The next day, the group collects their things and heads in the direction of the necropolis of Nogortha, leaving behind a city struggling to piece itself together again. The riots have mostly stopped, but the damage to both the city's infrastructure and the orderly transfer of power has been severe.

Nogortha is a few days' travel northwest of the city. You see signs of a few creatures as you travel - everything from bears to what you could swear are the tracks of a young basilisk - but everything appears to have the good sense not to bother you, and you encounter nothing out of the ordinary on your way out. Firea continues to keep you from needing to sleep with her magic, and while so long spent without the restful embrace of oblivion is beginning to wear on you, you retain full function.

Finally, after four days of travel, you come around a hill and see the plain of Nogortha stretched out in front of you. It's a huge expanse, and they haven't understated just how many burial mounds there are - the ground is so covered in them that it's hard to imagine counting. There must be thousands, ranging in size from a simple burial plot all the way to mounds of dirt the size of hills. There are no structures within the field, no signs of habitation at all.

Bristle had been pleased with how her Charm-sight Spectacles had turned out. She showed Caleb how to properly use the crystalline glasses after it became clear that he would be the one wearing them. They would certainly prove useful in detecting puppets of Whisper, but they were not fool-proof. Whatever magic she was using was not 100% detectable all of the time.

As the group traveled toward Norgortha, Bristle was happy to have dredged up her bear from the bottom of the pond where she had left it. Its muddy old bones were a happy sight for the cleric of Death. She tried to keep it in less visible areas as they traveled though, since it could still attract unwanted attention.

Among the burial mounds though, it didn't seem quite so out of place. So it wasn't too far off when their group rounded a hill only for Bristle to lay her eyes upon an unwelcome sight. She stopped in her tracks and held out a clawed hand to slow her friends beside her. Then, pointing toward a figure leaning against a rock ahead of them, she said, "That's... Whisper." Not a person puppeted by Whisper, but the dream-sorceress in the flesh.

Bristle had been so caught off-guard in the moment that she was at a loss for what type of action to take. Was the woman really here to confront them? Or was this merely a vivid hallucination caused by the extended time period spent with zero sleep?

---

For Caleb:
Charm-sight Spectacles - Their wearer is under the constant effects of the Detect Charm spell.
https://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic...ells/d/detect-charm/

"Wait...what? Where?" She asked, looking at where Bristle had indicated to make sure the girl wasn't losing her marbles or that she herself hadn't missed something.

Voh'ren is visibly more relaxed outside of the city. Back in nature, the Half-Orc ranger is in his element. He moves across the terrain with ease, with the same natural dexterity and grace as his animal companion. His eyes catch sight of the different animal tracks and trace where they lead.

When Bristle mentions Whisper, Voh'ren draws his bow in the blink of an eye. He nocks an arrow on the string.

"Where is she?" he growls.

OOC:

20:36, Today: Voh'ren Wildheart rolled 12 using 1d20+11.  Perception-Spotting Whisper. *sighs*

Caleb had accepted the spectacles politely, and only fiddled with them a bit before growing accustomed to them.

He grew slightly more irritable and more twitchy the longer he stayed awake, but accepted Firea's spell nonetheless, saying it was better than the alternative. He moved towards the front throughout the journey, machete at hand to clear away brush. He lacked Voh'ren's grace, but his movements made it clear he knew his way around outside cities as well.

As they beheld Nogortha, he took in the surroundings carefully before Bristle announced Whisper's presence, at which point he hurriedly drew his crossbow and began searching for the witch. "Where?!"

ooc: 23:49, Today: Caleb Miller rolled 17 using 1d20+14.  Perception.
 

There is no sign of Whisper.

Caleb slowly lowered his weapon and waited for his heart rate to drop back down from the sudden adrenaline spike, eye beginning to twitch ever so slightly as he looked to Bristle. Bristle, you sure you aren't just seeing things, because I sure as hell don't see that LEECH!" he said, turning to shout the last word across the necropolis, on the off chance Whisper actually was there and just invisible or some other magical nonsense.

Hester frowns.  "Well I can see her and Bristle can see her. Hello mother, what are you doing in the physical world?" She looks around at the others unsure of what her presence means.

Bristle was about to question her own sanity when Hester confirmed that she could also see Whisper. The cleric's worry soon turned into determination. She pointed toward a specific location ahead of the group. "She is there, leaning against that rock. She said she is "probably just a stress induced vision." Yeah, right."

Bristle whistled loudly. "Skele-bear, come! Go poke around over there for us." She directed it toward where Whisper was standing. Bristle wanted to know if she had a physical form. The cleric also cast Detect Magic upon herself to give herself a new way to view Whisper besides her Deathwatch glasses. "Hester, you can go ahead and do the talking. I will translate for everyone."

---

Bristle will say and describe what Whisper does for everyone who can't see her.

Does Bristle detect anything with her Deathwatch vision or her Detect magic? Does anything happen when Bristle's skeleton bear moves into Whisper's space?

Before Whisper spoke, if she ever spoke, Hester said, "Problem stroke question, why do Bristle and I see Whisper but the rest of us don't? Hypothesis, I can see her because I have aberrant blood.  Bristle can see her because she is a Cleric of Death.  Observation, does she talk or simply stand their smirking? If the latter then new hypothesis, this is a message specifically for us from the lych in charge."

For those who can see, the bear moves to stand inside of the apparition of Whisper, which remains invisible to the others. She overlaps with the undead creature as though she has no substance. Bristle detects no magic, nor any trace of death about the space (aside from the bear, of course).

Bristle also relays what Whisper says, which is: "Oh, darlings, quite a way to greet an old friend, don't you think? Why, I'd almost think you didn't want to see me! Hardly courteous of you. Now tell me, what are you doing in this old dump, hm? Trust me, the barrows here really don't have anything worth your time. Bunch of old dears, but I assure you the funeral goods really aren't worth much - craftsmanship aside, materials have come a long way since then."

"Oh, so it's over there, is it?" Caleb said, tracking the bear's movement before taking a hand off his crossbow to raise his middle finger in that general direction for a few moments. "Just ignore it, we've got work to do," he said to Bristle and Hester before moving to take point in preparation of them entering the necropolis proper, already casting his gaze around, looking for movement among the tombs.

Dropping her translations for a moment, Bristle added some comments of her own while pointedly ignoring Whisper's presence. "Yeah, I don't know why she feels compelled to go to the effort to tell us we are wasting our time here. What would she rather us be doing, eh? As if we came all this way just to dig up some old rotten trinkets."

Turning back toward Whisper, she added, "What we decide to do with our time is really none of your business, is it? You have not been invited, nor asked permission to come along." The cleric then moved past Whisper's location and had her bear follow along toward the necropolis with Caleb and the others.

Voh'ren puts away the arrow and shoulders his bow with a frown. He looks in the direction where Bristle and Hester indicate Whisper is loitering. He then turns back to scan the rest of the necropolis.

"It didn't occur to me before," he says softly to the others, "but after seeing this place, I think I've heard of it. I've crossed paths with a druid or two in my wanderings, and we've exchanged tales while sharing a campsite. One mentioned a funeral city where a siabrae still wandered the lands. Most are violent against the living---even members of their former circle---but this one... This one was different. It supposedly was not so hostile to druids who came across it.

"I don't know if this is that same siabrae," he finishes with a shrug, "but perhaps it can be reasoned with. And if the Green is with us, perhaps it is not one of Whisper's minions."

"If it's trying to get us to leave, I'd feel safe putting money on this druid-lich thing not belonging to it," Caleb said to Voh'ren. "Besides, like I said, too many stories say this thing can be talked into helping you if you amuse it for it to not be true. Speaking of, any ideas on how to amuse it? I've got a deck of cards and some dice, you think See-abreys like odds and evens or poker?"

"Maybe we cannot see her because she is an illusion we are not meant to see, but they are." The young Kitsune said in thought. "Though you all have had more ties to Whisper then I have. I've only had one dream, then nothing."

"Still, we are here with a purpose, let's get to it." She said with a small nod. "So we can put this person to flame."

Continuing into the field of barrows, you find yourselves moving among the graves. It's hard to keep track of your position among the hillocks, with no landmarks and little to distinguish one barrow from another.

Whisper has vanished again.

Perception, please.

22:23, Today: Hester Darkeye rolled 23 using 1d20+9.  Perception.

OOC:

16:23, Today: Voh'ren Wildheart rolled 17 using 1d20+11.  Perception. *sigh*

ooc: 22:30, Today: Caleb Miller rolled 32 using 1d20+14 ((18)).

After it was clear that Whisper was no longer with them, Bristle took a minute to cast a geographical spell upon herself before they got too far into the barrows. Hopefully it would help keep them from getting lost, and might even provide some other insights later. Additionally, Bristle kept her eyes peeled for dangers and interests as their group ventured forth.

---

Casting Lay of the Land upon myself.

23:57, Today: Bristle Chonk rolled 24 using 1d20+6.  Perception

Bristle feels the approach of death. Caleb smells dry earth, humus, and dust. Hester hears the slow drag of footsteps approaching, in no particular rush, but with a certain weight of inevitability to them.

All of the above are coming from behind one of the barrows on the left.

Hester turns to face that which is coming with her crossbow loaded and cocked but not aimed.

19:13, Today: Firea rolled 3 using 1d20.  Perception.

"Hostile inbound at ten," Caleb said, all traces of humor gone, replaced with drilled efficiency as he turned towards the sound and smell and took aim, ready to dive behind one of the nearby barrows for cover.

ooc: Readying an action, if whatever's coming attacks or casts a spell, I will duck to cover behind a barrow.

"Unknown", said Hester, "It's dead but we don't know whether it's hostile yet."

"Regardless, I think I am going to place a ward upon myself," Bristle said to her allies as she cast Death Ward upon herself. Then, more loudly and directed toward the approaching threat, she said, "Is this the famed Siabrae of the barrows that approaches? If so, I would very much like to borrow a moment of you time for a chat."

The sound of dry, rattling laughter echoes at that. A moment later, a cadaverous form steps out from behind a barrow. It is draped in ragged furs, and antlers of stone protrude from its exposed skull.

"It has been some time since one came who knew that word. Why do you?" Its voice, too, is dust-dry and rattling.

She looked between Bristle and the talking, dead, thing. Saying nothing as this was Bristle's territory, and not hers but still, she found it weird and yet intriguing.

Voh'ren's eyes go wide as the Siabrae approaches. He puts his hand out, warning Kiru to stay at his side. He studies the fallen druid as it approaches---it's posture, the tone of its voice, the words it chooses. He hopes to glean some insight into its demeanor, and prays to the Green that his hunch about the reason for its transformation is right...

OOC:

23:34, Today: Voh'ren Wildheart rolled 28 using 1d20+15.  Sense Motive-Siabrae w/ Favored Enemy Bonus.

Hester just keeps her mouth shut.  It will see her soon and it may or may not notice.  She doesn't worry about things she can't fix.  She finds a way to fix 'em instead.

Bristle gazed upon the undead figure with awe in her eyes. This creature was a powerful example of a cross section of many of the clerics most prominent areas of interest. When the Siabrae asked its question, Bristle held her holy symbol up in reply. Not in a menacing way, as most clerics would. But simply as a way to show who she worshiped.

"I am a cleric of death and knowledge, great Siabrae. And I have always had great interest in learning about rituals and undead beings." She pat the skeletal bear at her side for emphasis. "You, my friend (I hope), are a wondrous sight to behold. Is there a name we should call you?" The "I hope" in her sentence suggested Bristle thought their group had little hope of defeating this powerful creature if they found themselves at odds.

Caleb's eyes widened and he tensed, gripping his crossbow tight enough for his knuckles to whiten as the siabre showed itself and spoke. When it proved not immediately hostile, he relaxed ever so slightly, lowering but not stowing his weapon.
When Bristle had finished introducing herself, he chimed in with his own two coppers, an edge of resolve undercut by fear of the unnatural thing in front of him in his voice. "We're here because we need to talk with you, and maybe offer you some kind of deal. There's a witch, goes by the name Whisper, he said, dripping contempt in the way he said her name, "She's causing all kinds of mayhem. We're told you might have been screwed over by her in the past, and were hoping you'd be willing to help us to return the favor."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:33, Tue 22 June 2021.

"Oh, I see," that dry voice rasps out. "Whisper. A name I've not heard of late. Would you walk with me?" The undead creature gestures into the mounds.

"I... um..." Bristle looked to her companions, surprised by the Siabrae's unexpected invitation. But her look of uncertainty quickly turned into an expression of dangerous delight. "Yes. I would be happy to walk with you." Her armor clanked loudly as she followed the undead being, leading the way for her undead bear and her fellow party members. "Have you dealt with Whisper directly in the past, ...?" Bristle left a deliberate pause at the end of her sentence, indicating she was still awaiting a name for the Siabrae. "She appeared to two of us, while awake, just as we entered this land. Previously we had only seen her while sleeping, or when dealing with her puppet-people."

"Thank you for the offer," Voh'ren says, bowing his head respectfully to the Siabrae. "We would be grateful for any insight you could offer about this Whisper."

The Half-Orc starts walks forward, joining Bristle toward the front. He wills himself to relax despite the strange and ominous appearance of their host and surroundings. When Kiru hesitates, he kneels down next to his animal companion.

"It is all right, little one," he says to the wolf pup while scratching him behind the ears. He continues, glancing at the rest of his companions. "Our host means us no harm. Let us be good guests and accept his offer." The words seem to calm the wolf pup, and the pair move forward to follow their host.

"When one gets to be my age, one finds names to be tedious things. Call me Chance, it's as good a name as any. As for Whisper...let me tell you a story, while we walk. It starts in the long-ago past, a world none of you would recognize. There was nothing here but wilderness, in that age, a vast forest dotted with plains and lakes. And there were people who lived within that forest. Outsiders called them barbarians, but to themselves, they were the Chanac, and they were the people of this land. They fought and loved and lived with the land."

The siabrae walks along between the barrows as it speaks, its pace slow and steady. It doesn't look aside, just walks onward.

"And then the legions of Taldor came."

Hester walks along, quietly and thoughtfully, listening with both ears, watching with both eyes, breathing deep of the air and feeling the ground beneath her feet.

"Ah, yes, the legions of Taldor," Bristle said nodding knowingly. "I am sure many of the details have been lost to time, but I recall they are the ones responsible for much of... well, this." The cleric waved an arm toward all the burial mounds surrounding them. "There are also rumors circulating that you, Chance, are the risen general who led the invasion. A graveknight too, no less. I suspect the opposite is probably closer to the truth though, hmm?" It was Bristle's roundabout way of gently prodding the siabrea into sharing more of their first-hand perspective of the past. Obviously the druid-lich was not a graveknight, and assumed it was more likely Chance led forces against Taldor rather than for Taldor.

As they walked, Bristle focused mainly on the siabrae and its knowledge, and trusted that her companions would remain warry of any other potential threats.

Firea quietly follows along, listening to the story as it is told. Curiosity filling her as she does slowly move a bit closer to Bristle and Chance to hear them a bit better.

Caleb followed, tension eased but still present as he listened to the undead Druid's story. He was no scholar, but he knew the very basics, at least. "Right, Taldor colonized this place way back when," he said, before continuing with a trace of uncertainty in his voice. "What does this have to do with that leech, though? Was she a soldier or some such way back then? A native who did some terrible things to fight off the invaders?"

"Something of the sort," Chance replies, continuing to slowly pace through the barrows. "And your guess is astute, but I will finish my story in my own time. For now, let us consider the position of the Chanac. They were not a barbaric people, but neither were they worldly, most of them having never in their lives seen what you would call a city. They fought each other, but it was a friendly sort of violence in a way, a contest between small groups to establish territory. The legions were more people than most of them could seriously consider possible to exist in one place, and all of them quite serious about their aggression."

Another turn, weaving between two disturbed mounds. "The elders were desperate for answers, for a way to protect their way of life. There was debate about whether to surrender, or flee deeper into the wilds, or try to fight back. It was decided by the offer of a young witch-doctor from a northern tribe, at the edge of the woods against what you know as the Five Kings mountains. Her name was Ascal, and she said that she had formed an agreement with the lords of the lower planes. If we were to unite under a single banner, she said, she would open the gates of the Abyss, and our demon-augmented numbers would be a match for the legions. Some of us, particularly the shamans - a very different role from witch-doctor in this culture - were reluctant. But outvoted and with no better options, we took the field with the rest of our people."

Another turn, coming face to face with a larger and wholly intact burial mound. "I was there, on that day when we fought the men of Taldor in this field. I stood as shaman and advisor to my tribe's war chief, and I saw what was wrought. Ascal summoned demons, oh, and how. In number, and in form, they were a terrible sight...but they did not stand against the invaders. No, Ascal had formed another deal, and her offer had only served to gather us in a single place for her demons and the legions to slaughter. I managed to flee the field when it became clear that we stood no chance of survival, and hid in the deep forests for years afterward, while Taldane settlers colonized what had been my people's lands...and as Ascal rose to prominence among their courts, now calling herself Whisper, and making of her origins a mystery. Her first great betrayal, I suspect - the sale of her people's lives, to buy herself a place among their killers."

"Just when I thought I couldn't have any more contempt for her," Caleb said, his face contorting in disdain, "I find a new reason to hate her vile guts. Always kill the traitors before the declared enemies, my superiors always said."

Voh'ren frowns and nods as Chance tells of the Chanac and their first encounter with the Taldor. Based on the description, the Chanac are not too different from the Orcs---albeit much less violent, and their war with the Taldor matches the Orcs' own wars with the Dwarves.

Voh'ren's frown turns to a scowl when Chance reaches the end of his story and reveals Whisper's role.

"That is...horrifying," he says, "and I know it is not much, but I offer you my sympathies. I have never had to watch my kith and kin fall victim to slaughter to slake a traitor's thirst for power, so I can only imagine what emotions you have wrestled with all these years... Perhaps by finding a way to fell her once and for all, we can gain justice for the Chanac and find a way to spread word of their history."

Hester decides that she can keep silence no longer and speaks instead. "And now she wants to return and hopes to use my people to do it.  Is there any way we can stop her?  Does it help that we now know her name?"

"I am curious about that as well." Bristle had questions of her own, of course. But Hester had already asked some good ones of Chance. So the cleric opted to continue listening to and digesting the druid-lich's information. She figured most of what she wanted to know, Chance would eventually share with them on their own anyway.

"Such a vile woman should not be allowed to live. She should be fed to the very thing's that she herself summoned." She said with a frown, fires toying with her fingers.

"Perhaps. We had a pact, some few of us that she had betrayed, to watch over her places of power for her return. Each of us knows pieces of how she achieved what she did, but none of us trusts the others enough to share those pieces - once burned, twice shy. But you are...a neutral, novel party. It's possible the others will see you as harmless enough to share their own secrets with you, particularly under such a threat. As for me, aside from a name and some history, I have little to contribute. I am a servant of the land, of the woods and earth. Not a scholar of the arcane. What I can offer you...is this." Chance nods slowly, and starts forward, moving up to the burial mound. At a gesture, the earth of the barrow shifts aside, revealing a passageway into the burial mound.

Chance walks steadily down that passage, each step ponderous and considered. He says nothing of his own accord on that walk, and it's not long until you're standing in the center of the mound - even a large barrow, after all, is only so large, and this is a straight passage to its heart. There, a bier holds a suit of leather armor with a light stone axe next to it. Various other weapons and trinkets are arranged around the room, all made from stone, leather, bone, and other materials that would not requite forging.

"This is the resting place of my chieftain from so long ago. I have protected his belongings all this time, waiting for a need great enough to disturb his rest." He looks over the items with a strange, wistful posture. "I think that you will have need of arms, in the coming days. So. Here we are. Take what will serve you, and no more."

Bristle nodded solemnly to Chance's "gifts," and scanned the ancient chieftain's former belongings. She cast a magic detection spell upon herself to se what items held magical auras. "Thank you for the assistance. It is certainly appreciated. Do you by chance know the capabilities of this equipment?" It would save them some time if Chance knew the magical properties of some of the items. In addition to searching for magical auras, Bristle also kept a keen jeweler's eye out for any onyx gems that might be present. They would be helpful for animating new undead servants.

Bristle also eventually asked Chance, "Do you happen to know who watches over Whisper's other places of power? We have some good guesses already, but it would be nice to hear if our guesses are accurate."

---

Casting Detect Magic to scan all of the items in the room. Also keeping an eye out for any onyx gems that might be present.

Caleb followed the group into the barrow with a nervous glint on his eyes, seeming well and truly out of his depth in all this.

When they reached the inner chamber however, and as Chance explained why it had brought them there, that lingering suspicion of betrayal faded as he took a look around. The materials and construction were far more primitive than anything he'd ever used, but one never knew when a stone axe might be magicked to cut better than a steel one. He didn't pay most of the weapons any mind, though a few old style crossbows that looked like they might have been trophies taken from some forgotten battlefield briefly held his attention.

"It's very generous of you to offer this, thanks," he said, seeming genuinely grateful and perhaps just a hint understanding of what it might mean for Chance to part with these relics, the faith they were showing. "Bristle's got a good point though, I don't suppose you know if any of it is magical-like?"

Hester steps to the side, allowing others to choose what, if anything they want from the weapons in the barrow.  She glances over it and decides that as far as she can tell, none of these weapons will help her.

Voh'ren nods in understanding and agreement to Chance's words. He looks over the relics of the lost people. His gaze rests on the stone axe and a quiver of flint-tipped arrows.

"In fighting a creature such as Whisper," he wonders aloud, "perhaps memories are the strongest weapons we can use against her." The ranger reaches down and unbuckles one of his own throwing axes and a quiver of arrows. He takes the axe and the flint-tipped arrows, and rests his own in their places. He carefully places the fallen chieftan's weapons in his own backpack, ensuring that none of his own tools will damage them.

"Take what you need, and give back what you can," he says. "Thank you, Chance. You have sacrificed much for The Green in this place, and we will do what we can to bring an end to Ascal and her nightmare. May my own weapons serve your fallen until I can return them to his barrow."

OOC:

Voh'ren will take the light axe and a quiver of 20 arrows from the barrow, and leave one of his throwing axes and one quiver of 20 arrows for the fallen chieftain.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:53, Tue 13 July 2021.

Chance inclines his head towards Voh'ren. "Wise words for a young man. A gift, then, for you from me as well as from the dead. I wore it in life; it will serve you, now, better than me." He slips a band of living mistletoe off of his finger and passes it over, then turns towards Bristle.

"Much of this equipment is woven through with magic, and though the years have brought new techniques in such arts, there is a certain power to be found in age as well. Your friend here has already taken two such, the axe and the arrows. This arbalest was once carried by a Taldane officer, and has its own enchantments - it will serve you better than the one you bear. The leather armor my leader was laid to rest in bears magic that wards against flame. Some scrolls still bear their enchantments, and there is another barrow where our shaman lies now which may have some magics more useful to you and Ascal's granddaughter."

The siabrae looks sorrowful, thoughtful, as he says this.

Bristle identifies the following:
+2 handaxe
quiver of +1 arrows
+2 heavy crossbow
+1 energy resistance (fire) leather armor
Ring of protection +2
Headband of inspired wisdom +4 in the shaman's barrow
Cloak of resistance +2, +3 to will in shaman's barrow
scroll of stone shape
scroll of passwall
scroll of wall of iron

"We thank you for your help, and we will see to it that these gifts are put to a fair use in avenging the betrayal your people and others suffered at her hands." She said with a gentle nod as she walked over and looked over the items herself.

"Thank you for the assistance," Bristle said to Chance, echoing Firea. The cleric placed the headband of wisdom atop her head before removing her own less powerful item of similar purpose. The flood of insights was invigorating, but would take some time to fully acclimate to. She also tucked the scroll of Stone Shape into her pack. That spell could always prove to be handy to have available.

She offered her old headband to her fellow party members. "This isn't as powerful as the one I just donned, but it will still help to resist Whisper's mind-powers."

She then turned back to Chance and offered, "If you would like, and if it wouldn't be seen as improper to your people, I would be happy to cast some spells for you. I can restore the flesh to your chieftain or shaman for you, and cast another spell that would allow you to ask them up to three questions of your choice. If you had anything unresolved with them after all these years, perhaps it could help you find peace. It is truly the least I could do." Bristle was usually not the type to volunteer such things, but she liked this druid-lich. And she felt Death would approve.

---

Bristle is grabbing the headband and the scroll of stone shape. She has also offered to cast Restore Corpse and Speak with Dead for Chance, if he wishes it. She thought he might want to speak with his old friends again. Or maybe he knows of something that they would know about Whisper that Chance himself did not know the answer to.

Caleb nodded in acknowledgement towards chance as he walked to the indicated weapon, admiring the craftsmanship of the surprisingly well preserved tool. Following Voh'ren's example, he laid his own weapon down where the old one had been as he hefted the arbalest, getting a feel for its weight. As he did so, he looked to Chance once again. "Thank you, for the story and for the supplies. I can't promise you that I'll bring this back on account of how likely it is I'll die or worse before this is over, but if it all works out I'll return it, along with her treacherous head in a sack," he said, meaning every word.

Hester took the two scrolls that Bristle didn't take (passwall and Wall of Iron) and nodded to Chance.  "I will erase this shame from my family", she said, "And like Caleb, I can't promise to bring these back.  To a sorceress like me, they're single use. But if I live, then I shall return, perhaps otherwise as well if you'll have me."

"My thanks," Voh'ren says gratefully to Chance, and accepts the mistletoe ring. The Half-Orc slips off his ring of featherfall, and replaces it with Chance's gift.

Chance shakes his head slowly. "I said my goodbyes a long time ago, though the offer is appreciated. Good luck, warriors. I will stand watch over this place while you are hunting.

The rest who pacted with me to watch over these places will have their own form of help for you. Crocutiel, the angel who fell trying to redeem Ascal, guards the mountain on which she fell. Zedoran the dragon of Lastwall, who was an associate of the Whispering Tyrant before she betrayed the lich and led his enemies to him, laired within the Fangwood where she finally fell to death. Frilogarma of the fey, whose help with navigating the planes was rewarded with corruption, now watches over the rift that Ascal used to reach the vaults of Orv. Jezelda, a demon lord of werewolves whose followers were led to the slaughter, watches Ascal's birthplace."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:55, Fri 16 July 2021.

"I admit, it's a relief to know that those we are seeking have reasons to oppose her," Voh'ren replies. "If we cannot all be allies, we can at least share a common enemy."

Voh'ren looks at the Bristle's offered headband.

"I believe I could use that. It looks as though we will be traveling a lot from here on out, and it would help me be a better guide. However, I understand if it would make sense to leave it behind in place of the one you've taken."

"Thank you for the information," Bristle said to Chance. "It will certainly all come in handy. I am already making mental connections I could not have before, and I haven't even had time to properly digest it all yet. Before we part ways again, I do have one last question I hope you may have the answer to. I know that as an undead being you do not require sleep, but do you happen to know a way to keep Whisper out of our dreams? We have been using magic to avoid sleeping altogether, but I think it is beginning to take a toll on us."

Where next, Hester wonders but says nothing.  Instead she girds her loins and makes ready to visit the next helper.

Chance shakes his head slowly. "My magic is not a thing of mind and dream. I do not know how to keep her out of yours." He muses for a moment, and then says, "You know, it's strange. I have kept this long vigil for so many years...and now that there is a possibility it is drawing to an end, I find myself uncertain how to feel about the idea. It will be good to rest, I think. Good luck, and may your gods bless your steps."

Chance says little more, though he does take the time to pet Kiru before showing you back to the edge of the necropolis. There is no sign of Whisper.

Nor yet is she seen over the next few days, as you march through the forests towards the mountain range where Crocutiel is apparently waiting for you. You see little sign of life. Perhaps things are afraid of you. Perhaps they have all been taken by the spreading miasma of Whisper's presence.