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.