had, in fact, been snoozing).  "Eight hundred they said.  Years that is.  Since the dragon was here.  Long before the den of evil came to the place where it presently sits, which is not the same place where it was prior to that."

He tilts his hat back, and looks about, blinking owlishly.  "My goodness, this is astonishing.  If not remarkable.  It's a ruined city, and we aren't responsible for its condition.  I must make a note in my journal."

There may still be a certain amount of lingering resentment...

Colwyn looks at the old mage and opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.  Then opens it once more...

"'ere Bilfro mate, there's bein' a tavern just over there.  We's goin' ter get a bite ter eat, an' some ale or summat."  He smiles cheerily.

"Ah yes... an excellent idea!  Then we can burn the place down on a full stomach."

Yep... almost certainly some lingering resentment...

Erista smiles happily at Eilieen.  "Thank you!" she says.  "And thank Her," she adds.  "Tomorrow's even better," she continues, noticing a hint of guilt in Eilieen's tone.  "I set out on this journey myself and I'm not turning away, but it's hard not to be nervous.  That gives me something to look forward to."

She looks over at Bilfro, and then casts a worried glance towards Aarnr.  She would never accuse Aarnr of not understanding sarcasm, but possibly only for fear of then having to try to explain who Sarcasm is and why Aarnr shouldn't slay him for being so confusing.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:16, Wed 15 Aug 2018.

Aarnr can't even spell sarcasm.

Indeed, though Colwyn and Arken make the prospect of finding the dragon enticing, and the priest fairly relishes the thought of finding it ether alive or undead and then correcting that state of affairs, the rogues and Bilfro's suggestions are even more tempting.  Anything that's lived this long can wait another day or so.  Briefly Aarnr ponders how much wood it'll take to smoke the beast out of hiding ... but the prospect of a meal and a drink cause him to set such lofty thoughts aside.

With a hopeful flick of the reins, he directs the oxen towards the tavern.

Aarnr clearly has a keen sense of priorities, driving the cart towards the Red Barrel as fast as the oxen will move.  There is a hitching post outside the tavern, and Aarnr secures the beasts to it before entering the somewhat decrepit building.

The interior is considerably better than the exterior - all sanded and polished oak, with expensive looking tapestries, and a nice fireplace of white stone blocks which houses a welcoming blaze.  Incense burners enhance the air of single large room with fragrant vapours.  The room contains about fifteen to twenty customers, and a minstrel sits on a stool near the fire, playing a merry popular tune on a harp.

A cheerful voice calls out from the counter at the far side of the room, where a middle-aged man with thinning sandy hair and a thickening waist beams at the newcomers.

"Greetings friends!  First round is on the house.  What'll it be?"

Pleased to be of service to Erista, Eilieen makes a mental note not to forget to pray for the minor miracle of mending (not that she ever forgets this it...one must always be prepared!).  "You're not the only one to be nervous," she confides.  "I'm honestly quite worried."  Her face becomes unwontedly serious, at that, as Eilieen recalls the trio of friends they have lost along the way.

The tavern is a welcoming bit of civilization in the middle of nowhere (middle of mournful, ancient ruins, in fact).  The amount of people, the harpist, the furnishings, the blazing fire, all are welcoming.  "Wine," the priestess calls in return.  "And blessing upon your house, for a blessing upon us it will be!"

Neither Aarnr nor Bowbe have any idea that it is within the god's power to provide such a benison as clean clothing, so if he thought on it, he'd assume it was something Zadasthan's specialised in.  Along with frying undead to a crisp.

The tavern ... appears to be quite a lot nicer than the woman they just met who knew Gonder seemed to imply, and the priest doesn't like that at all, not only because it has the perfumed stench of civilisation, but because there'll doubtless be a lot more vociferous complaining when the place goes up in flames than you get with the average dilapidated hovel catching alight.

Nor, alas, not being a shop-keep (thank fobbin' Bowbe !) is he smart enough to take full advantage of the suspiciously generous offer of a free drink, so can only mutter "Ale" in response.

The interior of the inn certainly gives cause for a silent cheer, a rest here will certainly reinvigorate them, not to mention a hot bath to cleanse the stains of the road and any possible stench of the wraiths.

"Some cool innkeeper, and a lot of it!" Arkan calls out as he takes a seat with the others. Taking off his blade he props it against the side of the table, while gazing at the tapestries on the wall and trying to recall the particular tune the minstrel was playing.

"Surprising to find a place of this high quality in a nearly ruined town such as this," Arkan whispers to his companions. "Seems almost too good to be true."

Colwyn glances at Arkan.  "Ruins or no, this place is standin' on a road, an' we's seed the other pubs.  Like the one what were in Crossroad.  If'n this's bein' the best ålace on this 'ere bit of road, it like as not does enough trade ter keep it nice."

"Aye, lad, that it does.  Rotak's the name, and I own the Barrel.  Haven't seen you folks around here before."

"That would be because we have never been here before." Bilfro says distractedly, much of his attention on the minstrel.

"Well met Rotak!" Arkan smiles at the innkeeper and pulls back his hood with a gloved hand. "We are newcomers, travelers from the road. Kailla Mirronen sent us this way, said the Red Barrel was the finest inn in all the land," he adds, hoping for a warm response and a steep discount on their services (not to mention their best food and rooms)

Thumbing in the direction of the tapestries he asks the innkeeper curiously, "Any of those depicting the dragon's attack on this land? Or any event around these parts in particular?"

While he's very much against writing in all its forms, Aarnr has a lot of time for pictures of bloody battles and other such heart-warming topics, and now that Arkan has brought them to his attention, the priest looks around the room with renewed interest, hoping to see at least one depicting the dragon he was promised.

Content to let Arkan direct the flow of discussion with the innkeeper, Eilieen searches the room for an empty table.  She certainly won't comnplain if the half-elf manages to winnow them some rooms, rather than sleeping on a table in the corner of the common area...but even that is preferable to 'nature's glory' for her.

"Erista?  Shall we sit and await a meal?"  It'll make an interesting change; Eilieen does most of the cooking.  Happily, but it's a fine thing to skip what she views as her duties every once in a while....

"Ah, so Kailla Mirronen sent you did she?" Rotak says, with a chuckle, "It's good to know that she's sending more customers my way.  Though, as the only real tavern for miles in any direction, the Barrel doesn't usually have a shortage of visitors."

"Still, we've been friends for many years, me and the Staff of Belon.  I'm glad that she still looks out for my well-being."

He glances around the walls, saying, "The tapestries?  They're from all over.  Some from my days as a wanderer, and some that Kailla gave me each year since then, on my birthday.  Most of them I have no idea what they are, though Kailla could likely tell you.  That one there, though," he points at a depiction of a pitched battle before a city gate, "that one is The Battle of Brothers, when three princes fought over the crown of Tarkanen.  Eshrivan won the battle, but was assassinated by Donvar a month later.  All for nothing, mind.  A month after that the dragon fell on the kingdom."

"Some there were who swore it was Eshrivan's ghost, or at least summoned by that spirit."

An interesting story, Eilieen considers as she seats herself.  The priestess studies the tapestry in question.  There are some beautiful works here, but this one catches her attention: a monument to the struggles of man, and the ultimate futility when weighed against the world itself.  All of that intrigue and backstabbing to secure power, obviated in moments at the arrival of something completely unconcerned with such.

There's a lesson to be learned, somewhere in the tale; several, perhaps.

She carefully studies the other tapestries from where she sits, hunting for one she might recognize.

"I heard tell, many years ago, a story that a dragon worshipping priest came to the city in secret, just before the dragon did." Rotak muses, "If that's true, I'd wager that he called the creature here."

Colwyn is looking around the room with interest.  "Yer's 'avin' a lot of these 'ere tap'stries.  I's 'opin' yer pub ain't burnin' down, so's they's all bein' ruined."

Rotak gives the rogue a strange look.  "Yes, indeed."

Aarnr does like the depiction of the pitched battle before the gates, though laments the shortage of red thread in these parts.  Indeed the only thing that confuses him is how they got the protagonists to stand still long enough for the weavers to do their thing.  Judging by some of the poses and the obviously fatal nature of the wounds, that's an impressive achievement in itself.

Colwyn's comment attracts the priest's attention ... and provides a timely warning.  Yes, these tapestries (at least the one depicting lots of bloody fighting) are one of the few trappings of civilisation that he considers worthwhile, and it'd be a shame if they all got burned and warriors bold could not be inspired by them.  He resolves to keep an eye on the fire.

The barkeep's words drive all such good intentions from Aarnr's mind.

"If the hedgepig's still haunting those ruins, we'd be wise to find his froggin' corpse and dispose of it," he informs his companions.  "Seems a fair fobbin' bet after last night !"

"Oh, I doubt he's still about.  It's been eight hundred years since the dragon, and Daargukh was here before that." Rotak says with a smile.  "And Eight centuries would be too long a life for a human, let alone a hobgoblin.  Which is what he was, by all accounts."

The man is smiling at him ... but as Fergus once told him, that probably doesn't mean he's about to attack you, so Aarnr does not draw his blade, despite the provocation.

"Not froggin' alive," the priest clarifies. "Froggin' undead !"

Though the name Dar-guk sounds vaguely familiar.  Perhaps one of those bat-fowlin' stonemasons ?  Aarnr ponders the matter, which is to say, looks around desperately for the drink he was promised.

"'Daargukh' you say?" Bilfro, who had been quietly listening to the minstrel, snaps his head around.  Twice, since the first snap was a little too far around.

"Daargukh!  The Death Fire!  Some of my... er... ah... more destructively inclined... companions smashed a statue of this Daargukh in the forest on our way here.  Laid it low, then pulverised it into a large number of fragments.  May even have been a smattering of smithereens in there.  It's what they do."  This last added by way of an explanation, and an advance apology for the potential demolition of the establishment.

He turns his head, gingerly, from side to side, wincing somewhat as there comes a loud cracking noise.  Then smiles, as the noise does not come again, and his head doesn't fall from it's accustomed place.

"And we drove away several long deceased followers of the dragon priest, before looting the shrine to his name."

Aarnr tries to ignore Bilfro, most particularly because the wizard has an almost unnatural recollection of recent events, but also as the two of them have a very different definition of looting.  For one, there was no sacking involved in any way, a very necessary prerequisite, while for another, useless froggin' bits of paper with froggin' numbers on them can hardly be considered valuable in any way, froggin' or otherwise.

"Smashed the rat's banes' skulls into ... smithereens !" the priest mutters beneath his breath, about as belligerently as usual.

Colwyn shrugs at Aarnr.  "They weren't bein' worth nothin' ter us, true 'nough, but they might be bein' worth somethin' ter others.  Else why'd they be buryin' them in a bleedin' 'ole what was 'id unner a statue?  Lot of trouble ter be goin' to fer summat what weren't bein' worth nothin'."

"We's jus' needin' ter be findin' out what daft bugger'll be givin' us gold fer bits of parchment."

"Bits of parchment?" aks Rotak, curiously.

"Yeah.  With nummers writ on them.  An' Daargukh's name."

"Ah.  Promissory notes.  The numbers indicate an amount of silver, or gold, that Daargukh promised to pay when the note was presented to him.  It saved his servants carrying round large sums of coin to bribe people with."

Aarnr snorts with laughter that anyone would fall for such an obvious lie, though his mirth turns to incredulity as he realises that Rotak isn't joking.

Still the information is useful.  Should he find anyone with these pro-misery notes, it's a sure sign that they've had dealings with dragon-priests.

Seated at the table, Eilieen studies hte tapestries.  "Oooo, I like that one," she states, pointing it out to Erista.  "Zadastha, I think, and not one of the purirent kind for a change.  This is the moment she ended the War of Stones."  There are two others she might, maybe recognize.  Tapestries are tricky; artistic license rears its head, and then there's the fact that stories shift throughout the years.

It makes them fun to guess.

"Duke Harkan in Tear...and I think the third might be the fooling of Gromm the Thunderer by Moccavallo.  Quite a hodge-podge of history and religius events!"  Amused -- and missing much of the conversation of the standing group -- she sits back, happily smiling.

They're still travelling, but now they've found civilization again, of a sort.

"That's neat," she replies to Eilieen, looking with evidence of actual curiosity as the different tapestries are pointed out.  She's about to ask further when another thought intrudes, and she looks over to the proprietor as he explains the promissory notes.

"That's a funny way of doing things," she observes.  "Hey, if you like... historical collectibles, I don't suppose you'd like to buy them?  You could use them as like, a novelty thing.  People could buy them for friends who could trade it for a drink later, which would cost just a little bit less than the note would've.  That'd just be a little added profit, but you could sell them over and over, and they're..."  She snaps her fingers a couple of times, looking for the phrase, "Interesting local color," she proposes.

Rotak grins at Erista, "And to think, people used to say I had a devious mind.  Not sure it would work though.  People can be a bit superstitious about that sort of thing.  Offer them one, and they'll mutter about curses, and make any number of signs to avert evil.  Truth be told, anybody who'd take one probably knows where to find a remnant of the cult, so they think they can trade it in for coin."

He thinks for a moment, then, "Time was when me, Kailla Mirronen, Gonder and Aisaphar Nax would find old caches of notes and burn them.  Good times!  That was a while ago, though... these days only Nax is still in the trade, and he's a deal more... sedentary... than he used to be."

"I'll buy the notes off you, so I can burn them for old time's sake."

As soon as the words are out of Rotak's mouth, Aarnr's eyes light up at the thought of burning the bits of parchment so precious to the dragon-cult ... but given the nuthook is so enthusiastic himself that he'd pay for the privilege, and that he is a friend of the Dwarf, the priest is willing to allow him to do the honours.

It momentarily passed though his mind that perhaps the notes could be used to find someone who knew about the cultists so he could extract their location from them ... but the prospect of a good conflagration cannot be passed up.

"Gonder made me this sword, he informs the barkeep.  "It's a froggin' good one."

"Gonder knows swords." Rotak affirms.  "Twenty or thirty years ago he could use one as if it were a part of his own body.  Like an extension of his arm.  Watching him fight was like watching one of those expensive dancers that the Duke hires to entertain his guests at Tsar."

"Even then, though, in between hunting cultists, bandits, and goblins, he was always working on weapons.  So when he near lost his leg, and had to retire from hunting, he had a trade to fall back on."

Aarnr did not know that dancers were that good with swords, but it's certainly something to watch out for if he's ever in Sar, wherever that land lies ...

... and it is something of a revelation that sword-makers are considered traders.  By the same token, then so might innkeepers and tavern-owners be, the priest ponders.  Very similar to sheep-bitin' shop-keeps, but of course not at all the same - it's the difference between priests of worthy deities such as Bowbe ... and Zadastha, he allows, nodding towards Eilieen, and the toad-knocking, small-codded puds that bend their knees to Orcus and his ilk.

Satisfied that he has his world set to rights, Aarnr continues his inspection of the tapestries.

Aarnr studies the tapestries quite closely, paying particular attention to the details of those featuring battles, murders, and general mayhem.  The sheer quantity of red thread used in some of them is impressive, even by Aarnr's standards.  And even if some of the weapons depicted are of unknown types (unknown to him, at least) they do look interesting.

Bilfro, meanwhile is softly clapping his hands in time with the music, and humming the tune with surprisingly few mistakes.

Rotak glances around hopefully at his guests.  "Anybody interested in a spot of lunch?"

Colwyn head snaps round so fast that it seems likely that there may have been some danger of a broken neck.  "I'll be 'avin' some scram mate.  What's yer got then?"

"Well, my wife, Ella, did say that she was thinking of making a beef stew, with onion and turnip.  Fresh bread too, of course.  And she did mention that she might bake some rhubarb tarts." Rotak smiles, "Though I'd appreciate it if some of them were left at the end of the day... I'm partial to a bit of rhubarb tart."


"Bravo!  Excellently played." Bilfro stands and applauds the minstrel, then strides purposefully towards the counter, a predatory gleam in his eye.  "Beef stew it will have to be then.  Though I shall miss out on the rhubarb tart, as rhubarb can have a deleterious effect on my stomach.  Most uncomfortable, both for me, and for others in the vicinity."

Rotak starts scribbling a head count on a slate.  No need to keep a track of individual orders, since the menu for today consists of beef stew and bread, with rhubarb tart for dessert.  Bilfro's remark regarding the effect of rhubarb on his stomach brings a smile, and a suggestion that he not take one of the tarts.  Followed by a wholly selfless offer to eat his for him.

Aarnr has no coin, having handed over whatever he had been given to recompense Gonder for the magnificent blade he now carries with pride.  Nor does he know enough of the wiles of civilisation that he might inveigle one of his companions to pay for it ... indeed, with plenty of food upon the cart outside, courtesy of the citizens of whatever place it was that had that fire, he does not see the need to spend coin he doesn't have to purchase a meal that he already has the makings of !

Such things concern him not at all ... however the tapestries which he has been examining (with much approval for the bloody battles depicted thereon) do puzzle him a little.   Take the one he's glaring at how, for instance.  The weaver has done a good job showing flames consuming the large building, of course, and he can just imagine the jeers and insults thrown at the black robed figure upon a balcony by the sword-wielders below ... but it's the winged horde that brings a furrow to his begrimed brow.

"What are these hedgepigs ?" he demands more or less (actually less) politely pointing a stubby finger at the fleeing flyers portrayed upon the cloth.

Rotak looks up, puzzle, until he sees where Aarnr is pointing.

"Demons!  Fleeing the sacking of the temple of Orcus in Tsar, along with many worshippers.  The high priest, Astadar, is upon the balcony, facing the armies of Light.  He, of course, died there... but many of his congregation fled and eventually found their way to Rappan Athuk, where they founded a new temple of Evil."

"On the one hand the tapestry shows a great triumph of good over evil, but on the other it shows an event that led to even greater misery."

Rotak looks about the room.  "Wil!" he calls out, "Wil!  Where in all the hells are you boy?"

A young man sitting near the minstrel stands and turns.  Rotak waves the slate at him.  "There you are!  Take this over to Ella, and help her bring the food over.  Look sharp now!"  The youth trots out of the door with the slate...

Colwyn takes a flagon of ale across to an empty table not too far from the fire, and sits on a bench with his back against the wall.

Aarnr nods wisely.  The flying demons are the servants of Orcus.  Cunning enough to escape the downfall of their master (he congratulates himself that he has a bow, unlike the poor woven warriors, so they'd not be getting away from him without a few shafts in them) ... though obviously not too bright - despite their obvious stupidity in serving the foul Prince of Undead, the priest wouldn't have thought it sensible for  winged things to settle in an underground labyrinth.

"That's where we are froggin' headed !" he tells Rotak smugly, before turning back to the tapestry to see if it provides any directions.

Having ordered a rhubarb tart, and skipping the stew, Eilieen settles back to listen to the flow of conversation around her.

The words bring about some consideration.  It seems that no matter what one does, how one stamps out evil, it springs up again elsewhere.  "What, then, might be the point?" Eilieen murmurs to herself?  A shake of the head follows; the point, of course, is saving people, not rooting out evil.  Evil beaten down is evil that must take time to recoup, to gather again, and that leaves people's lives untouched.

Then the process begins again; but that, she decides firmly, is the way of things.

Is that glow just the fire, or the sun in the sky ? Aarnr ponders, still fixed on his tapestry.  While he himself can generally locate north, it's hard to see how the weavers would have known which wall the fruit of their labours would be hung on ... unless perhaps they come with instructions.  Probably not worth taking it with them then.

Begs the question where is Rappan Athuk located.  While that's their destination, the priest is keen to get there and the odds will be greatly improved of a timely arrival if they're travelling purposefully, instead of hopefully.

Up till now, he's assumed they're going the right way ... maybe the oxen are specially trained or something ?  The beasts are certainly doing a cracking job thus far in taking them to places where there's evil to be smited.  Not to mention mangled, stabbed and slain.