R.E.B.O.R.T. watches with curiosity as all the glances fly about the room. As all eyes eventually turn in his direction, he looks behind himself but finds no one standing there. Certain now that everyone was looking at him, he takes the hint and begins walking toward the door. The metallic clank of his footfalls echoes throughout the otherwise silent room.

Shiaran sighs heavily.  "Rebort, please return to your previous position.  I will explain later."  She turns to Crasmar.  "He's still learning...things."

She glances again at Oro, then at Vindfor.  "What I have to say next is of utmost secrecy and importance.  It can turn the tide of this war, or damn us all.  Do you trust everyone in this room who is not part of my party to hear such information and deal with it by giving it the respect it deserves?"

"I've known Crasmar since the day Gazra and I abducted him from an accounting firm and his last name was still Billingsby. I helped deliver Sigurd's birth. And Irja is Crasmar's most trusted adviser to the ranks of the shaman warrior women of the tribe. Gazra smashed in the head of the man who gave Vindfor his scars. The Crone has told my fortune with 100 percent accuracy numerous times. The only two of whom I can't vouch for are your escorts - no offense gentlemen, but I don't know you".

Shiaran waves away Oro's concerns over Lute and Toki.  "Very well.  Our quest is to close the spectral faults around Fildegarne.  It's what's granting the PCA so much power right now.  We've already closed one in Argonette.  If we can close the others, the PCA will have a real tough time signing on new recruits.  We can actually start reducing their ranks rather than filling them with our own dead."

She stares at Crasmar for a moment before adding.  "And that is the only thing I left out.  The rest is still true."

"Spectral faults?".

"They are a gateway to the afterlife.  Spirits are meant to pass through them after a person dies and move on from this world.  They aren't working properly.  The last one was sealed off so that no one could pass through after a botched attempt at sealing it the first time."

"And so... The Palm is using these spirits then?".

Sypher and Shiaran both nod.

"They are perverting the power of these faults. Almost like they're reversing the flow of the energy to fuel their own campaign. Binding these faults cuts them off from their power source and restores balance to the natural flow of spiritual energy to the great beyond."

Crasmar wipes a massive hand across his face. "And I'm betting Gheevorah is at the helm of it all, acting in Klorohs Dragun's stead". He sighs heavily. "I really wish you had of killed her, ya know Oro?". He turns his attention back to the party. "Alright then, I know enough that letting you through is a done deal. We'll need time to gather everyone up for a suitable defense, namely getting the under dwellers up to the surface and getting them up to speed as well. Old Mother, what do you say"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:19, Tue 16 Jan 2018.

"Mmmm, yes, yes. De spirits in de room tell me much"


A slight chill settles over the room. A few of the orbs in the antler chandelier above seem to dim, but only for a second. The Crone produces what looks like a sort of herb pouch, and promptly dumps the contents on the table, allowing an assortment of bones, pebbles, and small rune carvings to tumble out.


The Crone stands on her feet, and slams her hands down on the table. She sways to and fro, chanting and mumbling incoherently to herself. She glances down from time to time at the "bones" as she calls them collectively, and continues to sway. After about a minute's time, her head snaps back. A familiar, glowing teal light emits softly from her eyes and mouth. When she speaks, her voice sounds like two sets of vocal chords working together, high and low. Her accent almost completely gone in this state.

"The Dragon is besieged by a tempest of evil. It will fall. From the ruins, wings of midnight will rise...

At an unlikely place, in a city where one of you were born, an unlikely ally awaits...

The least of you shall stand as the best of you...

One who is not like the rest will betray you, and one who will be among you shall die from this...

One who's light was covered early shall find no rest..."

The Crone's swaying comes to a halt, and the glow fades. She looks around the room, breathing heavily.


"Seven is your number, and it is wrong. Eleven. Eleven vill be de number of your counting. To ignore dis spells ruin for all".
This message was last edited by the player at 20:54, Fri 19 Jan 2018.

Shiaran waits for a moment while silence fills the air after the Crone's pronouncements.  Then she lightly swipes the table with a fist and chuckles sardonically.  "Them good ol'e spirits, always giving it to us straight.  You know, that's what I like about spirits.  They are never unnecessarily vague, never couch things in riddles for no other reason than to amuse themselves."  She stands as if to leave.  "Well, our path is clearly laid out in front of us, thanks to the spirits.  We don't even have to think, just kind of let our bodies act on their own accord as the spirits plainly directed.  Yay for us!"

Her face grows sour, she frowns, rolls her eyes, and crosses her arms as she steps back from the table.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:32, Tue 16 Jan 2018.

Sypher sighs heavily.  "Shiaran, you may not put much faith in these spirits, but that is no call for you to disrespect the beliefs of others.  You won't convince anyone of your position or garner much help that way."  His voice is soft and even, but there is an edge to it.

Shiaran whirls on him, her face full of thunder, and her mouth open to speak.  Before she utters a word, she slams it shut with an audible 'clack' and drops into a chair sitting against the back wall.  She tilts it back so only two legs are on the ground and the back is leaning against the wall for support.

The girl looks positively furious.

The Old Crone speaks directly to Shiaran. Her tone is soft, and motherly. "Dey don't tell me vords, little girl, dey show me tings. Fragments. Pieces. But you do not offend me. Crasmar, he said de same tings. Oro, he say de same tings too. Even de Fyrevorms, sometimes day de tings. But der is vone odder ting dey all eventually say. "Old Mother, you do not lie". And vhy should I lie. As a shaman, you vould do vell to listen more and speak less sometimes. I vas de same vay in my youth, and it is indeed a bitter tonic to svallow.".

Shiaran sighs and relaxes a bit, but does not uncross her arms.

Or speak.

Sypher turns to the crone.  "Can you make any sense of what you've seen?  You've done this long enough to have a knack for understanding the images they give you?"

Beloc's posture deflates a little bit as he shakes his head silently at another emotional outburst. After Sypher reigns Shiaran in a little, he decides to help steer the conversation in a more positive direction. "Yes, I'm curious to know what you make of these prophecies. While cryptic, I'm sure there is much we can learn from their message. You said these come to you as visions, can you describe anything else surrounding those visions? The terrain, the sounds, the smells?"

"I don't hev de slightest idea. Half of it is de spirits speaking tru me, de odder half is people and places I've never seen. You have to know, I've not been outside dese city valls in 20 some odds years vhen dey first vent up, and places in de vorld change. Faces age. No sounds, no smells. I'm sorry, but beyond vhat I've said, I cannot help you furder".

"Far be it for me to speak out of turn, but I've never much cared for de bones eidder. I like my information straight and to de point. But.. I too can vouch for our old modder here. Her prophecies are vhat lead Crasmar to rally de broken clans in de first place. It's vhat lead him to Draakensong, his blade. And many, many night ago, she foretold of your coming here. "People of de past, valking in de future, vill pay calling to de stones of de mountain". A bit of a stretch to be just coincidence".

Shiaran snorts.  "Somebody better write all that down.  That way, when it comes to pass, we can look back in hindsight and check it off the list.  Put one next to people of the past walking in the future, not that doesn't describe every person ever in the history of time."

She stands and walks over to the table where she plants both palms, arms locked, and turns to Crasmar.  "You know our mission.  You said we could pass through.  No conditions?  No caveats?  Just like that?  I'm waiting for the other boot to fall here."

R.E.B.O.R.T. speaks up for the first time in what seems like all day. He taps a finger to his temple, "It has been recorded."

Crasmar's face wrinkles in to a snarl. "You know exactly what she means, and everyone in this room knows what decade you come from, what your "mission" is now, and where you intend to go. I'm just trying to figure out the part of where the monks of Mirn taught you piss poor manners in the gracious home of another, girl. And a Whiteraven no less? This isn't how I recall the Whiteraven's behaving at all. In fact, I recall being on very good terms with your Uncle Callion, heavens preserve him. You may want to consider your next words carefully, because I can just as easily". He snaps a look over at Oro who is holding up a hand "No, Oro. She needs to hear this. I can just as easily send you packing, not just for insulting my people, but for insulting the very pride of your own family name". He sits back in his massive chair, causing the legs of it to make an ear piercing screech as it slides back a few inches on the stone floor below. He looks over at Toki. "You, fetch some mead".

Shiaran opens her mouth to speak, but Sypher is faster.  "She has no more words to speak and she no longer commands this mission."  Sypher looks sadly at Shiaran - who sits back down to sulk in silence - then back to Crasmar.  "And she does not remember much at all about our family.  She was a small child when our House was wiped out.  Thus, the fault lies with me.  I thought she was ready to lead, but I was mistaken.  Please forgive me."

The monk bows low and holds the position until given leave to rise by Crasmar.

Crasmar's face is stern, but his demeanor softens slightly at Sypher's apologies. "Well it's good to see at least one of you knows how to conduct yourselves. Take your seat. Everyone, take a seat". He rests his massive forearms on the table top, folding his hands together. "We have on our hands a common enemy. For 10 short years, I've kept things isolated to try and buy time, to prevent the unnecessary loss of life with my people, and to give the Fildegarians time to sort out this mess. I see now that it was a mistake. However thanks to Oro and Gazra, as well as the four of you delivering all this news, I'm left with no choice but to prepare us for war. Jarl Vindfor, I want you to rally the rest of the jarls, and pass the word. Make sure Krumstraang has the manpower he needs to vacate the Under Prarie and get all of our supplies above ground. Once you have that delegated, I want you to undertake personally an envoy down to Arborea in Argonette to bury the hatchet with our elf neighbors. We need an alliance as will they. If they gripe about the failed Southlands deal, offer them a parcel of land equal in size somewhere else along the border. Right now losing a few acres is the least of our concerns. Old Mother, you said something about a number with our guests being wrong. Do you mean to say they require more bodies?".

The Old Crone nods silently.

"I was afraid that's what you meant. Tomorrow then, we'll gather up the warriors and take volunteers. No man will be barred from offering".
This message was last edited by the player at 20:55, Fri 19 Jan 2018.