Alcander Day 85

Ah, praise Heracles. He has finally given me enemies I can fight.

I had a most bracing fight with a tiger, a beast not unlike the lion I slew in my iniation, but larger. Sadly, it proved why this group has need of me so heartily. The beast tossed Shaft to the ground in a single blow, and knocked Arcadius to the ground with a mighty pounce. The other members of our party are, I fear, less suitable for combat. The unpronouncable one sang, and Tupper felt that his best course of action was to try and shoot at me.

But in the face of such odds, the spirit of Heracles came upon me. I lept on the beasts back, and smote it until it flew in terror. It was a great battle, and did much to improve my mood, soured as it was by having to face the treachery of long bouts of talking and planning and few valorous deeds.

Even Flam's affliction proved to have a properly manly solution. I had offered that, should it prove to much for him, I would with great honor see to it that he had no chance to do evil. He declined my offer, as well as my offer to bind him, lest the spider take his mind. I am concerned at his lack of forethought in this, but it proved not so bad.

We took him to the cleric of Thor for healing. Though he is not my Heracles, I feel that Heracles smiles on this lesser god. For his solution to this afflition was to draw the evil presence out of Flam, and put it into a form upon which we could inflict the wrath of the gods. We were not to participate for some time (irritating, but such are the gods), but when finally Arcadius and I were allowed to fight the evil, he proved that he is, perhaps, not entirely unmanly.

The bard and Tupper, though, I'm not so sure about.

It is now my hope that the spider has entirely left Flam. I believe that his unwillingness to allow me to bind him shows that the spider gods had already begun to rob him of his honor. I can only hope that it can now be restored in full.

Prayer to Pelor - Arcadius

[written in formal script on heavy vellum]

Shine forth thy light
Drive back the darkness

Bring life where there was death
Bring growth where all was barren
Bring peace where there was strife
Bring warmth where clawed the fingers of ice
Bring mercy where there was none
Bring knowledge where there was ignorance
Bring comfort where there was fear

Let the sun rise!
Let the shadows flee!

Both in the world...
and in the minds of men

Tupper's Report to the Sable Lions (Day 72)

For Unfettered Delivery To
Cnl. Alistair Stuart
Sable Lions Headquarters, City of Point of Origin

From Lt. W. E. Tupper (Probationary):

Sir,

Alive and of sound body and mind. Nothing else of adequate plausibility to report.

-W.E.T.
[I'm an asshooollleee]

Journal of W. E. Tupper, Day 69-72

Day 69
Journied east from town following the compass, to a mineshaft with warding runes around it. Fflam offered to stay behind and guard the horses while we blundered about inside.

The entrance had a magical trap on it, exactly the sort of thing that makes you calm and certain about entering a dark spooky cave; though, besides the odd ominous rune, the place was empty. After meandering around inside the mountain, it finally opened out into a large valley; lush with trees, a small gator-laden river, and (of course) a giant blocky temple of unfathomably ancient evil in the middle of it all. You see a thing like that temple, and you don't need a spell to pick up something wrong about it. Of course the compass points towards it.

There was a campsite near the river, a campsite with a gnome. She was playing a violin when we approached and introduced herself as Pk Fz Phoriki called herself Shtoochka. She offered to join us on the basis that we were 'adventurers' and so needed someone to sing our praises or deeds or dirges or what have you. A spare sword hand is a spare sword hand, even if it's playing a tiny violin instead.

We're setting up camp in sight of the temple, because hiding from it is not an option.


Day 72
Okay.

It started about two days ago, when somebody woke us up to see the temple glowing in the dark. Something is direly wrong with one's life when omnious portents of doom become commonplace.

The barbarian was sitting outside the temple when we got there in the morning. I have been told his people are not primitive, that they are well advanced in math and the sciences. I do not care, he wears a lionskin and carries a bone club, he is a godsdamn barbarian. He claimed some "Sama Lien" pirates captured him on his way back from bumfuck nowhere, that he had only recently fought them off and swam here, and that (surprise!) there was EVIL in the temple. Oh boy.

So, we get up and into the temple proper and find a gigantic red crystal hanging over a bloodsplattered stone slab. Just once I want to enter a place and find a basket of newborn kittens or something. Even if they proceeded to lunge for my throat, it'd be a nice change of pace. Hrefna found a passageway with a trick stair, leading down into a room with strange supplies and another staircase leading further downwards.

Below that was a chilly room with nine tables and nine wrapped bodies, three of which had a gem on their chests and were apparently evil. (The bodies, not the tables. At least I don't think so.) A ledger of some kind was there as well, written in an offbeat elven script. Writing next to the bodies matched up with the kind in the ledger. This situation is eerily similar to the one with the yew tree crypt, to the point where I could have sworn I heard Moana whispering to me while I was there.

Oh yes, and while all this was going on? Alcander barged through every unknown room, opened jars of mysterious goop and tasted them, smashed the skull of a helpless being for no other reason than it was 'evil', and made a racket to raise the dead twice over. There are five-year-olds with better senses of decorum. Confront him about it, and he calls you weak. The others may put up with him due to his 'noble' beliefs, but a noble savage is still a savage.

Despite this, we figured out that removal of the wrappings got the 'corpses' breathing again. Among them was our man, the High Cleric of Thor. We opted not to unwrap the two remaining evil bodies on the basis that such acts have been traditionally more trouble than they were worth.

Soon after that, a mechanical clicking noise started up from the room above. Alcander proved he had some rare bit of intelligence by not rushing off to bash its skull in until after I had come back from scouting it out (and subsequentially finding there was a skull to bash). Some lady-corpse in a robe was waiting for us, and prepared to boot: the barbarian crashed headfirst into a magical wall. She claimed she didn't want to kill us, but it's hard to take someone with a basement full of bodies earnestly on something like that. Everyone beat up on her, she made with a spectral getaway, and we made for the exit with haste and six survivors in tow.

And then we had a merry little picnic outside the temple, and Stūckah played a merry little tune, and everyone had cake. Ha ha ha hahahahaha.

The red crystal tried to fry me on the way out, and by the time we passed the temple gates, we could hear the sound of wardrums in the forest. Instead of setting up camp, we opted to run like hell to the mine. Spent most of the night lost from the main group along with Hrogar. We all managed to make to the mine entrance though, and thusly out the other end to where Fflam was. After the longest horseride in recorded history, we made it back to town where I promptly found a flat part of my room and passed out.

The next day, which would be today, we spent recovering in ways that sleep can't help with. Arcadius bought clothes for the survivors. I gave Hrogar some money for the rental fee on the magical compass (it did work, after all) and started writing a report for ol' Leafbridge. Maybe I'll even start on that letter to Milya after this.

But the most notable event of today was the tale the survivors told.

The high cleric started off with explaining how he used the mineshaft to travel to the valley in order to gather medicinal herbs. Then another survivor spoke up and said it wasn't a mine shaft, it was a hole in the side of a dead riverbed. Then another corrected that one, and another…

Six entrances, at least, scattered around the world, all of which lead to that valley. A marvel of modern arcanistry. All to dick about with peoples' souls.

So… we're going to have to do something about it.

The setup is this. The lich-thing from the temple uses the red crystal as a halfway home for its soul. Kill its current host, the soul hops over to it and then over to the next prepared body. Hrefna figured that there are too many detection spells about to make a stealth attack worthwhile. Her plan is to destroy the crystal and kill the lich (again). But we got lucky the first time, and it'll be on alert now. But we also have six thankful souls who happen to know how to prod buttock. As for Fflam, his condition can be cured, but only with special herbs found in the valley.

So, tomorrow, we're going to escort them all back to the valley and back through their respective caves while the high cleric gathers up the needed elements. One month later, we'll meet up with them and go on to assault the temple. In the meantime, Hrogar is planning to return to Point of Origin to complete his atonement. I gave him my report so he can pass it on to HQ while he's there.

Now I need to lay back down, as my hand is cramping.

Journal of Arcadius - Day 72

Praise be to Pelor! May his light grant guidance, protection, wisdom, and patience.

For all are called for.

We reached the mountains, in search of our missing friend the Priest of Thor. We found a tunnel entrance with engraved runes. Given our position deep in the wilds, and based on prior experience, we decided to leave a guard for the horses. Fflam was the natural choice, as there were also questions as to the effects of the magic of the tunnel upon his spider curse.

The tunnel inside was strange in form, with other, unknown tunnels rising straight upward over our heads, going into unknown blackness. Upon exit from the tunnel we came to a valley that seemed in another part of the world entirely... a tropical place reminding me, however slightly, of the river delta marshes in my homeland - or at least how they might have looked before all that land was cultivated.

Far across the valley was a temple, rising up in steps against a hill slope. Deep in the heart of the valley, smoke from a campfire rose above the trees. We decided to see if that fire belonged to the Priest of Thor. We set out across a dense and difficult jungle, coming to a stream where crocodiles lay on the shores. Strange indeed. It proved to be shallow and we crossed without incident.

On the other side we met a most odd creature - a gnome it seems. She is a bard, and is a most talkative individual. We spoke with her at some length and it seemed she had come here out of curiosity. Astounding! To take such risks lightly! She has much courage. She told us she planned to go to the temple. Thus, after resting for the night, we did so together.

Then, things grew even stranger.

At the temple itself, to our shock, was Alcander! His story of how he got there and what he had been doing was almost beyond belief, and I shall not attempt to relate it in detail, but at the last he had apparently been returning by sea, and somehow reached this valley by a different route than we. There were problems with the geography of this that could not at the time be reconciled. However, the gods move things as they will, so who could say?

The temple was laden throughout with fell magics and traps, however with the aid of Hrefna and Walter-Tupper, we were able to bypass them. In an upper room was a giant evil glowing gem, hanging from the ceiling. We went down stairs and came to chambers illustrated with tales of ancient wars among elves and other beings, one side seeming to be in the service of darkness. Finally, in a lower chamber we came to a room with 9 beds. Upon them lay human forms, bound with magic. Upon them were writs, in an archaic tongue, charging them with various crimes. The body on the middle bed on each side radiated evil. Alcander charged one and crushed its head with his bone club. Instead of the crumpled dust of an undead corpse, came the gushing blood of a living being! We begged him to stop, and reluctantly he did.

We then decided to examine the other bodies, those not radiating evil. They proved to be living beings, apparently humans and elves, in states of magic torpor or sleep. Praise be to Lord Pelor and to his own god, the Priest of Thor was among them! We quickly worked to unwrap the others and free them. At this time strange sounds began to emanate from above. Walter-Tupper crept, in his stealthy way, up the stairs to investigate. There he saw an undead thing, and we knew we would have to fight our way out!

I felt the light and power of Pelor well up within me! Undead things of darkness must be destroyed! We advanced up the stairs to face it. It tried to intimidate us into surrender or flight, no doubt for its own sinister purposes. Ignoring this we charged in line. Alcander struck it a terrific and mighty blow! Though I do not always understand him, I am most thankful that he was with us once more! The undead thing wielded TERRIBLE magic - first creating illusions of itself, struck down by Shaft, then blasts of cold that smote many of our party nearly unto death. It was only by luck that I was to one side, and escaped the attack.

Those of us who still stood, continued to attack it - assisted - with surprising and impressive courage by Walter-Tupper. At any moment we expected to face our dooms as the others had. We fought well that day. As before, Oda is truly a sight to behold in battle! Even more amazing was the deadly precision of Walter-Tupper. Two or three times he struck exactly at points of weakness, rending our foe's undead flesh. Indeed, it was he who struck the last and fatal blow.

It dissipated into smoke and shadows, laughing evilly as it returned, no doubt to the jewel of evil power. We grasped that the power guarding the temple were far from broken, while we were wounded and frail. We knew we must flee with the prisoners we had rescued. There would be no time to pause.

And so we did.

A long, frenzied run through the jungle. Drums beating in the distance and the sound of strange folk in pursuit. The prisoners were like daydreamers, walking where we guided them, but witless. Walter-Tupper and Hrogar became lost, but rejoined us. We ran throughout the night, finally reaching the mountains and the tunnel entrance at dawn. Through it we fled into the healthy daylight to find Fflam and our horses intact. We rode throughout the day, utterly exhausted. Hrogar's cart proved useful in carrying the still-helpless folk we had rescued.

When we finally returned to town, glad we were that there were rooms at the inn. We slept for many hours. In the morrow, praise be to the gods, the prisoners had largely regained their wits! We discovered that they were folk of several lands, some of them very far away, and all individuals of not inconsiderable power. It seems that the valley has other entrances, and that they open by some mighty magic to places both near and far. The valley holds rich secrets, herbs and other things useful to mages, priests, and alchemists! Some seek it, willing to risk the dangers.

It was then that inspiration came to me. All thanks to Pelor for I am merely his instrument! These folk, the former prisoners, had been wrongly captured and imprisoned by the evil in the valley. They had need of their own for what else lay within that valley. Perhaps they would be willing to help us? We composed a plan, which was presented by the ever-persuasive Hrogar. If these others would return to join us a month hence, meeting us in the valley, together we could, gods willing, wipe out the evil powers within the temple! They agreed. Time will tell who can or will be there when the time comes.

May they come. This darkness must be purged! It has some role in the greater evils of the world, I think.

I swear to thee, Lord Pelor, I will be there that day.

*A*

Alcander: Day 72

The gods speak to me much more in this land, even if it is so barbaric that they do not even grasp the beauty of the body, and insist that I cover it.

The things the gods tell me while I sleep are as they always are: dim, unhelpful images of people whose location I don't know, speaking of subjects that I know nothing of. It is unhelpful, to say the least.

My companions picked up several new individuals, it seems. They found a bard, a tiny, shrill thing that I suspect may be some sort of imp of torment in disguise.

They have an elf, too, a wizard of some sort. She is quiet, unlike the tiny bard. In battle, she aided in my valiantly charging some sort of undead. I take her to be a good woman. The bard spent that particular battle singing, which is not the most valiant of actions, but I suppose it's what she does.

Then there is this Tupper fellow.

A more cowardly individual I have not known in many years. He insists that doors are not to be opened, only examined, that even stairs are to be feared, and that battles should not be faced manfully, but by skulking in the shadows. I thought he would die of his spirit giving out simply because I opened a door without first subjecting it to the kind of scrutiny a woman gives her unfaithful husband.

And his manners! He called me a barbarian, and implied that I needed a leash!

He got lost in the woods as we were fleeing the temple. I felt it was the will of the gods, particularly since Hrogar vanished with him, but the others insisted we wait.

Still, the gods somehow allowed him the final blow on that undead thing we fought. Either they have a sense of humor, or...

I have just stopped to think about it, and it makes good sense. The gods have sent me a message. Tupper is no more cowardly than I was, back before I saw the light of Heracles. Heracles is showing me that he might be a mighty warrior, if only he could be manly. And I, I have returned here. Perhaps I can show him the way.

I dislike him, yes, but I must overcome that.

The gods wish me to make him a man.

Vision in the Night

((This will be seen by every permanent member of the group--so including Hrogar, but not necessarily whoever Hrogar's replacement is))

You are walking along a rocky beach. There is no one else in sight, and the ocean breeze in the evening feels very calming. The sun is setting over the ocean to the west, and the air is cool as the last rays start to dip beneath the horizon. The sky is clear, and several stars are starting to be visible overhead.

Along the beach you can see the skeletal remains of bonfires. ((Those of you with Bardic Knowledge, Knowledge: Religion, or Knowledge: Local would know that these are the remains of the festival of the Ett-hundre dag natt--celebrated on the evening of the 100th day of the year. They must have been set in the last week, and this festival places you fairly far in the north. Perhaps in the very southern part of Jökulmær--the land to the north of the Kingdom of İzmir, and probably just north of Umeå. If you have more than 5 ranks in one of the non-bardic knowledges, you would know that this is a celebration honoring the dead and recognition of a myth about a night that lasted for over a hundred days, if you have 10 or more ranks in Knowledge: Religion please send me an email.))

After walking for a while, you come across a woman crying over something that is hidden from your vision, still in the sea.

As you start to approach, you notice pieces of coral spires in the shallows. The patterns on them are unlike anything you saw in your visions of the sunken city, and look instead to have some dialect of elvish written on them.

When you draw closer, you see that the woman is elven--with the black hair and grey-blue eyes that are common in this area of the world. She is dressed in farmer's garb, and has a spindle hanging from her belt with several strips of wool. She has on several broaches made of gold which are inlaid with various precious stones ((5 ranks Knowledge: Heraldry or Knowledge: Nobility would mark her as a minor noble or a freeman)). Her face is streaked with soot, and her hair is disheveled.

She is crying over a body.

As you get much closer, the body is clearly from a shorter elvish race. The body has puffed up slightly, but it's basic features are still clear: It is the body of a young boy with variable-blue hair, bright blue, unseeing eyes, and pale skin. The fingers and toes are webbed, and even at his young age he is heavily muscled. He is essentially naked, with snake-skin straps running over his body that look like they were meant to hold gear at one point or another. There are massive slashes into his body.

A short distance away there is a trident tangled in the thick strands of a war net. Both have blood stains on them.

The woman, through her sobs, whispers without seeming to acknowledge your presence: "When the children must pick up arms, the war is already lost..."