In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 42):

"If being cursed with knowledge makes me a prophet, I am guilty of the same. I have seen people become Chosen," Brennan says quietly. "I've also seen Chosen lose their way, and with it, their gifts."

He stares into the fire briefly.

"Losthelm is a place touched by the Triune Dream. Angelic, Demonic, and Human interests align and intersect there. It is difficult to overstate the importance of reaching it soon."

In reply to Brennan Otthild (msg # 43):

Bryce chuckles.

"I don't know about any of that, but I DO know there's a lot can be learned in this world that doesn't want to be learned, and when you find a chance to peek behind the veil, you have to seize it."

He narrows his eyes, carefully studying Zeke's reaction to this.

"I may not know what's going on, but I've seen these men do things I didn't think possible, and I know a thing or two about the other Dreams.  You want the reason I'm here?  Curiosity."

In reply to GM (msg # 44):

Titus smiles at Bryces explanation clinks his glass against Zeke's

To curiosity and all the cats that it has killed!  As pure, honest, and reliable a motivator as there ever was.

In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 45):

Zeke listens intently to the responses of the group, but is clearly struck most by Bryce's candor.

There is a beauty in his honesty, and more than the others, it his raison d'etre that resonates most strongly.

Zeke turns to the group. His face betrays none of the significance his words are about to convey.

There is a saying nearly lost to the sands of time, that has defined all of my actions and leaps to the center of my mind:

From fire we are forged and from earth we are born and travel, with only the direction of our steps and our reaction to their ripples our own.

I have always believed that we find ourselves in the exact place and moment we are meant to be, even if we do not know how or why. Your earth has crossed with mine, at a time when questions abound and mysteries young and old amplify beneath my feet. I am where I was meant to be, and I believe you are too. While I do not know what our futures hold or why we have crossed, I will heed the wisdom old in times anew. If you will have me, I would walk with you.

And know more of why you believe we are Chosen, and how I may use it to once again reclaim my honor.

Zeke returns to his seat and his rocks, the placid look on his face conveying none of the magnitude of his speech moments prior.

In reply to Zeke Banorev (msg # 46):

I like that phrase, I'll have to bring it back...

Titus looks to the group, if there are no objection he finishes

Then its settled.  Come along with us and lets unwrap our mysteries together. 

In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 47):

Zeke nods his assent before placing a series of brilliantly colored and awkwardly shaped scoria around his bed roll.

In reply to Zeke Banorev (msg # 48):

Titus sits first watch allowing others to sleep as he prowls around.

In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 49):

Deev says little, firelight shining on eyes laser focused on Zeke.

In reply to Deev (msg # 50):

Titus hums an ancient tune as old as time itself.

In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 51):

Deev and Titus chat while making preparations to sleep (tying up and feeding horses, securing fire, packing up belongings, laying out bedrolls, digging a sump pit and latrine, and lots of other things adventure games normally don't bother you about).

In reply to Deev (msg # 52):

Titus finishes up the prep work and puts a reassuring arm around Deev.

No need to bother yourself with the last of the prep work.  Get some sleep, I'll take this watch.

In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 53):

Brennan agrees to take his turn at the watch, whenever that may be, and sleeps his fill aside from that.

Ciryl climbs into the back of his cart to rest for the night.  If woken to keep watch he grumbles about what kind of security an unarmed cripple might offer against the terrors in the night.

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 55):

The kind that can scream loudly.

Titus says before bedding down.

In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 56):

The party takes turns at watch, but nothing of note transpires in the dark.  The wolves you had grown accustomed to seem not to be in range, and being in the forest, your only company are a few bats overhead and the chirp of crickets.

It is the 27th day of the Queen's Month

The day begins off dark, thin grey clouds visible between gaps in the trees above.  The air feels stale somehow, unmoving, as if the sky were waiting for something to begin.

You break your fast after packing your belongings and are ready to make your way further north.

In reply to GM (msg # 57):

By the time the party has awakened, Zeke has collected his rocks and his bag is neatly packed. A cursory view of the area he laid down shows absolutely no sign of disturbance and suggests he did not move a muscle in his sleep.

Not one of them came within 3 feet of my perimeter. Perhaps they are trustworthy

The day is young and we are forever growing old. Come. Let us make haste onward, and see what secrets and mysteries the great North holds for us.

And what dangers..

Ciryl calls for Deev to return his leg from where it landed after he woke the next watch in the night and reattaches it before climbing out of his cart.  After breaking camp and a morning meal he climbs back into the driver's seat of his cart, "Aye, nothing earned sitting around in the wilds," he agrees to Zeke's invitation to get moving, "So are we going to Losthelm proper, or somewhere in the area?" he asks Brennan as he hitches his mule to get moving, "It'd be good to know exactly how much longer we have to go."

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 59):

Brennan awakens early and performs his usual meditations prior to helping break down the camp. His expression appears both thoughtful and troubled afterward.

"The Inquisition has slowed," he announces. "But it has not stopped. They are coordinating their efforts in light of...recent developments. We mustn't tarry."

"We must visit the ruins themselves, at least at first," Brennan replies when asked of Losthelm. "After that, much will depend on their condition and whether there are other pilgrims present."

He spends the first portion of the morning's journey with his nose tucked into a pair of journals. Those who care to learn more will note that he is comparing what appear to be the scrawlings of a madman on one side to the cleaner charcoal lines of the other. From time to time, he withdraws a stone from his belt pouch, glances at it thoughtfully, and replaces it. He also drinks from the cup that hangs from his belt on occasion, and discerning eyes will see him murmuring to himself whenever he does so.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:36, Mon 23 Sept 2019.

In reply to Brennan Otthild (msg # 60):

You continue to follow the forest trail for the better part of the morning.  The grey air refuses to show any signs of lightening, casting a hazy light about you that generates no shadows and serves to blend together the view in every direction.

Finally you see a break ahead, and the path begins to widen as you approach.

You have reached the southern part of the great lake that lies between Long Plain and Losthelm (OOC: visible in the Game Map).  There the road splits, part going along the western shore of the great lake toward Losthelm, the other part skirts about the lake to the East and you can see that it will twist up into the mountains.

The decision of which way to travel may needs be delayed for a moment, however, as right smack in the middle of the intersection is a wide building made of felled timbers.  It has a flat open roof on which you see a pair of armed men standing about a large metal bowl, likely some sort of signal fire.  Flags adorning the sides of the building are the heraldry of the traitor King Xander.

You are able to stop well out of range for any sort of identification should you wish to avoid being seen.

In reply to GM (msg # 61):

More advanced scouts. Is this an outer marker station to indicate an oncoming hostile presence?

We should avoid detection if possible. It seems Master Brennan has cause to seek answers in the ruins. Is there a way for us to take the proverbial long way around?

One must always be ready to fight, but only when necessary. This will be a test of the thirst and levelheadedness of this group.

Let us hope they pass.

"We haven't done anything, and we've no interest in the war.  If you let me do the talking we shouldn't have any trouble.  Just try not to look too southern.  The lot of you," Ciryl replies to Zeke's caution in a level tone. "Both ways around are long and I'd rather not drag my cart all across the wilderness, or across the lake for that matter."

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 63):

If the ways around are long then we are best to fly under the radar.  I could certainly help disguise us as a traveling troupe of some kind.  Ciryl how would we be related to you?  What would be our cover story.  Since I seem to out myself as a southron every damn time I open my mouth...

"Then don't open your mouth," Ciryl replies pointedly, "We tell them you're all mercenaries, I'm a merchant and I don't want to get robbed on the road.  I'm just going to tell them that in a northern accent."

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 65):

"That even had the benefit of being partially true," Brennan nods in agreement. "We were once mercenaries ourselves. But we need to be on the same page about what happens if they order us to turn around or deny us further access to the ruins..."

He frowns slightly.

"A pity we did not think to take the clothing of the scouts in the clearing."

"In any case, if it comes down to it, we can overpower them, perhaps, but not without risking the signal fire being lit. Better I think to turn tail and attempt a more stealthy approach in that case. Are we agreed?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:38, Wed 25 Sept 2019.

In reply to Brennan Otthild (msg # 66):

Zeke sighs heavily, resigned to the combat to come.

A chance for no confrontation, and we elect for deception with a likelihood of bloodshed.

Zeke whips his maul to the fore, placing the head at his feet and holding the hilt with both hands, a menacing fixture of potential violence interspersed with a frustratingly placid expression.

I guess I'll be the strong silent type..