Duke Dagnir Therion moved a small figurine on the table across the map.  For weeks he had tracked the movements of pieces in a game only he seemed to understand.  His wisdom and foresight had brought his small duchy out of a period of ignorance and futility into an enlightened, wealthy position of prominence among all the duchies.  Though not the most powerful militarily, his knowledge of engineering had fortified his castle well beyond the means of any other duchies to take.  Only the might of Gondor itself might be able to take it...after a long siege and many thousands of men lost.  However, Gondor was far away and not a likely enemy.

Therion had carefully cultivated relationships with a few of the other like-minded dukes and duchesses of the region.  He had shared his knowledge and wisdom with them for as long as they made choices beneficial to their peoples and to their relationship with one another.  Talk of a council of dukes flitted through the streets like young summer birds who had learned to fly well after the spring.

Yet the maps on the table were of lands to the west, the Misty Mountains, Gondor, Erebor and the like.  This is the scene upon which Ourn Garamune intrudes quietly, answering the summons of his duke.

"Ourn!  Glad you are here.  I have need of your unique skill set.  Your information from Acharnim before those dukes attacked saved many of our lives.  Now I need you to leave our lands on a quest far more important.  Are you up for it?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:23, Sun 25 Oct 2015.

Ourn sweeps into a low bow, and then erects himself. His posture reflects his confidence and pride. "But of course my liege. Where pray tell will my services be needed?"

Ourn folds his arms, and glances at the map on the table, trying to guess at his destination.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:25, Sun 25 Oct 2015.

"I need you to journey west, into the lands of legend.  You've heard of the stars that fell, I presume."  He pauses only a moment, not really expecting you to answer.  "Of course you have.  Few have not.  These stars are more than simple signs, heavenly events.  I have reason to believe they are sent by The One.  Why is for you to figure out.  It may be that I am wrong, but I am convinced they are Maiar like Gandalf the White from the ancient tales."

Upon hearing the words Maiar and Gandalf, Ourn's eyebrows raise in a sudden look of surprise.

"The Maiar... my old Nan used to tell me tales about the likes of magic using folk like Gandalf. I never put much stock into em' as being truth though."
Ourn unfolds his arms, allowing one to rest on the hilt of his sword, and the other to rest on his hip.
"As skeptical as I may be, it's not my place nor privilege to second guess you. I'll make preparations immediately for departure. With your blessing, I should like to procure a horse and rations for my journey"

"Take what supplies you need.  It will be a long journey and open ended.  I do not expect you back here until you have discovered something of import.  If the information leads you further on, follow the quest where it leads.  Perhaps The One's hand will be your guide in this.  When the opportunity presents itself, send a report.  Use the gwanod code Haethar taught you."  The duke places a hand on your shoulder firmly.  "This might be the most important quest in this age, Ourn.  Our little duchy here needs to be prepared.  Take care of yourself.  Find allies if you can.  Something tells me a darkness is rising in the lands of Middle Earth.  It is not something to face alone."

GM:  Haethar is the Duke's Minister of Information, his chief spy essentially.  He would be one of, if not your primary, teacher.

"As you command my liege. I'll not take rest until I have the answers we seek, and my report will be sent without delay"

With a parting bow, Ourn exits the room and sets off to speak with Haethar.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:48, Fri 30 Oct 2015.

Haethar is out tending the garden just outside the Duke's home.  The home itself is just grand enough to know someone more than a peasant lives there, but humble nonetheless.  The Duke is a bachelor and scoffs at the idea of building a grander home.

The garden is intended for the poor of the community, those who are unable to work their own land and have little to offer in the way of skill or goods.  Volunteers work the garden (though some say the Duke pays some of them) to keep the crops tended.  Those who take from the garden also work it to the best of their ability.

Haethar works the garden to think.

When you approach, he works on as if you are not there for a few.  After judging your patience sufficient, he stops what he is doing, tilts his straw hat back and leans on his rake with an ease similar to a cat lounging on a windowsill.  He is a slender man, shorter than average, and almost boyish at first glance.  However, his hair silvered long ago and there are callouses and wrinkles aplenty to belie the young age.  He is handsome enough, but single, nothing that stands out really.  He can get lost in a large crowd (and showed you how to do the same).  Only when he dresses purposefully can he turn on an amazing charm.  Right now, he just seems like some average gardener taking a break.

"You heading out then?"

"Yes. I'm sure Duke Therion has already given you the details as well?"

"You be careful out there boy.  Them legends ain't nothin' to take lightly.  Death will be your constant companion."  He tilts his head up and scratches the top of his head for a second.  "But the wonders you will see.  I envy you, Ourn.  I envy you."

"I should think that you're the one to envy Master Haethar. Before I head out, I was wondering if you had any relevant information that would be helpful? I have a good idea of the direction to ride, and a fair idea of what I'm looking for. Even still, I can't help but feel ill prepared for this. Similar to the anxiousness I felt before the coming battle not long ago."

Ourn folds his hands in front of him, in an effort to be polite.

"My plants whisper of a disturbing account to the west.  Some say a star fell that way in the midst of a small lake.  People are gathering there and strange things, dark things, are taking place.  It's where I'd start."  He goes back to worrying the weeds out of the garden with his tool.  "You are the most prepared individual in this city save for the Duke himself.  Doubt will kill you as fast as any ancient monster, boy.  Quit whinin' and get to your job."  A small uptick of his lips is his way of taking the sting out of his words.  In his way, he's indicating that he'll miss you and will worry for you.

" Until we meet again, then, Master Haethar."

Ourn gives a polite bow and exits from the garden. He then sets about gathering the needed provisions from the residences larder, and makes his way to the stables to fetch a horse. Upon acquiring a mount, Ourn rides to the cities main gate. On his way, he takes note of the citizenry, milling about in their ordinary ways.

" Never in my days have I ever thought I'd have a burden such as this placed upon my shoulders. I cannot fail. By The One, I'll fulfill my orders, or my life be forfeit. " he thinks to himself.

Ourn stops his mount short having cleared the cities gates, and turns to give one last look at his home.

" It will be quite some time, I imagine, before I see you again. "

He draws up the hood of his cloak and rides West.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:37, Mon 02 Nov 2015.

The journey west leaves plenty of time for reflection.  The land is gently fading to fall, though the weather still has no chill in it.  Travel is slow and steady to the west toward the turtle forest.  The villages here are filled with a content people who are willing to trade.  This duchy is north of Therion's and ruled by one of his allies.  Dutchess Stharane is well liked.  Haethor claims the woman is more of a steward than a ruler and lets his people govern themselves for the most part.  The townsfolk open up easily, especially if you show a sigil of Therion, and are happy to sell whatever you need in the way of goods.

Two weeks in brings you to the southern tip of the most eastern edge of the forest.  It is technically outside of Stharane's province, but marks her western border.  There is a sizable town nestled up against the trees at the bottom of a range of small hills.  The town bustles with activity, but harsh voices, the occasional crack of a whip and cries of pain or fear that follow indicate that not all is well below.

If your map and memory are correct, this large village is called 'Towertown'.  The mayor here is a young man named Wexis.  It should be a town reflecting Stharane's province, though it serves under no duke or duchess.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:48, Sat 28 Jan 2017.

Ourn rides towards Towertown, trying to get a good look what could be causing the commotion from underneath his hood. As he nears, he slows his mounts pace down to a slight trot.

01:50, Today: Ourn rolled 11 using 1d20+3 with rolls of 8. Gather Information Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:51, Tue 03 Nov 2015.

It is difficult to see much on the outside.  The buildings all face toward the center of town and there is no regularity to their spacing so that it is not a straight view down the streets.  You will learn nothing more without making your way into the center of town...perhaps on rooftops?

Ourn dismounts his horse and ties it off to a nearby tree. He then cautiously makes his way towards the back side of the nearest building, and begins searching for footholds and handholds in order to try and climb up for a better look at things.

Scaling the buildings is easy, but the first thing you notice poking your head above the roof is that there are men up here, watching both the rooftops and the ground below.  Quick count gives you five before you duck back down.  Four are definitely archers.  One wore the familiar clothing of someone in your line of work, loosely speaking.

"That doesn't bode well" Ourn mutters to himself. "They don't seem like the civil watch sort"

Ourn quietly scales back down the building and then walks along side down an ally way to sneak a glance at the towns folk on the streets.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:16, Sun 08 Nov 2015.

A couple of near misses with the 'guards' leads you on a roundabout tour of the town.  You see a despondent group, heads low and in misery.  Many have bruises or superficial wounds from task masters.  The men in charge are all armed and armored to various degrees.  On a couple of occasions, women are being manhandled in open daylight.  Those who see, just lower their eyes and scurry away.

You finally find your way around to what looks like the inn.  It's infested with these men.  All told the town likely has more than a hundred of them.  Outside the inn there is an old man in make-shift stockades.  He has been flayed alive, his clothing in tatters, and blood still drips from his face.

The longer you stay, the more likely you'll be seen.  It's been part skill and part luck that you haven't so far.

Ourn decides that, despite his wanting to help the oppressed people, there doesn't seem to be much he can do other than end up like the man in the stockades. There are far to many potential hostiles in the area. Furthermore, he has no real idea of what the current situation is, and without proper intelligence on the matter, it would be a fools game to rush in blindly.

He makes his way back to his horse, in preparation to take a long route around Towertown to continue avoiding being seen.

The days and weeks ahead are filled with a tension that is not hard to explain.  Within the duchies, the collapse of the human soul has been felt for decades, centuries perhaps.  In the last five years, though, it has been in free fall.  Only in places ruled by individuals like Duke Therion is there any hope left.  Out in the wilds, with nothing but your own thoughts, that pressure should have lessened.  Instead, it has only grown until it is something physical, something dark and powerful.

After a time, your journey leads you past villages that are decent sized, but almost completely empty.  At the fourth such village, a good sized town, only a scant few people can be seen.  They scamper from sight as soon as they realize your presence.  One such person is a woman, her infant wrapped tightly in the chill morning air and held tightly against her.  Looking at you in fear, she does not see where she is going and trips.  She whirls in the air to place her body between the baby and the ground.  The impact knocks the breath from her and she lies in the mud, weeping and cringing, but too winded to stand.

The baby does not cry.

" Miss! Are you alright? "

Ourn gently moves forward to try and help her up. He holds his breath at the infants silences, hoping against the worst.

" Please, do not fear me. I mean you no harm. Your child... "
This message was last edited by the player at 00:50, Tue 10 Nov 2015.

The woman looks up, surprised and leery of the kindness.  Something about you convinces her and she decides to trust.  She takes your hand and allows you to help her up.  "He...my baby is very sick.  The Wasting Illness has him." Her voice is a whisper.  She gulps and casts her eyes to the ground before speaking again.  "As it has us all."

She steals a look at you from beneath hear lashes.  Under all the grime and apparent lack of food, she would be a very beautiful young woman.  "Thank you for your kindness.  It is a rare jewel these days."  With that, she shakes a bit of the excess mud from her skirt and turns to leave.

Ourn watches the woman leave, and takes in his surroundings. He decides to try and find an alchemist, or some type of healer, if this town has anyone who can even call themselves such. Given the look of things, he is doubtful.

The town is empty for the most part, not run down by any means, but there is litter in the streets and shops are closed.  It's mid-morning and many should be open.  Something in the air is not quite right.  Though the town feels abandoned, it feels as if it were just abandoned yesterday.

It does not take too long to find a shop with the appropriate shingle swinging out front in the morning breeze.  The shop looks well maintained despite the lack of activity in the town.  This door is open, though there is no one at the counter at the moment.

You ring the bell and a muffled voice calls from the back, a female voice.

After a few moments, the woman from before comes through the doorway into the back, wiping her hands on a towel.  Her dress is still stained with mud.  When she sees you her eyes narrow and she stops.  "You again.  Did you follow me?  What do you want?"

Ourn is slightly taken aback by the chance meeting.

"No miss, I haven't followed you. You spoke of the Wasting Illness. I wanted to find a healer, or someone who might know of the finer details of the illness, and request information..."

"Oh, forgive my poor manners"

Ourn bows.

"My name is Ourn Garamune. I am currently traveling on errand for my liege. My path has lead me here, to where I can plainly see there is a plight at hand. I find no coincidence in the matter, and would like to lend my assistance if possible. My stay must be brief, but if in any way I can assist you, the sick child, or your people, then please let me know"

Ourn mentally kicks himself for giving his real name. He is sure that Haethar would nearly thrash him about being so loose lipped to a stranger.

"I am Mairen, the apothecary for Dunston.  Forgive my reticence but as you have observed, an evil wind blows through our town these days.  Something out of legend."  She sits on a stool behind her counter and invites you to take one across from her.  Her dark tresses are matted with sweat.  Mud splatter has been poorly wiped from her face.  Eyes that have seen much sorrow in recent days are sunken into her head, surrounded by bags so thick they seem bruises rather than exhaustion.

Her voice is weak and soft as if it is a great effort to speak.  However, she presses on, desperate to lift the burden that weighs so heavily on her.  "The Wasting Illness came from the fallen star.  It landed in the spring not far from here.  Men went to investigate and went mad.  Something about the star gives people strength, endurance, a preternatural ability to heal from all manner of wounds, even those that should be fatal.  Others are incapable of feeling pain.  All this comes at a terrible price.  Those who do not share in their power who are in proximity suffer the Wasting Illness.  I have come to the conclusion that they draw their extraordinary abilities from those around them.  The closer in proximity you are, the faster you are drained.  Those fools at the spring won't leave, begging to join the ranks of Faelorn's men, but he only leads them on so they'll stay near."

She pauses, breathing heavily at the effort to speak so many words all at once.  Her eyes close and she gulps as she tries to fortify herself to finish.  "I pray that your quest does not lead you to the spring.  You will only find death and madness there.  They are cannibals, Faelorn and his men.  They say a cook pot large enough to hold an adult is always with them.  There is always someone in it, usually a female.  If I had the strength and the resources to do so, I would move...head east to the duchies there.  Alas, I can not take more than a stroll down the street."  She pauses and lays her forehead on her hands, her elbows on the counter.  "Sorry...I just need...to catch my breath."
This message was last updated by the player at 04:51, Thu 12 Nov 2015.

" That's... well, that's horrible. One thing isn't quite clear to me though. If what you're saying is true and correct, and if this Faelorn fellow and his vile men can be removed from the site of the Fallen star, a balance will be restored and there is a chance that the Wasting Illness can be dispelled?"

Ourn's brow furrows as he tries to take in everything and make sense of it, while trying not to think of the horrors of cannibalism.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:01, Thu 12 Nov 2015.

"I don't know that such is the case.  It sounds logical, but something about this is beyond knowledge and reason.  It reminds me of the old legends of magic and wizards and such."

There is a muffled coo or cry from the back.  "Ah, that would be Daven.  If you need a place to stay that you can trust, I have an upper room.  I won't charge you for the night-" she hesitates, then makes a choice to trust further.  "It's not a long term offer, but a few nights I can spare.  The door is on the outside and has no access to the first floor or the shop, which will be locked at night.  I don't have the food to spare to offer you meals, even if you could pay.  The town is drying up and no one is doing their job any more."

Mairen heads to the back to see to her son while you make up your mind about staying.  When she returns, she is visibly saddened.  Daven is nursing and barely moves.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:58, Thu 12 Nov 2015.

Ourn avoids making eye contact with Daven's nursing, and instead focuses his view to parts around the shop.

"I will stay for a night or so. Only long enough to gather the proper information I need for this ordeal. Is there anyone in town who might have known this Faelorn before he took to his new life of savagery?"

Mairen thinks for a moment.  "He had a wife.  I don't know if she is still alive.  I haven't seen her since Faelorn left.  His father is still alive, though.  He lives on a farm about a day to the south of here."  She sketches out a rough map on a small parchment of where to find Faelorn's house.  There is indication of a wagon-worn road leading out of town to the south which she indicates runs near Faelorn's father's farm.  "You can see the farmhouse and barn from the road in the distance, but you have to keep an eye out for it.  It's hilly in that region.  His name is Vanter."

She heads to the back and returns without the baby, who makes no sound of protest the entire time.  In hand she has a small lock box, which she opens and retrieves a key.  "Here.  This is to the room upstairs.  I'm sorry I cannot help you more."

Ourn takes the key, and then starts looking at the crude map.

"Do not be sorry, you've done quite enough as it is. Not only have you pointed me in the right direction for my own affairs, but you've given me warning of a danger that I'd have never known of and walked right in to. To cap off the generosity, you've offered me a place to rest. I am in your debt, and I should hope and pray that by The One, my actions in the coming days will be some form of repayment."

Ourn smiles, in an attempt to show graciousness.

"I do have another question for you though. The wife of Faelorn, assuming she's still alive... were they citizens here in town as well?"

She nods.  "Yes.  All of the men with Faelorn originally were citizens here.  He has since likely taken others who have wandered in from afar."

The conversation has left her exhausted and she is visibly shaking, though she tries to present a brave front to you.  If you continue the conversation, she's going to have to do it lying prone on the floor from exhaustion.

Ourn notices how tired Mairen looks.

" Please, go and rest now. I'll leave you be. Thank you again for your hospitality "

With that, Ourn excuses himself and heads back out into the street. He tries to find what would be a main road, in an attempt to find an inn or a tavern, with the hopes that it will still be staffed. His intentions are to question at least one other on the matter to try and verify his current information, and see to it that any potential missing pieces are found.

There is a tavern/inn.  Inside is as empty as the streets save for one young man lethargically cleaning the bar.  It's not that he is lazy.  Gaunt features and swollen bags under his eyes indicate the same Wasting Illness has him in its grips.  He looks up at you with surprise, then his eyes narrow, probably at your relatively good health.

"Leave now, stranger.  There ain't nothin' but sickness and death here."  His voice is a rasp, only heard because the room is otherwise completely silent.

" I'm well aware of the unfortunate circumstances your town faces, sir. I have come seeking information, and if you'll be kind enough to share it with me, I'll be on my way and leave you be. I wanted to inquire on the known location of the man called Faelorn's wife. I'm also well aware of the nefarious deeds he carries out with his men. If you can share any knowledge of him, his spouse, or even the strength of his numbers, I would be forever in your debt "

Ourn prepares himself to make an exit if the man is uncooperative, as he doesn't want to cause any stir or ruckus.

He shrugs.  "Your pyre.  I know Faelorn.  He leads the Star Bones, the group that found the fallen star out at the spring.  Supposed to heal the Wasting Illness or whatever the thing is called.  That's where most of the town is.  Looking for healing." He scratches his nose idly and continues wiping laconically at the bar.  "Don't know much about his wife.  Heard she got sick early on.  May have died from it."

"As for the numbers, Faelorn took near twenty men with him to find the star.  Numbers might have grown since then considering he has the star and controls the healing."

"Thank you for your time."

Ourn exits the tavern, and takes a look at the sun to get a bearing on what time of day it is.

Thinking to himself, he summarizes details. Faelorn, with the rumored number of men - even 20 would be too great a threat - and their supposed healing and vitality powers, will prove to be a superior opponent to meet head on. Using a loved one in person, such as Faelorn's wife or father, is out of the question at this point. What with the sickness that's plaguing the area, finding one is sounding impossible, and if the other is elderly, bringing him along is also a poor idea. If the old man isn't already infected with illness, bringing him closer to the affected area would be a terrible thing to do; baring he'd even agree to come along or humor a request for information. Still though, he may know something or have something that could snap Faelorn back into a reality that's palatable to the average man. The odds aren't in favor of this outcome, but then again, strange things like stars falling and spreading plague whilst granting healing powers is a reality after all. Ultimately, and somehow, the obstacle of Faelorn and his cannibalistic band of fiends will have to be dealt with. Force isn't an option, and there is much doubt that he can be reasoned with beyond joining his ranks. This would provide a good cover, but then what? He'd notice the lack of sickness firstly. He'd also notice the revulsion to cannibalism. His suspicions would lead him to expose me.  There's the chance for whatever madness has a hold on them to spread to my person as well. Gathering my own group of men wont do either, on account of a severe lack of able bodied people here.

Ourn lets out a long sigh, and leans against a post outside of the tavern, and speaks quietly to himself.

" I suppose my only real option is to seek out Faelorn's father. But do I have enough daylight to make the trip..."

Ourn frowns. Then his eyes widen.

" I can't rule out yet the possibility that Mairen is connected to Faelorn in some way either. Though the bartender didn't seem to mention anything about the two, I need to also find out who exactly is the father of Mairen's child... Haethar would kick me in the stomach if he knew how much this town's woes were racking my thoughts. ".
This message was last edited by the player at 07:38, Fri 13 Nov 2015.

The sun has reached its zenith in the sky.  It is the beginning of the afternoon.

Ourn decided it best to travel out to Faelorn's father's farm in the early morn. In the mean time, he intended to assist Mairen and to rest before the coming trials.

Back at the shop, Mairen doesn't have anything for you to do.  There really is no business.  Instead, she closes the shop with the sun going down and goes to bed.

The room upstairs is clean, but sparsely furnished.  Rest is fitful and in the morning you wake feeling more tired than when you went to sleep.  It's a chore just to get out of bed.  Breakfast doesn't appeal to you, but you force yourself to eat anyway, knowing its necessity.  Dressed and locked up, you find yourself at the bottom of the stairs, looking wearily at the day ahead.

Ourn heads out to his horse, and makes for the road that will take him to the farm.

The road is in open country, rolling low hills and grasslands.  There are a few farms at first, then no civilization except for the occasional sign post.  Late afternoon brings you to a well worn side path and off in the distance an large homestead.  Smoke rises from the chimney while cattle lo in the fields.

Ourn rides up to the house, in search of its owner.

"Hail!" he calls out, waiting for a reply.

An elderly man walks out of the house.  He nods your way and closes the door to the house behind him.  "Evening, stranger.  What can I do for you?"  He seems weathered with age, but otherwise healthy.  His voice is strong and even.

"I wish to speak with you about your son, Faelorn."

The man frowns and his eyes narrow.  "Who might you be and what do you have to do with my son?"  His body language adjusts slightly to prepare for fight or flight, but there is nothing of real training in his movements.

"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.