Nearly every route leading to Canthus is barren, dangerous, or both.  Those arriving from the east withstand hardpan and scrub and a dry wind that scours the skin off as it drives the drit.

Those from the west must cross the northern reaches of the Black Riage, the mazes of the foot hills, and the bloodthirsty tribes of abhumans that battle for territory there.  Even the well-traveled roads aren't considered safe.

To the south lies the Caecilian Jungle, creeping ever northward along the riverbed of the Gaath.  Clear and cold, the Gaath runs southward in an ever-narrowing green ribbon pointing toward the cliffs below Canthus.  There it bursts forth from the rock like an eternal explosion of water and prismatic spray.  The reptilian clans of the jungle have followed the lush vegetation northward as well, killing farmers and fishers, fouling fields and destroying crops.

And the north?  No one comes from the north.  Barely two days travel away from Canthus is the escarpment that is the last usable land before the falling terrain again levels out at the foot of the Shimmering Veil.  Stretching in an ever-wavering arc for miles and miles in either direction, dwarfing every natural peak in sight, the Veil marks a line no one but the mad or desperate would be willing to cross.

The older man wiped his brow as they approached the top of the trail, and smiled at the younger man as they looked back upon their recent path from above.

Below them, the rainbow mists obscured the emergence of the Gaath river from the rock upon which they now stood.  He sipped from the water they had gathered earlier, enjoying the chill that still lingered in the crystal clear liquid.

The river flowed down and away from them, stretching toward the star-shaped Caecilian Jungle.  Thoughts of the perils they had survived (and that others had not) reminded him of the tokens they had acquired from the latter.  And now, at map's end, would they be able to find Hoa Sen?  As always, it was in the Hands of the Sovereign One.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the panoramic view, and his mind reached out with a telepathic tendril to touch a ring upon his left hand.  The ring answered with a gentle sound of wind chimes and a hauntingly beautiful wooden flute, transforming his thoughts into music.  And as he telepathically played, he lifted up his voice in gentle song...

"The Sovereign One my Shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never,
I nothing lack if I am His
And He is mine forever.

Where streams of living water flow
My ransomed soul He leadeth,
And where the verdant pastures grow,
With food celestial feedeth.

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love He sought me,
And on His shoulder gently laid,
And home, rejoicing, brought me.

In death's dark vale I fear no ill
With Thee, dear Lord, beside me;
Thy rod and staff my comfort still,
Thy cross before to guide me.

Thou spread'st a table in my sight;
Thy unction grace bestoweth;
And O what transport of delight
From Thy pure chalice floweth!

And so through all the length of days
Thy goodness faileth never;
Good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise
Within Thy house forever."

His voice died away, along with the wooden flute and wind chimes shortly after.

He sighed, and turned to his companion.

"Are you ready for Canthus, friend Derrick, and for the Shimmering Veil beyond?"

Mayhew leads the way for his small band of explorers and their pair of aneen. As the Black Riage vanishes behind them the land becomes more fertile and welcoming. His quick eyes take note of the signs of farming and travel.

They crest a small rise and Canthus comes into view for the first time in many days. He gives a cheerful shout of encouragement to his companions. "Canthus! We shall sleep in our beds tonight!"

He move back to the group. He pauses next to one of the aneen. He examines the ties holding the metal plating and the bags holding his lesser salvage.

Continuing to the rear of the group, he notices one young man lagging behind. "Tomen! Pick up the pace. You're nearly home don't fall out now. We're still in dangerous lands. I'm sure your love will have a warm welcome for you."

Once certain the group is still together, he rushes to the lead again. His magnificent tail is raised high with its tip almost reaching the height of the feather in his cap.

Derrick had been letting Agatho set the pace of their travel ever since they had come across the remains of the other party. He reasoned that whatever danger lay around them, it was more likely to come in the form of an ambush so he did not want to let his friend out of his sight. As they reached the top of the trail, he also took a moment to catch his breath. The climb had not been easy even for him and he was glad for the respite.

When Agatho began to project the music and sing, Derrick spread his feet slightly, clasped his hands in front of himself, and bowed his head. He stood at the edge of the cliff so that even with his head lowered he could see the mist and the colors that played across it. As his companion sang, Derrick did his best to internalize the meaning of the song. Agatho had explained to him of many occasions that the Sovereign One was often referred to as a Shepherd (which he had explained was an ancient word for a herdsman of a specific kind of animal called sheep) because it was common to compare people to sheep whom the Sovereign One watched over like a herdsman. As he contemplated the first line of the song, Derrick's mind wandered to imagining what a sheep might have looked like.

When the singing and the music died away, Derrick snapped his attention back to matters at hand and silently berated himself for not paying closer attention to the rest of the song. Out loud all he said was: "Yes, I think so. That was a lovely song Agatho. It was very fitting for the moment." He paused briefly before continuing. "The terrain up here is much gentler than on the trail or in the valley below, I think we'll be able to make good time to Canthus. Can you determine from the map how close we are?" He notably did not address the second part of Agatho's question. He had been wrestling with the idea of traveling to such an obviously dangerous place ever since Agatho had first brought it up.

In reply to Mayhew (msg # 3):

Only 3 hours or so from the farthest fields tended by the residents of Canthus, Mayhew paused to survey the scene as he comrades continued their weary trudge.  There seemed to be more build-up north of the aldea, a collection of structures a bit away from the main community.

Mayhew's sense of time was not nearly as good as his sense of direction.  Reflecting on his memories of the plans for the Scouts Camp, he realized he'd been gone from home nearly three weeks.  It was easier to track the time when he remembered he'd buried a friend every 6 days.

Blorr, the only Lattimor in the group, passed by with a grunt and the hint of a smile.  Tommen brought up the rear.  As he passed Mayhew, he spat, "Now you're holding up the group, fuzzy.  And if the chirogs have followed us this close to Canthus, we damaged their heads even more than we thought."

Mayhew gives Tommen a smile. "Fuzzy I am, but holding up the group, I am not. Come along my friends!"

Mayhew rushes to get to the head of the group again. Memories of those lost and the time spent are quickly washed away by the joy of returning home. He pushes on striving to reach Canthus before nightfall.

Before Mayhew had made it back to point, hardly necessary this close to home, Blorr called him over.  She asked, in her rolling bass voice, "Do you think any of the other groups had better luck than us?  We scoured everything between the Veil and the mountains.  All we found was scrub and slavering fangs.  Even that little 'oasis' was barely enough to shelter what's left of us until Esso was able to travel again."  She sighed and turned her gaze southward, where the green ribbon along the Gaath broadened into the horizon.  "My people have already been forced from our homes once and will be again.  I want to resettle just that one more time before I die, Mayhew.  Not that the humans haven't be accommodating, but ..."  Her thought trails into exhaustion as she turns back toward Canthus.

The older man nodded gently.

"Laud to the Sovereign One.  It is an ancient song from the Sacred Archives.  Indeed, it is one of my favorites."

He silently noted the partial answer of his companion with a reassuring smile.

"I suspect Canthus must be already within sight, or nearly so..."

He stepped away from the panoramic view of the cliff, walked a few final paces sloping upwardly, and pointed.

"I'd say that is already the southern palisade, so we are indeed likely to make good time."

He turned back to his companion.

"Some parts of our path are gentler, friend Derrick, and others less so.  A Shimmering Veil is always before us, obscuring the path ahead... but all is as decreed by the Sovereign One from the beginning of all things."

"As it is written: 'The Sovereign One is He who is going before thee, He himself is with thee; He doth not fail thee nor forsake thee; fear not, nor be affrighted.' "

"We are in Good Hands."

After following Agatho to the top of the rise, there was a noticeable relaxing of Derrick's shoulders when he saw the walls of the aldea. Within sight of there destination, he felt a resurgence of confidence.

He furrowed his brow at Agatho's statement about the Shimmering Veil, then after a moment the light of understanding dawned. "Oh, it's a metaphor. There are always obstacles, but they are part of the Plan. How important is it not to be afraid? Surely the scripture doesn't mean for us to go around heedless of danger?"

As he asked his questions, he hiked up the pack on his back and started down the far side of the slope towards the palisade. With the aldea in sight there was no reason to stay close to the muddy banks of the river so he steered away from them hoping to make better time.

Mayhew moves over to Blorr and listens to her. He nods. "While I hope someone found something, I'm preparing myself for the worst. Heading into the Veil isn't something I really want to do, but I will for the good of Canthus. And with me along, at least the team won't get lost.

"I know what you mean about wanting a place to setting down. Your people deserve a home. They deserve to live in their own culture. I will do everything I can to make that dream come true."

re: Mayhew

Blorr nods and keeps trudging.  She occasionally checks the aneen to make sure the equipment and salvaged parts are still secure.  Everyone is exhausted, but determined to make it to Canthus before nightfall.  When the returning explorers are an hour distant from the walls, Mayhew notices the signal flag rising on the western watch tower.  They'd been spotted.  A flag on the southern tower is visible, too, the color indicating foreigners, but not invaders.

re: Agatho and Derrick

You are not far from the palisade, less than ten minutes walk, really.  As you crest the rise, you see a flag rising at the tower above the gate.  Silhouetted figures move atop the walls, but there is no sense of alarm.  The other members of the people hoping to help (or make their fortune, or both) follow up behind you and continue to make their way toward the aldea.

Derrick, ever alert for possible danger, notices a flag on the western tower as well.  The tower to the east is unadorned.

Further south, and perhaps a touch to the east, of whether Derrick and Agatho approached the settlement, a figure travelled alone: bundled in a voluminous hooded grey cloak, not even their features were visible - hidden behind a shadowed mask. Strips of black and grey cloth, of varying shades, wrapped their limbs where they emerged from the cloak. Enough to suggest that perhaps this was only an outer cloak atop another lighter garment...

Travelling alone, the figure made a steady pace, strides eating up the ground quickly. They stopped occasionally, for no reason apparent to those who might be watching, speaking amicably to themselves or adjusting the heft of the long polearm they carried - it's style clearly Milgavian if the sisk at their belt was not evidence enough.

By the time the others approached the tower, they were perhaps a few hundred yards away

re: Artor

You crest the ridge of the east side of the cliff face from which the Gaath spews forth.  You found a followed a road that leads down toward the Beanstalk and other settlements beyond, giving a wide birth to the jungle as it wended northward.  It may have just been luck that you hadn't seen another traveler for days.

In the late afternoon light, you can see a second road from the east that joins yours before leading to the defended gate of the community.  The walls seem to be mostly local stone with an unfamiliar mortar of bright orange holding them together.  A few guards and spotters can be seen in the towers and above the gate, but none shows any alarm at seeing you or the group of people walking toward Canthus along the eastern fork.

The older man nodded at the younger man approvingly.

"Indeed, it is also written: 'The wise is fearing and turning from evil, And a fool is transgressing and is confident.' So there is a context in which we are not to fear, and a context in which we are to fear."

"The first passage tells us not to fear the prospect of obeying His commands."

"The second passage tells us to fear the prospect of not obeying His commands."

He observes the activity at the tower and upon the walls with interest as they walk, and notes the converging path of the lone figure cloaked in grey.  As always, he observes with both mundane and empathic senses as they draw nearer to one another, and gives a friendly nod in greeting.

"'Peace to you.' "

Beneath the hood a somewhat accented male voice emerges, the hard vowels and chopped syllables of Stirthal, “Greetings, Shepherd... it has been many moons since we crossed paths...”

He raised his hood, revealed a synth-mask that depicted an spirit creature of some kind; when the man spoke it echoed his emotion, now portraying one of faint surprise and pleasure, “It is Artor of the Underpipes, now sometimes called Graythane. You healed my ... mentor ... when you passed through our city”

The older man smiled warmly in recognition.

"It is good to see you again, friend Artor.  This is Derrick, of my flock family.  Well met."

"It has indeed been awhile.  What paths have brought you from there to here, to give me the pleasure of seeing you once again?"

Derrick took another moment to repeat the words to himself so as to understand the difference between Agatho's two statements. As he did, he acknowledged the lack of alarm on the walls of the settlement, which eased his mind, but also acknowledged the approaching figure in the hood which kept him slightly on edge.

Agatho's relative calmness in addressing the stranger convinced Derrick that there was no need to step forward in the older man's immediate defense, but he stayed close behind just in case. When the stranger introduced himself as someone who knew Agatho, Derrick relaxed more completely even if the strange mask unnerved him slightly. Agatho must have met the man in his journeys before Derrick as the large man was certain he would remember meeting someone who wore such a strange mask.

At the prompt, Derrick nodded his head in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you Artor."

Stepping forward the remaining paces, the frayed traceries of robe and swathe snapped in the mind. Something else moved beneath the cloak too, though and for a moment one check of the mask flickered with a black-green luminescence.

“Well met... Derrick”, he offered, the spirit mask shifting to a pleasant smile. He turned his attention back to the priest, “Last time we met I needed not to hide from the sun and moon.... I went deep into the Voil-“ referring to the canyon scar at the southern extent of Milgave “- indeed, perhaps too deep”

He said nothing more on the matter

The older man nodded thoughtfully.

"A mixed blessing...  If you could make that choice over again, knowing what you now know, would you choose the same path, or refrain?"

“Even in the Ninth World it behoves a man not to rewalk his path, Shepherd”, was all Artor would say on the matter

The older man nodded.

"And how is your mentor faring now, friend Artor?"

Mayhew points to the signal flags. "We have visitors arriving the same day we return. I take that as a good sign. While we didn't find a new home, we did get the salvage and that will help. And we learned a bit more about the world around us and that's always useful."

Mayhew smiles happily as he continues to move with his usual grace and curious energy.

Blorr grunts.  "The salvage may help at that.  There is still a new space to find, but I am tired of wandering.  My next journey will carry me to my new home.  Or to my grave." Blorr pats the massive warhammer at her belt and falls to silence for the remaining hours homeward.  Mayhew's expedition arrives less than an hour before the sun sets.  They are greeted warmly but solemnly at the eastern gate.  No one is glad to count the missing.

"Life in Stirthal is brutal", began the shrouded man, his mask echoing sadness, "She lives, thanks to your medicine... but is now indebted to a Lord's son. It happened perhaps a year after you passed through... before I fled to the depths of the city"

re: Agatho, Artor, Derrick

The group that Agatho and Derrick came with has passed by and is making their way closer to the southern gate of the palisade.  You've heard some murmurs of concern, curious questions, and statements of relief as various voices drifted along.  Agatho's impromtu "flock" has finally reached beleaguered Canthus.  What difference will they make?

Allowing Agatho and Artor to finish their conversation, Derrick gently urges them along at the rear of the group. As he does, he watches the road behind for any trouble. With their current destination in sight, he is not willing to dawdle outside the walls.

"Well, I'm glad to be home. Let's get our salvage into storage and the gear stowed. I want to thank you all for your hard work on this trip. The price we paid was high, but if we don't find a new home, it will be higher," he says to the team. "Take pride in what we did. We found salvage that will help. We know more than we did. Sleep well tonight."

After the salvage and gear are stowed, he turns his attention to home. Tomorrow he will report the results of the trip, but for now he wants to see his father.

re: Mayhew

Sleep is not so easy to reach.  The returning explorers are met at the gate by Wilmark Aldrege, brooding in courtyard just inside the gate.  He greets each member of the expedition by name, briefly acknowledging Mayhew first and returning to speak to him further after directing the salvage to be taken to the Scouts Camp.  Men greet their returning wives.  Children mourn their fallen brothers.

"I knew you had not found success when your party was spotted, but naw flare lit the sky.  Thank you, thaw, for trying."  He needlessly smooths out his Regent's stole and shifts his weight onto his mechanical leg.  "Yours is the last of the safer paths to return.  Malach's didn't come back at all and there is naw trace to hint at their fate.  Fesnilla lost none of her band, but found aught except a few hawmsteads, leagues from each awther with awnly bare rock and sharp metal spines between them."  He turns northward and stares through the buildings and walls into empty space in the deepening dusk.  "We lost eight while you were gone.  Seven in the fields and one just outside the walls.  The magillin grawves on the west bank have been abandoned and mawst were already reduced to ashes.  It's either the Veil or the trek to the Clock of Kala, and many of us will not survive that trip, even if we suffer not a single raid along the way."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:56, Fri 21 June 2019.

re: Agatho, Artor, and Derrick

As the traveling assemblage approaches the gates, progress slows as migrants are briefly interrogated, either one at a time or in small family groups (only two families made this trip).  Skills are noted, weapons are inspected but not confiscated, cyphers are inventoried, housing is assigned, guard duty rosters are explained.  Most people talk about their plans to build a stronger aldea, earn glory in killing the denizens of the jungle, or speak of the joy they get in helping others. The biggest winnowing is the one looking for those willing to explore beyond the Shimmering Veil.

Of this last group, only three are included, the stragglers who were chatting as they met beyond the aldea's border.  Derrick, Agatho, and Artor are led to a small, unadorned building, a glorified shed with table and chairs, and told to wait for the regent.  Or the woman organizing the trip northward.  Whoever comes first.

Several minutes later, a small boy arrives with small cups of water and a few biscuits for the trio.  He scurries away before you can get any answers from him.

In reply to Immortal Eye (msg # 28):

Mayhew sighs sadly and nods. "I understand," he says softly. "In the morning I will begin gathering a group to take into the Veil. I will find a way to our new home."

He glances back at his companions of the last trip. His shoulders slump slightly. "They need to rest and cannot be asked to take on this next trip. I'm sorry, but even I need a night after that grind.

"For the trip into the Veil, I suggest a small team of specialists like myself. People with a range of skills and experience."

(Agatho, Artor, and Derrick)

The woman who arrives a minute or two after the boy leaves is dressed in orange, her tunic closed at the throat with the square-and-lobes icon of the Order of Truth and belted with a broad sash of some dark, synth-woven fabric. Her head bears a short fuzz of reddish hair but no other adornment. "I am sorry for the delay, saers. I intended to come as soon as I saw the flag raised for new arrivals, but there was pressing business arranging certain materials. I am called Hoa Sen, and stand before you as both tertiary of the Order of Truth and assistant to Regent Wilmark Aldrege. The understanding has been given to me that you are at least willing to entertain the idea of an expedition through the Shimmering Veil, and that you convinced your interviewers at the gate that you have skills to contribute, potentially, to such an undertaking. Is this correct?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:56, Fri 21 June 2019.

re: Mayhew

Aldrege nods.  "We are looking for volunteers.  Naw one from Canthus has yet stepped forward.  Yourself as an exception, of course."  He smiles at Mayhew.  "You do your father proud.  His condition has improved these past few weeks, at least some.  I imagine you are eager to see him."  He surveys the scene within the gate, groups of revelers or mourners moving deeper within the maze of cottages.  "Let us meet in the Scouts Camp at noontide tomorraw.  Haw-a has been organizing supplies for the trip and I may have a few surprises to add.  Perhaps the group at the south wall contains the few more brave sawls we need to reach success."

The older man nodded quietly as the woman introduced herself.

A part of his mind reflected with interest upon how the Sovereign One had directed them to this very person.

Another part of his mind reflected upon how best to respond to the introduction.  He was a natural spokesperson for himself and for Derrick, and Artor was a man of fewer words.  Should he take it upon himself to introduce them all?

Yet another part of his mind pondered when was best to share such news as he had with her...

He nodded again at her query.

"Well met, Hoa Sen.  I am Agatho of Hayrest, an unworthy servant of the Sovereign One.  This is Derrick, of my own flock family.  And this is Artor of the Underpipes, now sometimes called Graythane.  'Peace to you.'  "

"Before we proceed further, I bring tidings to you specifically, Hoe Sen."

"On our travels, Derrick and I came upon the remains of a group that had been attacked.  There were no survivors, and little remains."

He glanced at Derrick, and took a series of items from him, one by one, to pass to her.

"We did find one document that was a map to Canthus, a letter in smudged script addressed to 'Hoa Sen', and the following items: a walking staff, a red sash, a bit of numenera, and a medallion."

"I do not know if the messengers were known to you.  I am sorry to be the bearer of such tidings.  However, at least the message that they sought to bring you has now been delivered successfully."

The head of the walking staff was chopped off, but the shaft was a many-stranded braid of synth and metal, sturdy and still usable.

The violently red sash had largely survived intact and was oddly unstained by the blood spattered on it.

The bit of numenera was perhaps six centimeters long and a distinctive combination of rubbery pad and curved brass, trailing a bit of wire.

The medallion was of the Order of Truth, ceramic but scuffed almost to unrecognizability.

"I...see." Hoa Sen said, then lowered her head. "I expect we won't be joined by Master Ulhe...after all." Her voice, so rich a moment earlier, became brittle. Tears glistened in her eyes when she raised her head; she did not sob. "He and the others were going to come study the Veil, you see. And perhaps to install some— some installations— for Canthus' defense." She drew a breath. "The sash is Tannin's. Was. I do not regret that I saw him fight only once. Whatever attacked them must have been— Must have been formidable. And thorough. Ulhe's little automaton would have tried to scramble off if there was trouble." The arkus pinches the bridge of her nose. "Thank you for bringing these tidings, sad though they be."

She again lowers her head, then half-sings:

"All glory to the originators of truth and understanding.
Praise to the innovators of synth and steel.
Praise to the shapers of flesh, of bone, and of mind.
Glory to those who resculpted the sustaining earth and the life-giving sun.
Praise to the senders of signals, who even now whisper into machine ears and give life to the inanimate.
Praise to those who traveled to the stars, and the realms beyond the stars.
All glory to the originators of truth and understanding."

Then, as if opening it will make everything real, Hoa Sen opens the letter.

Her grief flooded the older man's empathic senses, and he quietly met her teary gaze with one of his own.  It was obviously more than mere sympathy.  He... empathized.  He felt her pain.

After being thanked, he gently inclined his head in acknowledgement, and waited quietly while she read...

Derrick perked up when Hoa introduced herself, but glanced to Agatho before saying anything. He was pleased he did, for Agatho at once broached the subject of the party they had found. He nodded at the mention of his own name, but said nothing else until Agatho had related the tale such as it was. Derrick passed over the items they had collected to Agatho at the man's glance. He kept a respectful silence as Hoa explained a little about what they had found and sung her lamenting hymn. Internally, he was unsure what to make of the representative of the Order of Truth and her song.

The letter is actually three pages in three different hands. In different circumstances, the pages would be completely mundane.

One sheet is a formal greeting written in an exacting hand, affixed with a crystalline seal. It is a diplomatic opening from the Amber Papacy to the leaders of Canthus, with offers of additional aid if Canthus will host a clave aligned with the Amber Pope, either in their current location or the one they emigrate to.

The second note is written in violet ink, scratched in quick, precise letters.  It contains a list of the group members who traveled with Master Ulhe.  Those unfamiliar to Hoa had their various ranks and trainings and specialties listed as well, so Hoa could quickly find the best use for them in the community.

The last letter is written in a flowing script that Hoa immediately recognizes.  Master Tharit has sent his warm greetings and best wishes for her continued success.  He states his great pride in Hoa's accomplishments and his hopes that she is able to serve well, for the benefit of the people of Canthus.  He includes updates on his flowers, a data sphere he was researching, and Appodec, his beloved seskii who recently passed away.

They are such simple things, really, even the letter from Master Tharit. It remains the only thing she can ever hope to reply to. Technically, the letter from the Durkhal should be passed on to Wilmark Alredge, but she cannot imagine Canthus sparing anybody to attempt the journey back to the Steadfast with a response. Something to file away with hope for the future.

The tertiary reads quickly, then carefully refolds the letter and tucks it away into a fold of her tunic. Her cheeks remain wet, but she has managed to at least put up a facade of professionalism.

"Thank you, again, for bringing this. There are no answers here, but there are no easy roads in this world, and it is fortunate that even these fragments reached me here." Her smile is a mask, a clever performance. "And if you are willing, you will soon be traveling again. The situation in Canthus grows desperate. Several expeditions have set out to find a suitable place for the aldeia to resettle. Few have returned, and none with good news. Our only remaining hope is the Shimmering Veil itself, and that expedition will depart within the next few days. There are abhumans in the fields, and strange creatures haunting the roads. Remaining here, even with valiant defenders, the people of Canthus can count their future in months, nothing more."

The older man regarded her quietly, gently piercing the façade with an empathic understanding of her struggles and challenges.

"It was a privilege to serve... and it will be a privilege to serve again.  The need is great, and I am willing."

"I have some humble skills as a Nano, and as an Empath, and as a Healer."

"May the Sovereign One grant us success."

With previous introductions completed, now was not the time to presume to speak for his companions, so he paused to let them speak for themselves...

"I will chance the Veil", Artor confirmed, speaking into the gap. His voice was firm and unmuffled, despite the cloak and the mask, and he straightened as he spoke, his height and the breadth of his shoulders apparent. He had not chanced upon the same things on the road, seemed unmoved by them or their effect on the lady who spoke to them

"I find things", he offered, by way of explanation, "Things hidden in dark places"

It did not take an empath to pierce Hoa's mask, but Derrick had looked away to allow her to compose herself and only returned his gaze as she spoke of the task that lay ahead. He nodded in agreement with his companion and fingered the mace at his belt. "I go where Agatho goes and we came here to help you resettle. I will do my best to protect the expedition."

At this point, the boy who brought in the water and food earlier rushes back into shed, so breathless he can hardly speak.

"Lady Sen ... there's ... trouble ... Scouts Camp ... screaming."

He falls to his knees, even as he waves his arm northward.

re: Mayhew

As you are taking your leave of the Regent, shouts come from the north side of the aldea.  A woman runs up to you and Aldrege and says that someone in the Scouts Camp is shouting for Mayhew and for a healer.  The voice sounds like one of the Lattimor.

As the boy uttered his message, Derrick jumped to his feet and rushed out of the shed. It took him a moment to orient himself in the direction the boy waved, before he charges off towards the disturbance. As he ran, he drew the shield from his back and strapped it to his arm. Unsure what he would find when he arrived, he kept his hands free rather than immediately drawing his weapon.

Hoa Sen, already standing, was out the door in a few quick strides. The smoothness of her movement made it clear that she was not only a bureaucrat.

"This way!"

-->Radwa's Creation/Scout Camp
This message was last edited by the player at 16:50, Sun 23 June 2019.

The older man immediately followed, silently praying as he ran...

In the city he called home, such a ruckus would have been meet by sneers and laughter - or some kind of negotiation, exploitation and confrontation. Beyond the Steadfast, folk were truer to one another and when their potential employer leapt into the fray herself, Artor finally moved.

But when he moved, his fleetness became apparent. His quick strides quickly had him making pace with Derrick, his spear tip held out and low to one side so as not to impede either balance or passersby

Hearing of the Lattimor calling for him, Mayhew takes off running in the direction of the trouble. The way he carries himself shifting subtly as he readies himself for a fight.

OOC: Those seeking the stray aneen can post again here.  This is currently Mayhew, Artor, and Derrick.

The trail is easy enough to pick up and  start to follow as it leads eastward out of the Scouts Camp and into the hardpan and scrub.  The sun is past set at this point, though, with twilight fading. Tracking will soon become more difficult.

In reply to Immortal Eye (msg # 49):

Loping beside the other two, cloak and bandages trailing, a glitter of emerald-noir crests like a wave across one shoulder. Artor notices it not, calling out softly as they hit the trail, “As twilight falls my eyes will adjust, but I will need one of you to interpret the trail”

Keeping an intent eye on a set of large tracks, Artor begins to part slowly from the others without realizing it.  His keen eyes, accustomed to the dark, notice that the surface has become more bare and sandy.  Ahead, the tracks seem to stop cold.  Artor reaches the spot where the trail ends.

Light footed as the trail ends, further wisps of coruscating void swirl around Artor in the twilight

Noticing a subtle shift in the sands at his feet, Artor leaps to the side and sprints backwards as two grasping arms erupt from the sands.  He is able to evade them and make it to the edge of the bare area, even as the appendages continue to emerge, ever longer, and lunge toward him, repeatedly striking the ground along the path of the Jack's footsteps.

OOC: Mayhew and Derrick would be close enough to hear this and see it at a distance.

Even as he continues to dance back, Artor slashes our with his light glaive at one of the elongated limbs chasing him

Derrick's ears perk up at the first sign of trouble and in a moment, he has whirled around to take in what is happening. A moment later, the large man has begun to lumber back in Artor's direction, shouting and pulling out his weapon as he does. "Hold on Artor!" Derrick builds speed with his charge intending to smash one of the arms with his mace as soon as he reaches it.

Assuming Derrick is at least at short range, he will use his action to move into immediate range of the arms. If he is at long range and a roll is required, let me know.

Artor's slashes whiff through the air.  Thus far, neither limb has reached past the ring where the vegetation starts growing.

Derrick (and Mayhew) are too far away to reach Artor quickly.  Having focused on the trail Mayhew was following, they lost track of their companion until the thrashing began.  Now Artor is just a silhouette leaping along the horizon in front of a deep violet sky.  Larger, longer silhouettes blacken the sky behind (beside?) Artor.

OOC: It will take two rounds to cover the distance from yourself to Artor.  If you succeed on a DC 4 (12 on d20) Speed roll, you'll be able to take an action when you arrive.

Hearing and seeing the danger Artor is in, Mayhew dashes toward the fight. As he moves, he makes sure his synth vambraces are in place.

"Take care Artor!" he calls out moments after Derrick. "We're on our way!"

---

OOC Speed Roll
  16:26, Today: Mayhew rolled 17 using 1d20 with rolls of 17.  Speed Roll.

Artor has but a moment to decide: lunge to strike the flailing limbs, their tips covered in spiky protrusions, or flee and hope that the creature beneath the sand cannot match his speed.

Derrick and Mayhew will reach him if he joins the battle, potentially putting them at risk, also.  If the creature is faster than it appears, it may not matter anyway.

With one eye on the others courageously rushing to his side, Artor swings wildly with his weapon once more - more to dissuade and impair the beast's movement than with any true focus - as he continues to dance around it. Still, he calls out to them, "Beware, it is swift and canny"

Having yet to connect, the spiked ends of the arms begin to tap the sand in Artor's direction.  Tap, tap, tap, swing a bit.  Tap, tap, tap, swing.  They move independently.  Tap, tap, ... swinging right at Artor.

For all his flailing, Artor’s constant unpredictable motion and swirling cloak keeps him safe

Derrick charges in recklessly at the arms from behind. Though he builds up an incredible head of steam as he rushes in, the arms are faster than he expects as he swings his mace in attempt to smash one of them.

Derrick rolled 19 using 1d20. Speed roll DC 3. Applying 1 level of Effort (3 Speed - 1 Edge + 1 Armor).

Derrick rolled 2 using 1d20. Attack with my mace DC Unknown. Apply my Aggression ability to provide an asset (2 Might).

Mayhew darts into the fray moments after Derrick. He attacks one of the creature's arms with his open paw.

---

OOC Unarmed is a light weapon, reducing the Difficulty by 1. He hits assuming the Difficulty starts at 5 or less. He does 4 points of bashing damage.
  16:13, Today: Mayhew rolled 14 using 1d20 with rolls of 14.  Unarmed Attack.

Mayhew's paw connects with one of the limbs, inflicting a solid crack to the carapace.  The other limb immediately reacts and swings toward him.

OOC: Ok, combatants.  Your enemy is currently a 4(12).  You are all within the circle of bare sand that the limbs are centered in.

Mayhew, please make a Speed defense roll.  Failure will result in being hit with spiky bits.  Describe as you see fit.

Artor can then act before the creature's next turn.

One of the creature's arms strikes at Mayhew but Mayhew is simply not that slow. He avoids the attack with the speed and agility of a trained warrior.

---

OOC He is trained in Speed Defense and his Vambraces count as a Shield. Difficulty is reduced to 2 (6).
  17:12, Today: Mayhew rolled 12 using 1d20 with rolls of 12.  Speed Defense (Trained, Vambraces).

With a sudden swirl of shadows and darkness and ... something else ... Artor leapt for the centre of the circle of sand, striking downward with his Glaive

As the arms flail dangerously at the others, Derrick makes a quick determination. Since he can't see any eyes, he decides the creature must use some other sense. He raises his mace and smashes it into the ground in front of the creature, then begins to bang the weapon on his shield in the hopes of drawing the creature's attention with the vibrations. "I will draw its attention! Over here!"

Attempting to Draw the Attack.

Artor's strike is true and potent.  As his glaive pierces the bare surface by the protruding limbs, a brief blast of sand swirling in black ether radiates out.

A deep thrumming sound vibrates the ground right before the center of the circle erupts as the hidden creature lunges out of the ground and toward Artor.  A beaked face of black carapace snaps as many shorter clawed appendages try to grasp at him.  The shell is marred by a deep gash along one side where eyes might be.  The wound is weeping drit-encrusted ichor.

The "abdomen" of the creature is much paler and the skin seems softer and more supple.  It is pulsing and veined, dragging behind the rest of the anatomy.


Derrick's pounding does draw the "attention" of the longer limbs, which attack him as a pair, independent of assault on Artor by the hideous main body.



OOC: Current positions- Artor, center; Derrick, NW; Mayhew, NE; Creature, facing N toward Artor
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:26, Thu 04 July 2019.

Despite the tunnel vision of his anger, Derrick is able to avoid the blows of both arms with a well timed roll and good shield placement. As he comes to his feet, he continues to try and draw the creature away from his allies in the hopes of exposing it's more vulnerable areas to their attacks.

Derrick rolled 19 using 1d20. Speed Defense DC 4 (Shield, Aggression).

Struggling to loosen his Glaive, Artor is slow to escape the creature’s lunge

The creature leaps far faster than the long limbs would have indicated.  Artor's thigh is firmly clamped in the creature's beak and one of the other appendages restrains his ankle further.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:39, Fri 05 July 2019.

Finally relinquishing his weapons and scrambling backward on all fours , Artor gasped when the creature’s beak latched onto the folds of cloak enclosing flesh - even as it was stained dark with void and blood. Crooning at the creature, symbiotically attached in his mind, he stroked the beak softly

Mayhew darts forward and strikes at the head of the creature. While small, he puts all of his strength into the blow.

---

OOC Spending a level of Might Effort for Extra Damage. A roll of 17 will hit Difficulty 6 because his unarmed attack is light and reduces the difficulty by 1. On a 17, he gets +1 damage and +3 damage from effort. Total damage from the hit is 8.
  17:27, Today: Mayhew rolled 17 using 1d20 with rolls of 17.  Unarmed Attack (Might Effort for extra damage).

A sickening crack breaks the carapace of the creature's head.  A gout of ichor splashes onto Mayhew and Artor.  Chittering, the creature releases Artor's leg and pushes his hand away as it bolts toward the southern border of the circle of bare ground, beginning to throw sand and drit in all directions.

OOC: So combat order is Artor, Creature, Derrick/Mayhew.  Artor's action was petting it, the creature is fleeing but still in immediate distance.  Derrick and Mayhew, you guys are up.

Derrick is briefly torn as the creature begins to flee whether he should simply let it go, but he has dealt with dangerous beasts before and knows they rarely reciprocate such mercy the next time they go hunting. So he takes another mighty swing with his mace.

Derrick rolled 6 using 1d20. Melee attack (Might Effort to reduce difficulty). Derrick has an asset to melee attacks from Aggression. With that and the Effort he should hit DC 4 for 5 damage.

With no desire to leave such a threat near his community, Mayhew darts after the creature. As he closes, he performs a gymnastic flip and brings down a foot in a powerful kick to the creature's head.

---

OOC And spending an XP for a reroll on that natural 1. A roll of 10 hits Difficulty 4. Might effort for bonus damage again. Total damage is 7.
  18:00, Today: Mayhew rolled 1 using 1d20 with rolls of 1.  Unarmed Attack (Might Effort for extra damage).
  18:01, Today: Mayhew rolled 10 using 1d20 with rolls of 10.  Spending XP for a reroll.

Derrick's mace slams into the creature's exposed abdomen and tears a hole wide enough that the creature's viscera begin to splatter outward.  Mayhew's kick causes the now-lifeless creature to roll in Mayhew's direction, further covering him with bug gore.  Soon, the night is quiet but for the heaving breaths of the three weary survivors.

"Artor," Mayhew calls out. "Are you okay?" He begins moving toward to his future companion.

Derrick also clambers around the dead creature to check on Artor, though between his sprinting and the fight he is too out of breath to say anything. Unwilling to tie his mace back to his belt while it is still covered in bug juice, he holds the weapon away from himself slightly as he walks. He does slip his shield into its place on his back to free up his left hand.

Sighing, Artor stared at his hands - hands that had until a few moments ago cradled the beaked head of the creature, hands now covered in gore from Mayhew's strike. Without looking up he spoke softly, "It kissed me, tasted blood and void..."

"It was messing with your mind," Mayhew says softly. "Some predators do that, they trick you and make you thing nothing is wrong as they eat you. The effect should fade."

He looks around trying to spot the aneen's tracks. "I think I know where the aneen is going. Care to join me?"

He begins moving North toward the location it looked like the aneen was heading toward.

---

OOC As he walks, he takes an Action for a Recovery. He puts 2 points into Might and 3 into Intellect.
  13:44, Today: Mayhew rolled 5 using 1d6+1.  Recovery.

Derrick looks at Artor with a confused expression. Not understanding the man's words, he is about to ask when Mayhew explains. Seeming to accept this explanation of events without question, Derrick instead begins to clean his weapon to the ichor by wiping it against a small shrub before tying it to his belt once again.

As Mayhew states his intent to look for the aneen again, Derrick turns his confused gaze on the strange person. "Did the creature not already eat the aneen? Perhaps I missed a sign on the ground. Tracking is not a true skill of mine." He gives another concerned look at Artor and waits to see what the other man will do before deciding for himself.

Taking an action for recovery and putting 2 points in Might. Derrick rolled 2 using 1d6+1. Recovery.

"From what I saw, the aneen was never here. It was traveling along a path north of here. To me it looked like it was heading toward a small cluster of tall grass, scrub trees and boulders that forms a protected area about a mile or so east northeast of the scouts camp."

He looks at Artor and shrugs. "I might be wrong, but I need to take a look. I don't think that creature would have eaten the synthsteel plates the aneen was carrying and I haven't seen any sign of them being dropped."

Looking to Derrick he says, "Feel free to head back to the scouts camp. But my team lost people getting this salvage, I can't just forget it."

Feeling the weight of events he turns slower than before. He heads toward where he hopes to find the aneen. Along the way, he brushes at the goo that covers much of him but just makes it worse. His fur is caked with dirt and goo. He smells bad. His clothing is certainly stained and the feather in his cap is a lost cause.

"Kisses fade, you say. They do not, they linger...", murmured Artor, finally gathering himself to crouch beside the corpse, his robes and bandages concealing much of the movement itself. He studied it for a moment, even as the others spoke of tracks and steel and sacrifice. One hand snaked out, reaching for the sisk at his belt to carve off one of the creature's hands and place it in a pouch at that selfsame belt.

Wiping the weapon, he stood and cast around for his glaive before turning to the other two, "I will come with you to the sacred grove the aneen seeks"

22:13, Today: Artor rolled 5 using 1d6+2.  Recovery. => Fully recovering his Might pool

Even one of the smaller claws of the beast is too large for Artor's belt pouch, but does fit in his pack.

The path to the sheltered area is reasonably clear and free of danger, although the going is slowed due to the deepening night.  Soon, a nearly-full moon breaks past the clouds on the eastern horizon and casts a pale bluish glow in the arid landscape.

As the trio advances closer to the rocks and low trees, a masculine voice calls out from ahead of them.  "Tarry a moment, explorers.  I would speak with you.  Remain as you stand, please."

Mayhew freezes in place. He tries to locate the source of the voice.

"Greetings," he says. "How can we help you traveler?"

"You presume much, Planned One.  I am merely observing and curious, as befits my nature."  The voice continues with pleasant confidence.  It seems to be emanating from within the sheltered circle, or perhaps from the top of one of the boulders.

"Step forth, curious one", called out Artor, even as the voice judged them from concealment, "I will stand, but not for one unseen"

If there is not a quick revelation, he is prepared to vanish and step aside

There is no movement from the sheltered area the aneen is believed to have run to, nor from any other direction, save for the erratic path of a moth as it flutters by and disappears again into the the night.

The voice continues.  "Will you take the sharp path of the northeast, Shadow Touched?  Will you risk the green path of the southeast?  How might you navigate the humming path of the west?"  There is a pause.  The silence stretches.  You can hear the grinding of the sand under your boots as you shift your weight.

"The Aix have no memory of your kind.  They require patience."

Perhaps a momentarily cloud that occluded the moon. Perhaps a shimmer in the nearby shrubs, or a swirl of void nielle. Either way, Artor vanished from sight

Derrick also stays stock still, standing next to Mayhew. He casts around in the dark for the source of the voice. At first his in not confident enough to speak as the conversation doesn't make much sense to him. Then the voice asks what path they are taking. "We are heading to the grove. That is the path we're taking." He resists the urge to pull his shield off his back.

"That is not your path two days hence, Guardian.  Your beast is safe and holds no interest for me."

Still, no figure emerges.  No illumination is provided.  No identity is revealed.

"I will visit you again.  Until then, explorers."  The statement sounds very much like a goodbye.  Only silence follows.

Derrick stands still for a moment in the silence and the darkness. After a moment he asks in a soft whisper: "Is it gone?" It is only at this point, as he turns his head still vainly searching for whatever it was, that he notices Artor's apparent absence. "Mayhew, Artor is gone. Did the voice take him?"

Unwilling to raise his voice much above a whisper, he calls out into the darkness. "Artor! Artor, where have you gone!?" At this point, he does pull his shield from his back, feeling more comfortable with the large piece of metal in front of him.

Pulling his cloak more filling to cover him, Artor spoke softly, “Fear not, I remain. Safe and Hale. Our interrogator has themself vanished however”

With a sigh, Mayhew looks around a bit then heads into the grove. "If he's gone, lets get the aneen. We can discuss this when we're in camp."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 02:20, Tue 16 July 2019.

Derrick relaxes when Artor replies and then grins in the vague direction where the whisper came from. "That's a pretty neat trick." He turns to follow Mayhew. In the failing light, he decides to let the local lead the way.

Nodding at Derrick's remark, Artor quickly caught up with them both. He walked with surety over the terrain, even in the moon's pale light, and kept an eye not only on the trail but their surrounds. His cloak was pulled tightly about him