"My name is Ourn. I'm on errand from distant lands, and I believe your son's new lifestyle stands in the way of accomplishing my goals. Instead of meeting him head on, I decided to come pay you a visit. I'm not here to harm you or anything of the sort, sir. I'm here for information. I want to know the whereabouts of his wife, as I have reason to believe that if she is alive, she may be here. I also wanted to ask if there are any mementos or keepsakes that he holds dear, that you may have in your possession. I apologize for being brazen with you, but time is not my friend on this matter"

Ourn subtly keeps his eye on the Old Farmer's hands, as well as his feet.

"You mean to stop my boy?"  He relaxes a bit.  "He never did have his head on straight.  Always a bully.  I told him he'd end up meetin' someone's better 'n him one day and be dead."  The old man eyes you up and down.  "You ain't from too far by yer look.  Maybe the duchies, I reckon.  Which one?"

There is a muffled cry of pain from inside the house.  The farmer's eyes glance to the side, but he does not turn his head.  Instead, his gaze returns to you, fixed there like a hawk's.

"Therion. Duke Therion."

Ourn doesn't wait to see if the old farmer's opinion of Therion is high or low.

"I don't aim to kill him, your son, if I don't have to. I believe every man is capable of walking away from whatever his current lifestyle is, to find a better one. Regardless of how wicked or vile they are, we all fight our own personal monsters. In the end, Faelorn is no different."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:56, Sun 15 Nov 2015.

"Is that so?"  He spits on the ground.  "Come in.  Let me show you something."  He opens the door wide and beckons you to follow.  Through the large farmhouse, all neatly arranged and cleaned, to a room in the back he leads.  There, lying in bed with sheets stained red with blood, lies what might be a woman.  "This is my daughter-in-law.  When my 'son' returned from finding the fallen star, he did all manner of evil to her.  She is barely alive.  Had I not brought her here, away from the town, she would have."

Closer examination of the woman reveals that she is terribly scarred, missing an eye and most of her teeth, and an arm.  Her legs are mangled and twisted and completely unusable.

"I can't tell if her baby is still alive inside any more, but if she gives birth, it'd likely be a still birth, it will kill her.  If you find the man I once called son, you put him down if you can.  He's not a man any more."  His fists are clamped tight and tears well in his eyes, not for his son, but for his daughter-in-law.  "Tell me what you need to know."

Ourn is in somewhat disbelief at the sight of the mangled woman. He had been expecting to find her, but like this...

" I need information about his childhood. I presume that his mother is no longer among the living, no disrespect to her or you intended. I'd like to know about that event if you can, and about other prolific events in his life: pets, the way he met his wife, accomplishments, dreams and goals. Anything that can being him back to reality, if only for a brief moment. If I truly am destined to put him down, knowing what I know about how the star has affected him, I'll need him off guard and shaken if possible. "

The old farmer stares at you for a moment, trying to decide a course of action.  He finally nods and leads you back to the main living area after quietly closing the door to his daughter-in-law's room.  "You saw that in there.  There ain't no comin' back for him.  But if you can use that information to distract him somehow, I'll pass it along."

He fixes himself a drink and sits down, offering you as seat as well.  "His mother died bringing him into the world.  He's had various dogs growin' up, not so much pets but dogs for huntin' and runnin' the cattle."  The old farmer, Vanter you recall his name is, takes a long drink of probably alcohol.  "Hattie and Faelorn grew up together.  She was enamored of his strength and skills.  Faelorn was always a bit rowdy, and after they married, Hattie always came to see me when he went on a drinkin' binge.  When he was sober, though, he'd have done anything for her.  Things took a bad turn right before the stars fell.  They were tryin' to have kids, but with no success.  Faelorn blamed Hattie.  Turns out it was him.  After he came back, something about the star changed him.  He was bigger, stronger, more healthy in body, but in a bad sort of way.  I don't know how to say this right, but it was like he was too healthy.  I know that sounds ridiculous, but that's the only way I can think to say it.  Life energy was just brimmin' over for him.  I think that fixed him because when he came home, the first thing he did was force himself on Hattie.  He was the same as when he got drunk, but this time there was no alcohol.  I don't even think it affects him now."

"Faelorn grew up a farmer, a quaint and simple life.  Nothin' special, just hard work here.  He ain't come here since he changed, thanks be, but my line ends with him now that I think his kid is dead.  Hattie is probably not going to make it back there.  I can only keep her alive, but she's fightin' it.  I think she knows her baby died and she don't wanna go on without it, despite the reason for its existence."  He takes a long pull of his drink, finishing it off.  Then he pours himself another.

Ourn sits back and listens to every scrap of information Vanter shares, picking out details, analyzing them, looking for a potential chink in Faelorn's armor.

"I see. So if I'm to catch him off his feet, even for a moment, then the unborn child is the key here."

Ourn realizes that he's more so muttering to himself than talking to the Old Farmer.

"Oh, pardon." he clears his throat. "Sir, thank you for allowing me into your home, and for answering my questions. If you are resolved that your lineage ends with you, then so be it. I think I've been looking at this the wrong way, and I thank you yet again for giving me a bit of clarity. I believe that I now have a way to end this, and perhaps even bring you and the people of this town a bit of respite. Now then, if you will excuse me, and pardon my briefness with you, I believe that I've intruded and imposed on you long enough. I have a long ride ahead of me, and I'd rather not get caught too late in the moonlight."

Vanter says nothing, just takes another drink from his cup.  There is nothing more for you here.

The return trip to town is done mostly during a clear night, with Ithil full and bright above.  The air is crisp and just moist enough when the sun sets.  Soon, however, your thoughts turn darker and the damp clings to you.  Your body aches from so much riding and you just feel tired.  The road is just too long and all this tangent to your primary goal is just bogging you down.  Better to just-

These thoughts have come unbidden, an almost external thing so foreign and intrusive in their abruptness that you realize they are caused by something external.  Some line was crossed a few miles back and the malaise began as abruptly as stepping from dry land into a lake.  It is a physical thing, an attack on the body that has led your mind down this path.  Your body is the enemy now, placing a stress on the mind you've not felt in years, and generating these alien thoughts.

"The sickness that holds this place... I must bring this to a close soon, before I find myself unable to"

Ourn fights mentally to focus on the road, letting his mount take the burden of one step at a time. He tries to focus on how a good bed back at the apothecary will feel, and reminds himself that if he doesn't go back, far more than just he will feel ill and weak.

The trip back is not more difficult than those first few miles, as if the illness had progressed to a point before you left without you noticing, lost its hold at a distance, then took up where it left off upon your return.  From there, the illness will likely creep as before, slowly draining you of vitality until you are like the town.  They've been like this for a few weeks, considering how long ago the stars fell and the time it took Faelorn to find it.

You collapse into bed and only wake the next day, the sun's blaze annoyingly bright through the windows, when Mairen knocks on your door.  "Ourn?"

Ourn sits up in bed and tries to mentally shake off the haze in his mind, but with little effect. He gets out of bed, still wearing the dirty clothes he left with. He turns his attention to the door.

"Yes? Come in, I'm presentable."

Climbing the stairs has winded her, but she stands tall and calm.  "It's the middle of the morning.  Is everything alright?"  She gives you a once over.  "The Illness is setting in, isn't it?"  A heavy sigh.  "I just wanted to let you know that some of Faelorn's men are in town.  They are here for supplies but will likely head back out to the crater soon.  Didn't know if that would be important to you."

Ourn visibly stiffens at the news.

" Yes actually, that is important. Thank you for keeping your eyes open for me. I'd like you to lay low from here on out. If I'm found out, I don't want Faelorn or his men to know you've aided me."

Ourn gathers his pack and his buckler, and straps his long sword back on to his belt.

" This may be the last we see of one another. I want to thank you for your hospitality. If you ever do find yourself in a position to leave and head East towards the duchies, there is a town along the way. I don't recall the name of it, but all the buildings face inwards towards the center of town. Avoid that place. I know not what goes on there, but my brief time on the outskirts pointed to nothing good or well. Make for the duchy of my own,Therion. It is ruled by a wise and righteous man, who cares for his people. Mairen, I do not know what will happen in the coming hours. Whatever comes of it though, don't get any ideas of following me. Not to say that you're foolish in that way, but I feel I should still say something of the matter. "

Ourn stands in the center of the room, facing Mairen, taking in the last moments before he plunges feet first into the coming trials.

Mairen nods, growing thoughtful, then takes the key from you as you head down to the ground floor.  The last you see of her is a brief smile as she closes her shop door and hangs the 'closed' sign.

As she said, there are a couple of men in town dressed in little armor, but the strange bones grafted onto their arms and chest leave no doubt who they are.  'Gathering supplies' turns out to be bullying the locals for what they want.  No one is willing, or likely strong enough, to challenge them.  Whatever the Wasting Illness is doing to the town, it has had no effect on these men.

They gather what supplies they need as you remain out of sight.  One shoves an older shopkeeper into the mud, grabs a sack full of food, and nods to the other.  "Let's get back to the cra'er."

With full sacks of supplies that do not burden them in the least, they head for the outskirts of the town.

Ourn follows, taking great care to lag behind far enough to allow for time to slip behind cover if needed.

Ourn thinks to himself " Alright you animals... take me to your den "

The sense of anxiety at the coming events coupled with the Wasting Illness' draining effects leaves him feeling somewhat sick to his stomach.

They travel for a little over two days, never stopping for sleep, eating their meals on foot.  It is an exhausting trip and one that leaves you a bit winded at the end.

Before lunch on the third day, the three of you arrive in a shanty-town surrounding a caldera.  The wound in the land looks like it might have been a lake at one time, but some great explosion or impact from the sky blasted out a deep hole.  Trees surround the lip and indeed spread out sporadically from the edge.  Steam rises from the hole, but from what you cannot yet see.

In the town itself, hundreds of sickly people have gathered.  Many sit in the front of their tents or at the base of trees, moaning and looking like they'll never move again.  Others accost you with a strange assortment of strange requests, made more incomprehensible by your lack of sleep and waning strength from the illness.

"Heal me," says one old lady, a tooth so loose its about to fall from the already sparse collection she has remaining.

"Just one bite of her to cure my little one.  She only has a few days left.  Oh please, my lord."  This from a mother whose eyes are so sunken into her head she looks like the dead walking.

"I'll serve.  I fight good.  Just give me a chance!"  This from a young man with a clubbed foot and a walk so distorted he shambles.

It is a dreadful sight.  Many are so wasted away they will blow away with the next strong wind. Others look at you with suspicion or even like they want to make a meal of you.

Ourn feigns distaste with the people begging him for help, despite feeling remorse for their horrible plight. He gathers that they are mistaking him for that of Faelorn's men, and calmly walks past them. He tries to avoid actual members of Faelorn's ilk and scout out where Faelorn may be holed up, if he's in the shanty town at all.

Ourn new thinks to himself " If I'm to face Faelorn, I'll have to try and catch him alone "

When your responses show that you don't immediately have the answers they want, rather than engaging, the pitiful petitioners moves off again.  None of them respond with answers to questions directed at them.  They are single-minded in the quest for their own answers.

There don't seem to be any around that fit the bill of a 'guard', only the shanty town denizens and the thick trees up ahead that allegedly ring a crater.  You no longer see the men you followed here.

Further on, the trees form a thin line, though they grow close to one another on the ridge surrounding the crater.  These trees are young, green wood, but twisted and forced into thick growth as if they were centuries old.  The leaves are disease-ridden, but thick and green otherwise.

In between the trees every so often is a man similar to those you followed.  Metal protrudes from their skin.  Portions of their armor is anchored in their very bones it seems.  Wild looks scan the crowd, for those who would pass into the crater or for someone to eat is anyone's guess.  They eye for a moment, but as you get close enough to engage one of them, he steps aside and nods you past.

Down below in the impact crater there is a caldera filled with steaming water.  The water has a distinct dark red tinge to it, but not of molten rock...more like blood.  There are a few people kneeling at the edge and even a couple across the way that seem to be wading or floating peacefully in the red waters.  The ones kneeling moan in ecstasy whenever they come up for a breath before leaning back over to drink.

There are other things floating in the water, which is no more than a few feet deep anywhere.  Pale white rocks cover an otherwise smooth, sandy floor.  Yellow or black fronds drift lazily up from a few of the smaller rocks.

No one stops you and none of those at or in the water even acknowledge your presence.

Ourn thinks to himself " This is nothing like I expected. These men... despite their grusome features, have been nothing but passive thus far. They must be like guard dogs, remaining still until their master calls them to attack. I must tread carefully to avoid such ".



Ourn casually walks down to the waters edge, not daring to set foot in it. He figures that those within the waters are there with permission, and doesn't want to violate some unspoken rule and arouse suspicions to his presence.

He takes in the sight of those bathing, trying to determine if they are Faelorn's men or folk from the shanty town.

He tries to also subtly count the number of armed men in the area, and pick out which one may be Faelorn.

None of the men here seem to be Faelorn, or even as bulked up as those you followed back from town.  They ignore you no matter how close you get to the water.  There are about seven of the men altogether, plus the two you followed...somewhere around.

As you approach the water's edge, you have to step back.  The water steams and the air above it wavers from its heat.  A closer look at the people relaxing on their backs, floating in the water sends a chill up your spine.  Some have their eyes open but don't ever blink.  Eyes open or closed, none of those floating ever breathe.

As you peer closer and you observe the other objects for a time, the image of what they are resolves and it is horrifying.  Those are parts of bodies, bloated and severed.  The smooth bottom of the crater under the water isn't littered with boulders.  Those are body parts that have become waterlogged and sank.  The smaller rocks with fronds are heads of hair.

Ourn struggles to keep his composure as he calmly turns away from the pool. He confidently strides up to the nearest lone henchman, and nods.

" Where is the master?"

"Master, eh?  You must be new."  He looks you over, sees your relative good health but lack of modifications, then nods as if his guess was confirmed by your state.  "He went out north and west, a meetin' with another star hunter.  Left not more than a day ago.  If you need t' catch 'im, shouldn't take you too long."  He chuckles and it doesn't sound pleasant.

Ourn glances at the relative location of the sun, gets his bearing, and sets off on foot heading North West, taking care to vary his pace to avoid being completely winded.

After days of travel you finally pick up not one trail, but two, both on foot.  There is a slightly larger group, perhaps twelve, humans -- heavily muscled or armored, judging by their deeper footprints -- moving slow and carrying something large and cumbersome.

Another, group follows them, trailing the larger group specifically.  The tracks they make are much stranger.  One man is as large or larger than any from the first group.  Two large men with unusually wide stances and gaits, though one is hard to track, evidencing your own set of skills.  Another human, tall and unarmored, perhaps a scholar or priest of some kind judging by the sweeps a robe makes on the ground wherever they step.  A fifth man, one who steps lightly and barely leaves a trace -- Lightfoot -- and what might be a boy almost complete the group.  Only one set of tracks don't make any sense.  They look like something a lizard might make on the rare occasions one came down out of the trees...and if that lizard were the size of a horse.

Not two later you find the remains of a battle, a fierce one that left four of the large men from the first group dead and none of the second.  A surprise to be sure considering the first group is almost assuredly Faelorn's enhanced men.  This second group is nothing to be trifled with.  There are three dead bodies, all beheaded.  One head is missing.

After examining the battle for some time you conclude that there were actually four of Faelorn's warriors.  They followed Lightfoot back into a trap of some kind.  The Scholar and the Fighter stood...there with the big lizard.  The Large Rogue is not around, but the other large person collapsed some time in the fight.  It's a woman!  The Boy stood over her during the fight, protecting her?  There are also signs that a spider from out of Mirkwood, one of the giant kind that few people ever encounter these days, assisted the ambushers.  A skill of the Scholar to call upon nature for aide?  Perhaps some faint elfish blood left in his line?

The leader of Faelorn's men was captured and killed.  One man ran off.  Following his trail you find out where the Large Rogue was hiding as he killed the runner and dragged him back.  Another was beaten down during the fight and the fourth...there is some kind of struggle with the lizard, some of the ground around the area is scorched by something much hotter than a campfire, and the boots of the fourth man simply disappear leaving behind only the lizard's.

As Ourn takes in the details of what the ground is telling him, a thought crosses his mind.

" This group... They oppose Faelorn, and seem to hunt him relentlessly. They cut down his men like dogs, and seem to give no quarter..."

He half smiles to himself.

" They are either very dedicated to stamping out evils in the world like Faelorn, or Faelorn has something of value that they want. Either way... I think its time to close in and mayhaps meet."

With that, Ourn races off again, a now confidence in his stride. If this new group are of a good nature, then he seeks to join them. He holds out hope that they are indeed followers of a straighter and narrower path than the lot he's had the misfortune of crossing paths with lately.