The Dark Age of Pantheus

A place to discuss the universe of StariumXCV.
User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 2:17 pm

FOR UPDATES ONLY. PLEASE KEEP DISCUSSION TO THE DISCUSSION THREAD!

So a group of us decided to create a fantasy D&D version of StariumXCV, taking the races from the Starium universe and throwing them into a dark-age fantasy setting with their own world and monsters. This has over time, evolved to become the Dark Age of Pantheus. Now please note, while the setting is indeed from StariumXCV, the web-based strategy game there are a number of things which have been created specifically for this - namely the use of magic, which is rather integral for a D&D game.

All the races have their own custom made statistics and mechanics, but the classes remain vanilla D&D 5th Edition. Monsters are likewise custom created, as it would just feel weird to come across Orcs and Goblins in a completely different world!

The players are as follows;
WanderingWayne - Skar - Maratasen Sorcerer
ChaosGemini - Frvind - Valdus Druid
jthighwind - Churlan - Tuleonetian Monk
Red - Bogys - Maratasen Rogue

This is the information presented to the players at the start;

The Dark Age of Pantheus

The History
The legends speak of a time before, a time of peace and prosperity, a time when there was plenty for all. That was before Triticus, the disease which destroyed entire civilizations and left the south desolate. Then came the Rising, raining fire down from the heavens above, and bringing with it the gods.

Life though, is tough. It clung on. We clung on, in the very furthest, most remote regions of the world. Survival was tough, and for several hundred years we struggled, but we were safe. First came a cold wind from the north, chilling the very ground and killing the land. This only heralded the worst to come; the Blight.

Trapped between Triticus to the south and the Blight to the north, our people have become desperate.

This is why we have called those bravest of heart, here to Fjarah. This is why we need you.

Campaign Details
You are from Skye, a desolate region in the north of Pantheus. The area is home to a very sparse population, formed primarily of farmers, hunters and scavengers. There are no real urban centres, and even the largest town, Fjarah, is barely larger than a village. Lately, increasing numbers of desperate migrants have been fleeing south, trying to get away from the encroaching ice and the monsters it hides. Fjarah is full to bursting, and a solution needs to be found soon.

The Peoples of Skye
This is a list of all the peoples living in Skye, including a brief overview of their culture and place in the world. This list appears in order of population density, from most prevalent to the rarest.

Valdus
Easily the most populous people of Skye, the Valdus are all about proving themselves and earning their name. They love being pioneers in new settlements, and this is likely to have been their saving grace as they were outside of the major cities so decimated by Triticus and the Rising. There are many Valdus adventurers, the danger and excitement calling to their spirit of adventure.

Maratasen
Although not very often seen in Skye’s small villages and hamlets, there is a large population of Maratasen living in the many forests covering the region. Most live a very solitary and isolated life, known with disdain as “feral”, with few gathering into communities, and fewer still joining the settlements of others. There are exceptions however, for example the Bonded who actively seek out masters worthy of their oath. These Bonded, denoted by the coloured armband their wear, are very well respected for their skills and loyalty.

Saraven
Although most of the other races have kept to the open plains best suited to farming, the Saraven make their homes in the mountains and forests of the Aerie Peaks, the range to the North West of Fjarah. Despite their reclusive nature, the Saraven still trade with the other denizens of Skye, and their merchants can be found throughout the region - though usually at night.

Ursians
Once equal to the Valdus in number, the recent troubles have been particularly unfair to the Ursian peoples. Having made their homes in the harsh northern tundra, they have felt the brunt of the encroaching Blight. Those who remain have fled south, taking with them the bitter lessons their survival has taught.

Gervians
The Grand City State of Solus is one of the very few stone walled settlements in Skye, having steeled themselves against the current crisis with typical Gervian aplomb. Virtually all Gervians in Skye come from Solus, and most never leave. The city is home to the Black Tower, said to be holy to the resident Gervian populace. For some, Solus stands as a bastion against the encroaching Blight, for others it is a parody of a once fabled civilization.

Masians
Once, it seemed that Masians were the inheritors of Pantheus. Entirely resistant to Triticus, the Masians seemed poised to become the most numerous and greatest of the races, but then came the Rising; and with it the destruction of the urban centres this people loved so much. Perhaps as a result of the destruction of their cities, Masians tend to favour living in isolated but large family groups, each concentrated around a barge with which they ploy the many rivers of the region. Masians are a welcome sight throughout Skye, because their rare appearances mean trade and news.

Inarians
Reviled throughout Skye, Inarians are viewed as a spawn of the Blight, the stone-shaped bodies of their dead eerily echoing the fate of those afflicted by the grey. None seem to care that this petrification only occurs with the death of passion, just the association is enough. Inarians stick to the forests, living in bands of outcasts, preying on travellers, or more rarely, isolated farms for supplies.

Tuleonetians
Like the Gervians, the Tuleonetian peoples were more suited to the warmer climes of the south, and thus suffered badly when Triticus struck. Now, their population is seriously depleted, with very few families still living in Skye. With the danger of inbreeding having become a very serious problem, the Tuli who remain, actively search of others of their kind in an attempt to re-establish their society.

Urix
Any Urix in Skye are strangers, with virtually none properly resident in the region. Those who do find themselves in the area are likely travellers from distant Vahn, one of the only other populated regions that Skye has (limited) contact with. The reputation of Vahn is of a ruthless theocracy, desperate to forcibly convert others to its doctrine, though very few here seem to know what that actually is.

Charians
All dead.

Gods of Pantheus
Collectively known as the Triumvirate, this trio of gods are worshipped throughout Skye.

Alder
Responsible for; Love, peace, forgiveness, justice and light.
Symbol; Sprouting branch with a golden leaf.

Nen
Responsible for; Creation, protection, death, cycle of life, duality and theatre.
Symbol; Three wavy horizontal wavy lines atop one another, topped by a straight horizontal line.

Lanti
Responsible for; Forbidden knowledge, danger, adventure, curiosity, temptation, trickery.
Symbol; Three concentric circles with dividing lines quartering the whole.

The Blight
No-one knows its origins, just that it appeared during the Rising. Suddenly, creatures known collectively as Blightlings began to emerge. These are extremely aggressive creatures seemingly made of stone. Their real danger, however, is that they seem able to convert dead foes into more of their own kind, so bodies in Skye are ritually burned in an effort to prevent this. There are also stories of those who are turned to the Blight simply by touching a Blightling, whereby their skin hardens and petrifies, and their personality is slowly eroded away until it is simply a creature of primitive hunger.

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 2:22 pm

And now follows details of their adventures in Skye, written by the enigmatic Skar (WanderingWayne).

It was late in the season of Ra'math, after my father planted the harvest seed but before the rising of the warm southern winds that heralded in the heat of the season of Anar. In the most recent years of my life the warm southern winds had been coming steadily later in the year, and the blessed warmth of Anar heated our blood less and less. It was then that word first reached the Dancing People of the storms in the North. The storms, with their icy winds and terrible cold, ever encroaching further south, year after year.

The word came from the mouths of the traders, who brought us the various sundries the Dancing People could not produce themselves. With it came other news....news of a summons from the elders of Fjarah to any willing to help. The elders debated, and it was decided that more information was needed so the Conclave could plan for the future of the Dancing People. And so it was that I came North.....to my Fate.

It began with the Meeting. Once I arrived in Fjarah I met the Others, those whose Fates were intertwined with mine, and our Fates together bound in the greater Weave that was the Fate of all the North. But we did not know at the time.....we could not guess what awaited us. The Gods are said to be as humorous as they are cruel, and in this I feel it is so, for we who serve as the pawns of their humor.

I am Skar, son of Veema and Okkar, of Clan Spittlestone. The other Peoples of the World call us Maratasen, but that is a name of old and forgotten origins. We are the Maratasanni, what in Common you would call the Dancing People. For the generations since the Rising we have called home the Conclave known as Herul, some half days walk southwest of the village of Branford. Here the cubs are trained for the service that will help our people to survive the present and forge a future.

Because of my.....unique nature...I am not one of those the other Peoples call the Bonded, though my younger brother is in training to become such, and much honor he does my family in doing so. Our elders, the monkish Hortassa Kai who train our cubs, have said I follow a different path. I am Mara'thi, what others would call a Dust Dancer. Since the day of my birth I have had a...connection...with the power that lays all about us, on the ground we walk on, in the water we drink, and even the air we breath. I can do things that others cannot. A Blessing of the Gods? A curse? Who knows.....but I am sure that in the Weave the binds us together it was something that likely helped propel me North.

The Others have tasked me with putting to paper the gist of our time together, so our children and their children can read, and hopefully learn, from our glories and our failures. But first I will hand the quill over so that those I share Fellowship with can present themselves, in their own words and thoughts. When they have finished I will again take up quill and ink to put into words as best I may the tale of what happened on that cool day in Fjarah....the day that started our true Destinies...and set us on a Path we even now do not completely comprehend.…

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 2:24 pm

An intoduction to Frvind (by ChaosGemini)

“Granny Ghanhildr! Granny Ghanhildr! We can’t sleep.”

“And I’m still hungry.”

“Soften your voices my little Vinkaste. Your parents have hardly slumbered. And Brynolf, I may be kind, but I am no pushover. You mustn’t complain,” she rose from the wicker chair and took the boy by his hands, “Do you know what these calloused palms tell me?”

He shook his head.

“They tell me you can overcome any hunger. They’ll see a bountiful harvest...but not tonight. Come now, while I think up a story for Anha.”

Brynolf knew his grandmother’s stern smile was the end of the conversation. He didn’t dare speak another word. The two Valdus children clambered, quietly, back to their rooms carefully avoiding the creak in the floorboards outside their room. Ghanhildr closed the door behind her as they crawled into bed.

“What story are you going to tell us Granny?”

Anha’s pointed-ears wiggled attentively. Ghanhildr did not need the candlelight to know the girl took candid interest in her stories. She’d often catch the child re-enacting these fables while she was working the farm. Often to the displeasure of the livestock.

“Spry and earnest, you have all the makings of a Krigarkaste,” she mused, “but you must find the way to be remembered.”

Anha’s grin spread further than her face would allow while she puffed her chest out striking an indomitable stature. Her elbows flared out at the sides ending in curled fists planted firmly at her hips. Ghanhildr chuckled.

“Your theatrics remind me of a tale. It’s a story from before your mother was born. Before I came to help your parents on this parcel of land. I made that same pose in my mid twenties some fifty years ago. You see, I used to travel from town to town earning a living taking on any job that would lead me to adventure. Times were difficult even then,” her eyes rested on Brynolf, “but we Valdus strive. This was my first outing and I was anxious to leave Valford. I packed and set out to Fjarah during the dusk of the day. I could not wait until morning. I knew I would make good time riding by moonlight.”

The candlelight flickered.

“My horse made haste into the night and I followed the Valford River until the path took us separate ways. It was only then I realized the mistake I had made. Dark, slim, and beastlike figures erupted from the dense shrub around me. My horse rose up and jolted forward. I held the reigns beseeching the ancestors for the strength to hold firm, but my grasp faltered and I was thrown to the dirt.”

“What happened next?” Anha’s eyes were wide with shock.

“I heard their howl. The shapes gained form in the moonlight. I could hear their growls and see the saliva dripping from their teeth. Wolves along the path were uncommon north of the Valford. But you see, we weren’t the only ones hurting from the blight. It made the beasts bold. I tried to stand, but only then did the pain from my broken leg present itself.”

“And then?” she spurted her impatience getting the best of her.

“I grit my teeth and drew my sword. They lunged at me. Half a dozen famished beasts. I slashed and stabbed wildly. They bit and tore at me. The leather I wore hardly kept their fangs from finding its target. And in a flash, it was over. I was alive, but my injuries were severe. I lost consciousness.”

“But how did you make it back granny?” Brynolf looked tense. But as she spoke, she saw his body begin to relax. His eyes fluttered. Ghanhildr knew the boy would sleep the moment she continued her story.

“I awoke to the smell of a strong sweet scent, perhaps cinnamon or clove, and to the sound of grinding stone. I was in bed, and my leg was set in a splint. My injuries were wrapped and felt like they had never existed -- it was surreal. I strained my neck and tilted my head toward the noise to my left. There, was a man at a bench with copious amounts of plants and tools laying about. He was a plain man by Valdus standards -- I judged myself more capable in a show of strength. He was of similar age, wore normal clothes, and had a backpack brimming with supplies set against a cot.
He noticed me stir and offered a glass of vile looking liquid that he assured me would speed up my recovery despite its taste. His pale lavender eyes belayed a sincerity that felt familiar, comforting. He explained he had found me half dead on the side of the road next to a pile of dead wolves and had carried me to Branford. I had been asleep for a day and a half, and he has seen to my recovery.”

“Who was he granny?”

“Frvind. He was called Frvind. It was the first, but not the last time that we would cross paths. You see, he was travelling Skye and would help those he came across -- a wandering mender. I have heard many stories of him over the years, and I have heard him called by many names -- Frvind of Urwent, of Brandford, of Fjarah, of Valford, Frvind Hero of Skye for ebbing the spread of Triticus; they believe him Tekaste, “Of those with knowledge”. They venerate him. I have even heard great stories extolling that he’s found a cure for stemming the blight.”

Brynford was now fast asleep, but Ghanhildr still had all of Anha’s attention.

“None of these stories are more important or dear to me than the one I tell you now. For those are stories from fools who leverage their burdens onto others. The man I met may still aspire to those great heights, but he has not yet achieved what he set out to do. If you ever meet him on your travels show him your kindness, your Valdus spirit.”

“But what did set out to do?”

“To save us, child.”

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 2:33 pm

Back to Skar (WanderingWayne)

Session 1 - 27th January 2017

And with that task completed I again take up my quill to record the beginnings of our tale.

I arrived in Fjarah in the final days of the season of Ra'math. I had never laid eyes on this center of northern trade before. It had been described to me as a quiet village of hard working tradesman and farmers, in much the same vein as Herul and the nearby village of Branford. What my eyes beheld as I walked past the earthen palisade belied this view. People milled around the town square in far greater numbers than I had been led to believe lived here. Further observation revealed the presence of temporary shelters cast upon the mud strewn square in no particular rhyme or reason. It quickly became apparent from a few quick asides with those nearest me that the majority of these folk were refugees from the Blight. But not all, I perceived. There was one, a Valdus of unassuming nature, who moved quietly amongst those most needing a healer's attention. The crowd seemed to recognize this individual and moved aside to allow him to work in peace. Occasionally one would approach him diffidently and lead him to others who were were obviously ill or wounded. Another figure, a very tall, armed, and heavily scarred Brother, hovered at the edge of the crowd, observing as I was. And a figure I at first assumed was a child darted around the square, up to what shenanigans I could not guess. Only after careful observation did I realize that this active “child” was in fact one those rare peoples I had heard of but never seen, the Tuli.

As I watched the chaos I noted that at one end of the town square a speaking stand had been set up by the local guardsmen. Approaching it from across the square was a small procession of figures of a different sort than I had seen previously. Led by another diminutive Tuli of apparent great age, it included a heavily armed Brother of bulky demeanor, in turn followed by three of the Bear People, massive figures encased in chain armor and wielding enormous war-hammers, one of which I doubt I could lift, much less wield. The bulky Brother helped the tiny Tuli elder onto the stage, where after a moment he began to address the crowd. He spoke in a loud but diffident voice of the encroaching Blight, its unendurable nature, and the inevitability of its arrival in Fjarah. He then bluntly stated that the village would have to be abandoned and the people would have to travel south. He explained that this would entail moving en masse through the great forest that covered all the land beyond the great river near my home. He called upon any and all who could help to step up and aid in this endeavor.

A number of those in and around the square moved forward in assent. The loudest and most assertive was a Valdus upper caste who claimed the name Guddun and seemed to lead an armed retinue of some twenty soldiers. After vowing to serve village and people he turned and marched his troops out the east gate and then in a southerly direction. On the way out he shoved aside a Valdus Vinkaaste, “worker class”, leaving the poor fellow sitting in the mud. This seemed to offend the first Tuli I had seen, who proceeded to get into a match of insults with the “noble” Guddun's rear guard. He took the worst of the encounter, however, and ended sitting in a mud puddle himself to the malicious laughter of the guards.

Meanwhile the nondescript Valdasian healer I had noticed earlier was helping the downed Vinkaaste to his feet. I approached them and introduced myself to the one known as Frvind and the other getting on his feet, one Earleef the merchant. After gentle prodding by Frvind the other acknowledged his current situation being a result of trying to get Guddun's attention to help him with a problem.

It seems that Earleef was here on a mission of charity. For some time he had been coordinating food shipments from the surrounding countryside to the town square in order to feed the massive influx of people. But his latest shipment of food was late and he was worried. For the masses gathered in the square the threat of starvation was a daily concern and Earleef's shipments were all that stood between these poor folk and Nen's eternal embrace. He had come to the square in hopes of convincing Guddun to help him, and with that rejection he was at a loss.

It was then that the tendrils of Fate truly entered our lives, changing them forevermore. It was a simple thing, really. Frvind and I, two souls who had never met, looked eye into eye and in near unison offered up our service to aid the stricken Valdus. And from either side of us, unnoticed until the moment, stepped the tall Brother and the short Tuli, and they too assented in answering the cry for help. It was a piece of magic that at the time I did not appreciate, but in later days would ponder on for many hours. That four strangers of such differing natures and varying backgrounds as we had, could in that moment come together in single purpose….it was strange….and exhilarating….and the Moment that changed us, forever.

And so the four of us (the Valdasian Healer Frvind, the Maratasen rogue known as Bogys, the Tuli monk called Churlish, and I, Skar Spittlestone) followed the trodden track westwards across the plains to the farm of Gudrus. The lands surrounding Fjarah lie flat as the eye can see and are uniformly covered in a knee high grass the locals refer to as “bitter root”.

Our trek to the farm was uneventful. Upon our arrival there in the early evening we were greeted at the door by a rather distraught and suspicious Valdasian farmer woman who identified herself as Gudrus. After discerning our intention to help, good farmer Gudrus proceeded to explain the source of her distress.

It seems that the reason for her late food shipments to Fjarah had to do with her stores being pilfered in a series of raids over the past few days. The culprits in these raids were from the local population of gromelings. These diminutive beings generally inhabited the great forest region to the south. In appearance they resembled an upright version of the tree squirrels that were a common sight in that same region. In fact we had literally missed just such a raid only hours before that had cleaned out her barn of the last of her foodstuffs.

We decided to give chase, though night was slowly approaching. Fortunately we were aided by the fact that the small creatures were severely slowed down by the wagon they were transporting. Moving at a trot we were able to make up the time in short order.

The skirmish that followed was both invigorating and a bit underwhelming. There were a half dozen gromelings in the raiding party who quickly turned to face us. They were armed with an assortment of poor quality short bows and scimitars. A bit of flame on my part and a few arrows from the others left half of them grounded before we entered melee range. Bogys, Churlish and Frvind made short work of the remaining survivors once we got up close.

In examining the field of our first victory it soon became clear that our foes were creatures in fairly desperate circumstance. Though none of us were experts on the squirrel folk it was apparent that they were in poor physical shape with some signs of starvation evident. Kindhearted Frvind even said a quick prayer resigning the poor creatures’ souls to the afterlife. Truly, he is the best of us in many of the the ways that matter...

As to their starved appearance, at the time it was simply a fact we noted. In retrospect it was a first sign of the troubles we were to face further south. If the creatures of the great forest were starving, desperation could drive them to act out of their normal character to the detriment of those who came in contact with them. A poor premonition, indeed...

After looting the bodies Frvind, Bogus, and I gathered up the wagon harness and begin the trek back to Gudrus’ farm. As was common to his particular nature, Churlish sat on the wagon and napped. When we arrived back at the farm we were greeted by an appreciative farmer Gudrus. She put us up for the night in the barn and baked us GoodBerry pie with the succulent and invigorating fruits provided by Frvind in some mysterious fashion he would not explain.

The next morning we accompanied Gudrus’ unnamed nephew, whom she sometimes referred to as “the Useless One”, on the trip back to Fjarah with the wagon. At the western gate entrance we had two encounters. As expected, Earleef was there with a smile and a shake of hands all round. He accompanied the wagon to the town square and immediately proceeded to hand out the foodstuffs to the starving refugees.

The second encounter was with the town’s gate guard. His was a quick aside in which he informed us that the local Lawgivers desired our presence. They awaited us on the northern barricade, he said. When we arrived there in good order we saw the massive Sons of the Bear from the gathering in the square during the prior day.

The two juniors stood aside and their senior commenced to speaking to us. His deep voice matched the imposing presence the massive ursine figure conveyed to us as we listened to his words. He introduced himself as Cenain. He thanked us for our efforts with the food and asked us if were willing to continue aiding the village. We all nodded our agreement….well, Churlish actually sort of smirked...but nonetheless, we agreed.

He proceeded to explain to us that the Lawgivers had an outpost far to the west of Fjarah known as Urwent. There an Ursian scholar known as Brione and her assistant Cathir were conducting some research that he declined to elaborate on. The problem was that they had not been heard from for some time and it was imperative that they be contacted and their status ascertained.

My understanding is that the Lawgivers rarely seek assistance in matters internal to their ranks. The strangeness of this was reinforced for me when I noted that even my generally snide Tuli companion seemed to take the situation seriously.

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 2:38 pm

Session 2 - 10th February 2017

After selling off our loot from the gromlings and gathering up needed supplies for the journey we set off out the west gate for the second time in as many days. Again our trek westwards was uneventful.

During our breaks on the road Frvind and I engaged in a conversation of discovery. He told me of his days as a traveling “mender”, a healer of the sick and a caregiver of the less fortunate amongst his people. Amongst the Vinkaaste, the Valdasian worker class, he had garnered some reputation for his good works. In speaking the plain looking Valdus was very modest about his accomplishments, yet I remembered the reactions of the refugees in the town square and took his words with a sprinkle of spice.

I spoke to him of my life in Herul, both the simplicity of the farm life and the complexity of my own existence there. This turned the conversation to magic, and we discussed the basics of our own magical self-discovery and the nature of the Dust itself. We came to no new knowledge during our talk, but it was good to speak with one who at least understood what it was like to be different.

During these times our two companions remained generally silent. Churlish kept himself busy whittling sticks and carving various symbols in the wood in a language I did not recognize. My senses told me that while he maintained an appearance of nonchalance he routinely kept one ear on the flow of conversation and the other ear on our surroundings. Bogys spent much of our down time going over his gear to ensure nothing would fail him when he needed it, a wise precaution indeed. I noticed that his ears would **** in our direction when I talked of life amongst the Maratasanni of the Conclave, but other than that he seemed to ignore the majority of our conversation.

On the second day out from Fjarah we were brought to a halt by a funnel of smoke on the horizon. We edged forward cautiously and eventually came in site of a large, single story stone building surrounded on all sides by a deep trench backed up by a wooden palisade. On the northern side of the palisade we spied a large Ursian in accoutrements I had come to recognize as the gear of the Lawgivers intently gazing towards the northern horizon. So this was the outpost known as Urwent.

At our approach the Ursian warrior climbed down from the palisade and met us at the barricaded southern gate. We noticed that the pall of smoke we had seen from a distance appeared to have its source in a number of discolored patches on the earth and in the trenches surrounding the outpost. On closer inspection it appeared the air above these patches had both a slightly greenish cast and a strongly sulphurous smell.

The Ursian warrior hailed us from atop the barricade. We identified ourselves as friendly to him and acknowledged our mission from Cenain of Fjarah to check on the status of this outpost. Upon hearing the name of his elder he quickly made way for us to enter the keep. He introduced himself during this process as Cathir, assistant to Brione. With my scant knowledge of Lawgivers it was nevertheless apparent despite his formidable size that his almost brash demeanor and fresh looking fur marked him as a near stripling of his people, likely new come to his manhood and looking to prove himself.

He led us into the single entrance to the formidable stone building. There we encountered both the oldest and largest Ursian I had ever seen, and the first female to boot. She was a massive figure whose size explained the wide cut of the doors into this donjon. Her fur was well along to grey with strong swathes of white on her muzzle and in patches across her visible body. While dressed in the heavy armor that seemed typical of her people she did not exude a martial nature at first glimpse. In fact she seemed totally engrossed in an alchemical concoction on the table before her and ignored our entrance completely.

It should be said at this point that the entire interior of the stone donjon was encompassed by a single room layered in the paraphernalia of the alchemical trades. I have enough knowledge of medicine to recognize at least the basics. Various herbs hung from every rafter and more could be discerned in a variety of sacks strewn about the room. There were a number of well used gadgets of the mixers trade that I could not identify on the several workbenches, amongst the plethora of mortars and pestles. Brione moved amongst these with the air of one supreme in her environment, humming a brisk tune in a very deep bass voice.

In a relatively diffident growl, Cathir gathered her attention away from her work and towards us. He quickly explained who we were, and more importantly who had sent us. Obviously annoyed at the interruption to her experiments, she gruffly acknowledged our credentials and our mission, but informed us she was at a critical stage in her research and couldn’t be bothered right now. She turned back to her work with a shrug of her massive shoulders. Cathir actually rolled his eyes at this and led us back outside. Frvind opted to stay behind and quickly struck up a conversation with the elderly Ursian that included words like “concoction of witbane” and “pandorite dust”.

Outside the younger Ursian led us back to his original position on the northern palisade. He explained that the lack of communication from Urwent was because it had been suffering almost continuous attacks for several days now. These attacks had started small and spaced well apart but as time passed they became more frequent and involving more combatants. He claimed the next attack would likely occur within six hours.

The enemy was something he referred to as “Blightlings”. He described them foremost as spawn of the Blight. In nature there appeared to be several varieties differentiated largely by size and coloration. All however, hued to a rock-like form that exploded on death, filling the surrounding air with deadly shrapnel. The larger members also oozed a blackish “blood” which he claimed was the source of the sulphurous green patches surrounding the keep.

Meanwhile inside the keep Frvind’s conversation with Brione had turned to the subject of her experiments. Later, on the journey back to Fjarah, he relayed to me the gist of that discourse. Brione, it seems, had found a link between the Blightlings and the Blight. More importantly there was some part of this link that held out hope for a cure for the dreaded disease that had appeared as part of the Blight. A terrible malady, infected individuals soon succumbed to a horrible conversion of their skin to a rock like substance which led soon thereafter to their inevitable demise.

As Brione was explaining this to Frvind the rest of us set about fortifying the defenses as best we could. We strengthened the gate barricade. We carved spikes and placed them about the trench surrounding the palisade. Using our own supplies and some of Brione’s wares we were able to concoct several noxious vials of burning oil which we held in reserve as a final defense. And we waited…

Seemingly in response to our anticipation, They arrived from the north. Cathir’s description of them was quite accurate. There were numerous smaller entities that moved surprisingly fleetly given their cumbersome appearance. These made up the first wave. Some yards behind them was a second wave of the smaller Blightlings accompanying a massive figure whose height likely would match that of our outer fortifications. This being also differed from his smaller brethren in the various oozing black patches that writhed between and amongst his rocky physique like a vein of blood on the surface instead of under the skin. It’s appearance was at once mesmerizing and very disturbing and a chill ran down my spine.

Then there were upon us. It soon became clear that tactics was unknown to the creatures. They simply charged forward in a mad dash to come to grips with their targets. This let us get off a good ranged volley which did a fair amount of damage to many and took down a few in the first wave. My concentration was disrupted by a heavy growl of anger originating near me on the wall. In glancing aside three things caught my attention for a moment.

Firstly, I noticed a vexed Cathir glaring menacingly at the heavy crossbow he had managed to drop to the ground behind us. I also observed that Frvind and Brione had joined us on the wall and were proceeding to dish out some good damage. And lastly I noted our Tuli companion, generally quick to quip on any occasion, had a deadly serious look on his visage that I had not seen there before. It seems the Blightlings were a threat that even my diminutive companion took most earnestly.

My attention was brought back to the fore by the arrival of the second wave of invaders led by their massive cousin. I had been concentrating my Firebolts on the gargantuan beast to some effect since the battle began but had failed to slow it down. Meanwhile several of the smaller Blightlings in various stages of damage had yet managed to breach the palisade upon which we stood.

All was not tea and goodberries with we defenders at this point either. Frvind had backed down off the palisade and was nearly staggering at the extent of his injuries. His hands flew thru the air and Dust swirled around him. Brione too had suffered damage but she had stopped moving for a moment and appeared to be concentrating on her warhammer. As I watched her body was suffused in a golden-bluish glow that seemed to emanate most strongly from her eyes. Many of her wounds healed nearly instantaneously and with the swing of her warhammer she was back in the fray, whirling with renewed vigor and a certain elevated fierceness.

Cathir, whose brash demeanor I had come to like, looked the worst of us. Massive tears in his armor gushed blood thru fur rent by Blightling claws. And worst of all the dejected looking warrior was staring at his empty hands. At that moment my eye was caught by the gaze of Churlish, who with a sly grin directed my gaze over the wall, to a glinting warhammer laying on the ground some distance from us, outside the perimeter of our breached defenses. Ahh, poor Cathir….even if we survived this would be no battle for him to set forward to his kinsmen in roisterous tale.

All of our gazes were summoned at that moment by a loud noise as the gigantic Blightling reached the wall and tried to climb up. The thought of Cathir at that moment reminded me of a thought I had been playing with during our setup. Our Ursine companion had mentioned that while the Blightling exhibited no fear, they did not appear to like fire. Thus I had been using Fire magic unsparingly on the large menace before us since he first appeared on the field of battle. While it hadn’t slowed it down much, it had caused several small fires to burn brightly on its rocky surface. I whipped my hand inside my robe and pulled out one of our precious oil flasks and let fly at the beast, all in one motion.

Lanti smiled on us in that hour for the tossed flask flew true right onto the creature’s back, where it shattered and immediately enhanced the flames covering its burning body. The creature staggered with a mighty bellow, and as we watched the flames seemed to consume it in a nearly unfathomable conflagration far beyond the scope of a mere flask of oil. It exploded with a massive noise and flying, flaming shards sprayed across the battlefield.

The remainder of the battle was anticlimactic. The remaining Blightlings seemed to lose….heart, or morale, or something...because they were easily dealt with by us still on our feet, though some barely so.

After patching up the still solemn Cathir, Brione gathered up Frvind in something of a mysterious rush and moved with some alacrity to dismantle the barricaded gate and move outside. Curious despite our various state of damage, the rest of us followed.

As we watched the elder Ursine moved towards the largest remaining chunk of the dismembered Blightling behemoth that rested in the palisade trench. Upon reaching the burning corpse she pulled from her satchel a pair of mitts designed for Ursine paws and a very unusual looking flask. Into this flask she proceeded to catch the dribbling black flows from the creature’s corpse. Once full she stoppered the flask with an equally unusual seal and headed directly back to her work space in the central keep.

There Frvind and the excited Ursine proceeded to delve into conversation well past my ability to relate concerning alchemy, the Blight, and disease. The rest of us spent some time cleaning up, and later at the direction of Brione gathering the various stuffs of her lab into containers ready for transport.

Kindly Frvind later translated the academic gobbledygook into terms we could understand. It seems that the cure the elder Ursine had been looking for was contained in the very blood of the minions of the Blight itself. When I say cure, what Frvind really conveyed was that it was more of a preventative to catching the Blight disease than a cure for one already afflicted. Nevertheless it was a major achievement that even the less academic amongst us recognized as significant.

With her mission at Urwent accomplished Brione was in no mood to linger at the embattled keep and quickly took charge to get us on the move. The combinations of wounds and mental exhaustion from our strenous spellcasting, however, delayed us for a full eight hours of sleep. Thus we proceeded out the gate the rising of the morning sun, just hours before the next likely Blightling attack.

By evening we were approaching within a few miles of good farmer Gudrus' homestead, where we planned to take shelter for the night. Thanks be to Nen for Her blessings on the ears of the People, for it was then that Bogys and I heard the sound of movement to the south. We all went to ground immediately and soon enough a large war party of Gromlings marched by us on an obvious course towards Gudrus' farm. They seemed highly agitated and waved their weapons fiercely while maintaining a continuous chatter in their high pitched but unintelligible language.

At that moment Lenti sneered at our plight and turned our Luck. Frvind, a man who by this time I held in high regard, was not without his flaws. The most obvious of these was his obsession with being a pack rat. I swear the man carried an entire household in the huge pack on his back, every accoutrement sorted and accounted for. On other nights I cheered when he would suddenly pull a rabbit out of his pouch, or perhaps a bit of cooking spice to liven up a bland dinner. But this night was not such a time. Instead what occurred was that as he shifted his massive burden to gain better vantage one of several cooking utensils strapped to the pack's exterior clanged loudly on another.

We all froze as the metallic din shot like a thunderbolt thru the quiet of the night. The chittering stopped for a moment, and then increased to a staccato beat that was painful to listen to. Our cover blown we gathered our weapons and formed line of battle. Our foe this time round was the same squirrely little fellows as before, but in much larger numbers, at least a dozen swords and bows in total.

Volleys, bolts and the magic of Fire flew back and forth threw the air between our two formations as we closed for battle. Our aim proved truer than our foes, however, and many of them fell as we approached melee range. Brione and Cathir plowed into the mass of furry creatures like the ball in a game of knockknuckle, with the small creatures being hurled to left and right. The elder Ursine once again glowed with the power of her People as she had on the palisade wall the night before. Cathir seemed to be out to avenge the debacle of his performance at Urwent, but Lanti was not finished with the poor fellow. His massive warhammer rose, fell, rose again and kept going, hurled accidentally some yards away. His howl of frustration was cut off as several of the squirrel folk, opportunity in hand, piled into him with swords swinging.

But the day was not to end well for the people of the Tree. Despite Cathir's failure, the rest of our band was wrapping up the encounter in the shortest and most brutal manner possible. Within minutes twelve of the Tree Folk lay dead at our feet. Woe be to their tribe as their womenfolk would anguish over their losses from this night and last. We had likely wiped out an entire generation of their menfolk in two short encounters.

We patched up our wounds, for we had not come thru this encounter totally unscathed. Churlish looted the twisted and torn bodies of their weapons and any other valuables, retrieved Cathir's miscreant weapon for a second time, and once again we were on our way. At farmer Gudrus' we were welcomed warmly and spent another comfortable night in her barn, our bellies full of tea and Goodberry pie. At dawn we gathered up our gear and set off.

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 2:40 pm

Session 3 - 12th February 2017

The remainder of our journey to Fjarah was uneventful till the end. As we approached the western barricade we noticed a large crowd had formed to greet us. Unsure of our welcome, we prepared our weapons. But there was no need, for we were quickly immersed in a flood of happily cheering refugees and villagers eager to shake our hands. It seemed that word had somehow gotten ahead that a Blight cure had been discovered and a group of heroes was returning it to the village to general acclaim.

I kept my confusion at this foreknowledge on the part of the villagers to myself, but the mystery was solved soon enough. It seems our mysterious messenger was none other than our companion Churlish the Tuli. Apparantly as we approached the village he had been in some form of communication with Mahrash, theTuli elder of Fjarah. Churlish referred to this technique as "the Meld", but would not elaborate and we did not press.
Eventually we made our way through the crowds to the barracks of the Lawgivers. There Brione and Cenain were in deep conversation, while Cenain's companions appeared to be having a rather boisteroius laugh at poor Cathir's expense. It seems our imminent arrival was not the only message the devious Churlish conveyed ahead, much to Cathir's chagrin. On our arrival Cenain halted his dialogue and thanked us all for our good work in that stentorian bass voice we had come to know. Meanwhile Brione took aside Frvind for a private conversation and a gifting. The gift in question were two flasks of "the Cure" for our use down the road. A generous reward indeed in these times.

Cenain inquired as to our plans at this point and we told him we planned on continuing the original quest to find a path for the refugees through the great forest to the South. He suggested that we might speak to Mahrash the Elder, who had travelled widely in his youth and might have sage advice for us. A good piece of counsel and one we put in play upon leaving the Lawgiver's barracks.

The door to the elder Tuli's house was answered by the burly brother we had seen accompanying him during his speech in the town square some days hence. He was gruff and short spoken, but such is the way with many of the Bonded, so we took no offense. The elder Tuli greeted us warmly and reiterated thanks for our good deeds to date. In response to our queries he went into thought for a moment before gifting us with advice. The goal of the migration, he said, was to find a path to the City of Solus, the bastion of the Gervians. These folk had attained the status of near myth in the Northlands since the days of the Rising. Rumours abound of their strange custom and manner of being. But tales were equally common of their physical prosperity and Mahrash hoped they would help the peoples of the North survive the crisis of the Blight.

In addition to the perils of the pathless Great Forest we must also face the obstacle in our path that was the river Sol. The waters of this river, he claimed, were toxic to the touch thus making crossing a most perilous task. He recommended going around, but to do so would take some days journey. He suggested we talk to his Bonded, Myrik, on that subject, and so we did. The taciturn Maratasen opened up enough at our queries to mention that his sib Myrrshan was a hunter who ranged the forested regions and knew the area around the rivers well. For a fee he would likely prove a worthy guide. With that good advice we departed, but not before Mahrash gifted us with quill, ink, most valuable parchment and a scroll case. To record our findings and draw a map, he claimed. We thanked him and went on our way.

On our way out the door the old Tuli hobbled into the foyer and held us up a moment. He suggested that we should check with the local priest of Aldur as he recalled something about a possible southen map in the Church archives.

We headed over to the Church of Aldur and were greeted at the door by its priest, Father Ergeir. We inquired about maps of the region. He claimed to have none but did warn us to beware of the Sol River. He also mentioned hearing rumors of something called the Royal Ark, but had heard no details. Bogys asked him to accompany us on our journey but quickly declined. On the way out the door I heard Bogys mutter "Coward!" under his breath, and he was not wrong to say so.

At this point I confronted my newfound travelling companions with the idea that before we began our search for Myrik's brother I my own mission dictated that I must return home to Herul and inform the Conclave of what we had found thus far. Fortunately my friends seemed amenable enough to the idea and so after replenishing our supplies and once again selling off the loot from our victories we set out for Herul.

Our trip along the well travelled path south was uneventful. At Branford village, which sits on the only crossing of the Valyard river for leagues in either direction, I noticed that refugees had been accruing here since I left less than a week ago. The local inn stood unusually empty as we entered however. As I reaquinted myself with the barkeep and we ordered refreshments we noticed that the only other bar patrons, a trio of Maratasen who appeared to be mercenary men-at-arms, were giving us undue attention. Abruptly one of their number jumped up and headed out the door with almost unseemly haste. A thrill of forboding ran up my spine, **** my mind from it and enjoyed a drink with my new companions.

The Conclave lies just pass the bridge fording the mighty Valyard River. As we approached the bridge we noticed three figures astride the far end. Unfortunately I knew them well, and once again a shiver ran down my spine. For these three we Darkwind spawn, and sibs to He Who Has Passed.
Grigok Av Icekar and Bozkelk Dra Monwer were get from different mothers but were nonethless like two peas in a pod. Big, dumb, and almost comical in their physical brutality. But as always they were overshadowed by their eldest sib, Radela Av Grutorn. She was as confident in her arrogant demeanor as she was ruthless with the bloody axe at her belt. And above all she hated me most for the stain on her clan's honor of which I was the perpetrator.

She sneered as I approached. "Thou should not have returned, Spittle spawn! You should have run while you were able. Now you will not get the chance." Though her words and demeanor conveyed maximum threat she and her sibs did not attack, but merely fell in behind me like a set of dark crows eyeing their next meal.

As we approached Herul it was obvious that the Conclave was in full session, an unusual occurrence for this time of day. In front of the Conclave Hall we were meet by my father, Okkar, and glad was my heart to see him. But the look on his face was anything but joyous, though he hugged me warmly for a moment.

"My son, you should not have come back now." The words echoed those of cruel Radela, but flavored by concern instead of malicious glee. He led us into the Conclave Hall where we were confronted by the sight of a Conclave in full session, with even a member of the Hortassa Kai in attendance. Elders spoke amongst themselves in quiet groups, but all eyes turned to us as we entered the chamber. It was then I realized that Mother was not in her usual seat at Father's side.

The whipcrack of staff **** to granite brought the hall to complete silence. The staff wielder settled back in his stiff backed chair. Elder Claw Karelaw Zra Duskan was an imposing figure and something of a legend amongst the Dancing People. Though bent with age his formidable frame hinted at the impressive warrior of his youth. His word was always heard and respected, even by his opponents. And now that word was directed at me accompanied by a fierce glare.

"Why he returns matters not. I demand Thalak, here and now, in the name of my son Ro, whom this foul creature murdered in cold blood!!!" another voice from the high table roared out. Ka'Ro Darkwind's sour visage was much as I remembered it, excepting the new adornment of a fresh gash across one side of his snout. His three remaining children had lined up behind him like a gaggle of vultures awaiting the carrion corpse.

"Silence!" hollered the Elder Claw. He then repeated his question to me. Trying to keep the fear of my possible fate from my voice, I explained in short order of my journey north, my time in Fjarah, our experiences with the Blight and Fjarah's plans to abandon the village and head southand the rest our adventures up to the return to Herul. When I finished the Elder Claw waved his hand in impatience and insisted that I had brought the Conclave nothing new and more importantly nothing justifying my right of return.

My mind whirled in a sense of desperation as I contemplated the fate I know lay before me if the Conclave so chose. But at that moment the value of my new found friendships was cemented as Frvind stepped forward and whispered quietly in my ear. "The Blight Cure", I nearly shouted in response to his hint. I proceeded to explain what that was, then turned the floor over to Frvind, who elaborated at length on the discovery of Brione and its ramifications. By the end of his dialogue every ear in the place was attuned exclusively to every word falling from his lips, such was the interest in what he was saying.

The Elder Claw spoke. "If this is as you say, young cub, then this does indeed justify your bringing this information to the Conclave.....BUT, we will need to see this for ourselves. Will you surrender up this elixir to the People?" Frvind solemnly stepped forward and handed the Elder Claw one of our two flasks of the precious brew. The Elder Claw motioned to halt the Conclave proceedings but was once again interrupted by Ka'Ro Darkwind.

"I demand Thalak, as is my right!" bellowed the old Maratasanni. "And I grant it to you, tomorrow at first light!" I bellowed back, my voice heightened by tension and fear. Looking around the room I was met by the solemn gazes of each of the Conclave elders, and none gainsaid my words. This WAS a matter of HONOR, and it was past time it was settled.

As we filed out of the Conclave House much conversation broke out behind us. My Father took me by the arm and swept me towards the home I had known since I was a fresh cub sitting on his lap on the front porch. With a wave of arm he invited my companions to follow as well. "Where is Mother?" was the first question from my lips. He explained that after I left a struggle had broken out in the Conclave Council between Mother and Ka'Ro Darkwind. It had culminated in a physical alteracation that left him scarred and her Banished from our home. I was devastated, but helpless to do anything but fret for her wellbeing.

My sibs Rakka and Hiss'ar were bouncing around like frisky cubs, demanding to embrace me, question me, throw me around the room in frustration, and meet all my companions at the same time. Their youthful exuberance brought to mind my own youth, not so long ago, but now seeming years past with the burdens I had assumed. I began to appreciate my Father's solemn demeanor and methodical problem solving ever more as the worries of adulthood impinged on my formerly happy young life.

The morning came with a shake of Father's hand on my shoulder. After cleaning up he served us all a generous breakfast and made small talk about plantings and the recent cold weather. My sibs were nowhere to be seen, and his gaze told me clearly not to ask. He then took me by the arm and led us out to the greenway, the area next to the village proper where public events were held.

On this fine sunny morning it seemed the entire Conclave had shown up for the event to unfold. Mothers tried (and frequently failed) to keep their frisky cubs out of trouble while the men of the clans stood around chatting amiable while drinking their boiled honeydew, a favorite morning drink. On the far side of the field stood Ka'Ro Darkwind and his three sinister children. Upon our arrival on the field all frivolous talk ceased and the Elder Claw stepped to a spot halfway between us and waved a gathering hand. I stepped forward, alone. As I had feared, Radela Av Grutorn glided forward from the other camp.

As I moved away from my companions I saw Frvind meet my gaze and quietly whisper under his breath while in his hand a small bundle of Dust swirled. The Dust suddenly zipped over to me and covered my legs, and I suddenly felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from me by the spell he called LongStride. I nodded thanks and moved forward with a considerably lighter step.

At midfield we both bowed to the Elder Claw. "A Matter of Honor, as recognized by the Conclave, to be settled in the oldest tradition of the People, the Dance from which we derive our very identity! Let the truth unfold!" With that he turned and strode off the field towards a gathering of the other Council members. Radela stared at me a moment, then turned on her heel and headed back to her people.

It was a shame, really. Despite the considerable battle scarring, which could be points of honor, she was not unattractive in face or form, and moved with the deadly grace of the experienced hunter. She was easily the deadliest of her clan, and while I admired her swaying backside as it moved away I also worried about my near term survival. But I had a plan, Gods forfend!

As I moved back to the starting point at field's edge I slowly gathered the Dust about me. When I turned to face my enemy I let loose the spell I had gathered, which coalesced around my legs and reinforced the Dust put there by Frvind. Power coursed through my lower regions as the Jumping spell kicked in and I felt my confidence return as quickly as it had departed earlier.

I believe to this day that Radela simply judged me weak and too cowardly to fight, and so remained in place talking to her kin long past the start time of the battle. Her first realization of this mistake came as my FireBolts slammed into her chest armor, singing leather and fur alike. With a yowl of female angst she whirled and proceeded towards me in the four limbed bound our People are famous throughout the world for. And so the Dance began...

In retrospect I am fairly certain that the People had never witnessed a dance such as they beheld that sunny morning at the end of the season of Ra'math. With the power of the Jump and the LongStride combined I moved around the field with unprecedented speed, though not always the grace I would have liked. I would lay into her with a flaming bolt, she would move to close into melee, and I would move just beyond range of her claws and axe.

This went on for eternity....or perhaps it was naught more than a few seconds...but either way it ended the same way. At the end Radela staggered, blood pooring from various wounds, her fur and armor scorched almost beyond recognition by the heat of the Dust. I leapt past her shoulder, claws extended, and almost casually slit her throat from jugular to snout. Her lifeless corpse fell to the ground behind me as I crouched in landing. I stood up slowly. "Honor is satisfied!" The Council nodded its agreement, and the Elder Claw repeated the phrase in official assent.

It was over, and I was alive. Looking back, I know that I should have died. I am no coward, but neither was I a fighter like Radela. Based on skill, ability and experience she should have killed me in short order. I didn't kill her. Her arrogance, the power of the Dust, and the hand of a Friend put that snotty she-cat into the ground. I was simply the Gods means of instruction to her and her malicious senior.

Speaking of whom, not a single word did he utter as he watched me standing above the corpse of his eldest child. He simply stared at me with a consuming hatred and raised his hand with two upraised digits. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, while his surprisingly quiet sons retrieved their sister's corpse.

My father since I could remember rarely showed his feelings on his sleeve, but he wrapped me in a warm embrace and I saw his eyes were glistening. My sibs had appeared as well, and pounded me fore and back worse than my recent enemy had done. Frvind quietly shook my hand in congratulations, and I could hear him muttering under his breath a quiet prayer for Radela's soul. Bogys said naught but did not need to as I had come to know him well enough to recognize a look of pleased satisfaction in the results of this little soiree.

After a brief respite it was decided that we should not waste the day but set out on the next part of our quest. I said goodbye once again to my family and promised Father that I would seek out Mother as well while trying to fulfill our quest. With the forest unbreachable to the uninitiated and the Sol River blocking our road east it was decided that the ford at Valford was our best option. We crossed back over the river at Branford and headed east, following the natural flow along the north bank of the Valyard.

That days travel was uneventful. The full weight of the Blight had not reached this far south yet so the land was verdant and fruitful, with but a hint of the northern coolness on the breeze. We made camp, rotating the watch as was our wont, and slept the sleep of the dead. Next morning we took our time breaking camp and lollygagged a bit before getting underway for another day's trek.

As we neared the area where Frvind assured us lay the village of Valford, we beheld in the distance three figures approaching us. As they moved rapidly towards us it soon became apparent they were Maratasen outfitted in leather armor and appropriate weapons. When they came within visual range they began to shout "Oathless! The Oathless is back!" This appeared to be directed at Bogys. Though I knew not what they meant by this, their combative intent and their target was obvious.

Once again Frvind and I, as if Bonded, met eye to approving eye and turned nearly as one to our Companion with hands upraised and Dust flying from both of us. In unison we cast upon him the same combination of magic that I had found so effective against Radela yesterday morn. Realizing what we had done, Bogys gave a victorious growl and moved to Dance.

Our opponents to date had been dangerous but generally crude in their fighting ability and tactics. To actually watch two combatants trained in the Dance is....well, a different thing altogether than the fights we had been in before. I do not count my Dance with Radela because I am not truly trained in the Art of War and so no true Dancer. Bogys and his opponents were trained, and it showed. With deadly speed and feral grace they literally tore each other apart before our eyes.

Frvind and I did not stand idly by during this set to. In the end we managed to account for one of our opponents while Bogys did honors on a second. The third bounded away, his steps enhanced by his fear, with cries of "Oathless!" on his lips as he disappered into the cool evening night. We stood staring at each other for a moment, then our eyes turned to the bloodied Bogys who had just returned from a futile chase of our last combatant. He noted our gaze, but said nothing.

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 2:54 pm

Session 4 - 24th February 2017

As we watched he quickly bound his wounds and bounded away after his quarry. Frvind, Churlish and I stared after him for a moment, then were startled by the sounds of figures moving along the roadway towards us. At my behest we bounded into the riverside and crouched, hoping to remain unseen. But to hide such from the people is a futile effort. Another armed Maratasen stared us down as we stood waist deep in the cool river, and my heart sank. But after ascertaining that Bogys was not amongst our number he bounded away into the woods with hollers of "Oathless" following behind.

Realizing that we were in no immediate danger we set about binding our wounds as we moved towards Valford village. The village itself sat within an earthen palisade, much like Fjarah and Brantford. As we approached the gateway we were halted by several Maratasen armed and armored similarly to the others we had seen. We noticed at this point that these fellows all wore a similar insignia on their armor, and realized the others we had seen and fought were accoutred the same.

It quickly became apparent that we were not welcome. The lead guardsman stated that Valford was under military lockdown and entry into the village proper would require an entry fee of 150 gold per person. Such a ridiculous sum was well beyond the means of all except the most wealthy traveller, and was obviously a way to keep refugees out of the village. Once their intent was clear we choose not to negotiate or contest this, but moved back from the gateway to the an area alongside the river proper.

I argued for us to to cross the river via wading but my proposition was overcome by a singularly unique problem that I had not foreseen. Our companion Churlish, it seems, had a most extreme antipathy to bodies of water and even the idea of immerging himself deeper than knee level sent the little fellow into a frenzy.

The only option left us was to build a raft for the crossing. Fortunately, Churlish appeared to have some facility with woodworking and carried the basic tools of the craft. So we spent the day gathering the necessary wood and weaving it together with our limited supply of hemp.

At dawn we tied our gear down onto our new vessel and set about pushing off the shore. To say our crossing was uneventful would unfortunately not be accurate. About midway across I managed to stumble over the side of our vessel and into the cool waters. In a panic Churlish leaped to the top of the raft's center pole and refused to come down. The more level headed Frvind grasped my flailing hand but my weight pulled him into the water as well. Despite being dragged down by our heavy clothes we together managed to find balance and heaved ourselves back onto our dilapidated vessel. We continued to the far shoreline with no further untoward events.

We spent the rest of the day at rest by a quickly conceived campfire on the riverside. We noticed during this time that our eyes burned from exposure to the water, but the effect wore off by the next day. We pulled the raft up into a bush and covered it as best we could with the idea of possible future use. Then we set out in a course parallel to the river but slowly moving further into the forested interior.

The forest was thickly canopied and the ground was heavy with underbrush. None of our group was woods wise so the going was slow. About half a day in we were fortunate enough to stumble across but not set off a large pit and net trap obviously set to catch game. Encouraged by this sign of our hunter we slowed down even further to avoid stumbling into any other traps but found several smaller ones which led us into the forest interior.
Then we abruptly broke through into a small clearing dominated by a very large tree. Built into the side of this tree was a **** shelter with walls, ceiling and crude door. Churlish, tired of tromping through the woods, marched right up to the door, opened it up, and stepped inside. Frvind rolled his eyes at me, and nodding we followed the bold little fellow in.

If I had to imagine the interior of a hunter's abode then this structure certainly fulfilled those requirements. Animal skins hung from every wall in various states of curing. Traps of various types were scattered around. Several bows, quivers of arrows, and a variety of skinning knives were scattered around wall and floor. The room was dominated by a large and very comfortable bed which Churlish immediately appropriated and fell into a quick snooze.

Frvind and I stepped outside to let the poor fellow nap while we conversed about our situation. I happened to wonder aloud how our host would feel about our unasked for intrusion, and was surprised to receive an answer from the air somewhere above us in a voice we had not heard before. The voice stated quite plainly that no offense had been given as long as no harm was intended. Frvind and I rushed to assure our hidden watcher that indeed no harm was intended, and in fact exactly the opposite. We conveyed our identities, and further that we had been sent by one Myrik to seek out his brother Myrrshan for purposes of obtaining his services as a guide.

At this point their was literally a flash of movement and standing next to us was a member of the Dancing People. Our host was very slender and very tall. He was dressed in a minimalist leather garb which looked very practical appeared to provide minimal interference with his movement. He had two large fighting knives strapped to his thighs and a very large longbow on his back. He his coloration seemed designed to blend into the surrounding forest, and most interestingly, he gave off no smell that I could detect. Very unusual indeed.

Conversationally his words were brief and to the point, but not unpleasant. He acknowledged that he was the brother of Myrik. He also seemed amenable to being our guide, but he had a single condition. He claimed to have been contracted to acquire the pelts of a pack of large and ferocious cats. He was doubtful he could fulfill the contract on his own, and in return for his services as a guide he desired our assistance in completing his contract. At this point Churlish had joined us and after a brief consultation we all agreed that his demands seemed eminently reasonable and amounted to a fair trade of services.(edited)

We prepared some poisons and prepped several traps. After a restful nap for all involved we set out with our new guide. Moving through the forest with a being trained in its ways was a very different experience than what we had had to date. The hunter showed us paths through the thick underbrush that we never would have seen on our own. He pointed out various useful items of woodlore as we moved along, and identified the many strange noises we heard near and far.

At nightfall we set camp around a blazing fire and assumed our normal watch rotations with Myrrshan taking the deep night watch. I was aroused from sleep by a clawed hand on my shoulder and a cat's eye behooving me to stay silent. As my companions shook off the sleep we all heard movement in the underbrush not thirty feet out. Myrrshan drew his fighting knives and stood back to the fire, staring out into the darkness. He yowled a cry of challenge into the darkness, and in response two huge figures bounded out of shadow to confront him, and us.

Like most fights this one was a blur, and the speed of our opponents made it even more so. What I can remember is that when it was done both monsters lay dead near us, and the blood of all of us mingled with theirs in the dirt, but unlike them we were all alive, if not unscratched. In fact our wounds were such that even with our healing skills supplemented by Frvind's mending magics we nonetheless took an entire day to reach the point where we could continue. Truth be told Churlish nearly ended his travel during that fight, but the gods smiled on him and let us pull him back from the brink of death. Myrrshan collected the valuable pelts, and we dined on meat of the wolf for the duration of our stay at that camp.

The following day we broke camp and continued our travel along the route set by our guide. Again the guided travel was a fairly pleasant experience, and Myrrshan seemed generally pleased with our companionship, as we moved deeper into the old forest.

As evening approached we came upon the bank of a fairly wide but almost totally dried out river bed. About halfway across the bed we saw a sight new to all of us. It looked to be a good sized boat of solid construction. But it sat on very large and **** looking wagon wheels, and where a mainmast with sail would normally be was a large windmill contraption. The boat-wagon appeared to be tilted unnaturally to one side and was obviously caught up on something.

After brief consultation we decided to approach the strange vehicle in a neutral stance. But for insurance we told Myrrshan, the wielder of our longest range weapon, to maintain overwatch on this bank in case of trouble. With a nod he literally disappeared into the embrace of a nearby tree. The rest of us moved into the river bed, side by side, with our hands prominently displayed in the universal sign of inoffensive neutrality.

About twenty feet out we were hailed from the top of the boat-wagon though we could see naught. We identified ourselves and expressed peaceful intent. After a moment we were ushered around to the far side of the boat-wagon, where we saw that indeed the vehicle was caught up on a rock formation. A ramp ran down from a hatch in the side of the boat-wagon. Standing on the ramp, hand raised and empty, was our old companion Bogys.

Facing him was a short figure the likes of which I had never seen before. Actually shorter than Churlish by a good half foot, "he" was of lighter build and had a pasty skin. Facially there was more similarity to a Valdus than any of the other peoples to which I am familiar. Large, widely spaced eyes were dominated by hornlike eyebrow ridges and his head was topped by very spiky hair. He held a crossbow loosely pointed at Bogys.

We reiterated our peaceful intent, and included Bogys in our admission. That seemed to satisfy the boat-wagon's defender, who lowered his crossbow. He introduced himself as Ramava Chkavati. As he was speaking he was joined by a second figure of equal height and similar appearance but completely shrouded except for "her" face, which appeared to be scarred from a past searing incident. Ramava introduced her as Mali Chkavati, his wife. She smiled shyly at us.

In response to my inquiry Ramava proceeded to explain that he and his wife were of the race known as Masians, a people of whom I had vaguely heard of but never seen. Furthermore they were members of the United Hyraj Hydrological Kommisariat, which seemed to be some sort of clan amongst their people. He claimed they were on a mission to map the riverways with the goal of creating new routes for their people to use to trade with the northlands.

In turn we explained our adventures to date over a quite nice dinner the couple prepared for us. We talked about the spreading Blight, and about the predicament of Fjarah and the other villages in the North. We expressed our desire to explore the Great Forest, and our end goal of mapping a route to Solus. We talked of the strange Blight we had experienced along the Solus river. As our story progressed the young couple's interest seemed piqued.

Ramava explained that his people's efforts were concentrated in the regions to the east of the territory of Solus. It seemed odd to me that his people would not make more effort to create trade with the major civilized state in the North, and I sensed a reluctance to elaborate when our conversation briefly turned to the subject. Dinner concluded with a conversation about their current dilemma with their foundered transport and the broken wagon wheel that was the crux of the issue. During this part of our talk Ramava rather casually revealed that he was Mara'thi, a manipulator of the Dust, but he explained that his powers were insufficient to mend the harm to his boat-wagon.

During a break in our discussions of repairs I begged leave from my compatriots and trotted outside to the river embankment where we had exited earlier. There I gave an update to our unseen hunter on our current situation and our intent of assistance for the following day. I also explained that these were traders and that this would be a good time to trade in any goods Myrrshan desired to rid himself of. In answer a bundle of furs gleaned from our opponents last eve landed at my feet. I proceeded back to the boat-wagon, where I joined Mali and Frvind, who were already engaged in a round of trading. After completing the trade I returned to the embankment and dropped the coin bag on the ground for retrieval at his leisure.

The next day we spent carrying out our plans of repair on the landship. I had never performed a Ritual of Dust with another practitioner before and I found the experience very enlightening and emotionally rather rewarding. In tandem with our magical efforts Churlish used his skills to facilitate the crafting of the new wheel. I noticed that occasionally he would break off and disappear into the boat wagon for brief periods. Later I learned he had snuck into the Masian map collection and used them to update our maps of the local region. Sneaky tactics and disrespectful of our host, but a worthwhile endeavor nonetheless.(edited)

That night we sat to another excellent repast and a good round of general table conversation. We were all tired by our day's work, however, and broke off fairly early for bed. Once again a full night's sleep was not to be. I was shook awake by a friendly hand, and led up to the main deck of the landship. There the others all stood staring out into the darkness towards the northern embankment of the river. In the moonlight I could dimly make out five dark shapes standing there facing us. Ramava explained that these appeared to be "feral" Maratasen, and that a run-in with this folk is what had led to the landship's current predicament.

I had heard of the Wild Dancers of the People from tales around the campfire when I was a cub, but had never encountered one in person. Of course we knew of the existance of other Maratasen such as those represented by our companion Bogys, but the Conclave had very few dealings with others of our kind over the years, and none with the Wild Dancers.

I turned to my companions, who were busily preparing their distance weapons, and begged them to hold off combat and give me a chance to parley. They seemed surprised but agreed not to initiate combat unless provoked. I bounded over the side of the landship and moved thru the starlit night towards my first encounter with the Wild Dancers. I noticed at this point that Churlish moved at my side, and I was quietly grateful to the little fellow for the company.

As we approached five shadows on the river bank it became clear they were indeed of the People, but made even rough Myrrshan seem civilized in comparison. They wore only loincloths, and their weaponry was crude. They crouched in the manner of the Hunter, and their eyes gleamed ferally in the mooonlight. I held out my hands and addressed them as Brother, and made plain my peaceful intent. They watched silently, making no move and no sound.

I heard a soft whisper of sound pass me by, and an arrow thunked into the ground at the feet of the lead figure we faced. It was shaft, not bolt, and too long for a shortbow. Only one of us used such a weapon, and it was clear to me Who, but not Why. No offense had been given, and we were in parley, so the shaft at our feet made no sense to me.

With a loudly shouted "Stop" I reversed course and bounded with all the power my legs would give me back the way I had come. I noticed as I did so Churlish beckoning the shadowed figures to move back and away from their vulnerable stance in the open. I narrowed my attention forward, however, and bounded past the landship towards the far bank where I knew Myrrshan was drawing another arrow to his longbow.

"There is no need for this", I cried as I swept up onto the far riverbank. I could not see the hunter, but I know him to be there. And in a flash of movement I barely glimpsed he was suddenly there, facing me, longbow in hand and an angry look on his face. "We hunt!" he growled. And realization struck me. The others told me later that they had suspected, but the idea had truly never crossed my mind that the "giant cats" we had agreed to hunt in exchange for Myrrshan's guide experience were of my own race. A sense of horror and revulsion flooded my consciousness, followed by a bloody rage at this DEFILEMENT.

As emotion overwhelmed me for a moment I did manage to notice thru the fog of my rage that Bogys had joined us, and placed himself between me and Myrrshan. His weapons were drawn and he had a look of severe annoyance on his face. At this point my rage broke into the world, and spreading my hands in a fan-like fashion I called the Dust to me, and upwards into a fan of flame that arced upward and lit the night sky for a moment.
My goal of blinding the hunter was blocked by the arm he put in front of his eyes, just as his goal to bypass us and continue his attack on the Wild Dancers was blocked by the stalwart Bogys. The Dance was joined between them, and it was Myrrshan who stepped away bloodied. My rage abated for a moment, I was suddenly aware of the presence of one of the Wild Folk coming up to us from the riverbank, with Death in his Eye for our Hunter. Confused, angry and feeling betrayed, I was nonethless determined to stop any further bloodshed from my People this night, and I threw myself in front of the wild Brother and grappled him to stillness.

It was then that the Night took an even more unexpected turn we could never have foreseen. As I grappled with the Wild Dancer, and together we watched Bogys grapple with Myrrshan, we noticed a strange movement of the air around our hunter's face and body. It was a shimmering that flickered in and out, and reminded me in some ways of the Dust figures I created when I played with my Powers as a child. So entranced were we by this sight that we barely noticed that Churlish, Frvind, and the other Wild Folk had all moved up to where we stood watching the struggle. And so all saw it, and I knew it was not simply my mind playing tricks.

As he lay there, wounded and bleeding out from his struggles with Bogys, the face of our hunter companion seemed to melt away. In it's place was a face.....out of horror. It was the face of some kind of man, but yet not so. And it's cracked visage was covered in scale, like some swamp lizard, but again yet not so. We all stood, mouths agape, as the dying figure gasped out "Eventide" and slumped to the ground.

For my fragile mind, this was the final betrayal. For one of the People to hunt the People, and then in turn to be revealed to be a masked liar was simply too much. My consciousness snapped, and I became as one of the Berserker's out of the oldest legends of the Dancing People. I let go of the Wild One, and fell upon Myrrshan with tooth and claw...ripping...tearing...gouging. I did not know when it died, and I did not care. My claws tore into it's throat and with a effort I ripped it's head clean off. At this point I stood, blood drenched, noticing the horrifed look on Frvind's face as he took in my grim demeanor. Turning to the Wild One, I tossed him the severed head and stated to the world "It is Over!."

I turned away from all and shuffled tiredly back to the landship, where a very nervoud looking Ramava directed me to a water barrel where I spent a good hour cleaning myself up and washing the blood from my clothes. I was tired, and hurt, and I did not want to think. I hoped the Others would understand my actions of the night, but in my exhaustion even the thought of their disapproval could not stop me from curling up on the floor and falling into a deep and nourishing sleep.

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 2:58 pm

Session 5 - 17th March - 2017

As dawn hovered on the horizon I awoke to the quiet hum of my companions breaking fast with our hosts. I noticed as I came to the table that the conversation quieted and the Chkvatis were eyeing me in particular. Mali Chkvati didn't quite aim her crossbow at me at the table, but close enough. I apologized to our hosts for last night's lapse of control and tried to convey the level of my frustration regarding the situation. This seemed to ease their minds somewhat, but they had definitely rescinded their openness with us for the rest of our dealings together.

We wrapped up our repairs on the Masian landship by mid-morning. The Masians seemed relieved to see us off in no short order thereafter. I felt a twinge of guilt for this, but opted to put it aside and move on. I had also forgotten that during last night's episode I had gotten the Wild One's leader to agree to guide us to the westward limits of his people's territory. So gathering up our new guide we bid the Chkvatis farewell and moved out.
The next part of our journey was a bit of blur in my memory of events, likely because of its mundane unpleasantness. Our guide fulfilled his agreement to get us to the Sol River, but his skills in aiding us to make our way thru the forest lacked the utility of our former guide. We moved much more slowly and with much more resistance through the thick undergrowth. Every bush clawed at our hides, and every insect found its way under our clothes, seemslike. A thoroughly miserable period of time of which I am more than happy to forget.

At Churlish's insistence our guide helped us take a detour back to Myrrshan's hut. Here we created a crude sled using the cabin's front door and piled it high with furs and other potential valuables. Much to our surprise our looting was not soon thereafter interrupted by the arrival of Myrick, brother of Myrrshan. He questioned us about the whereabouts of his brother, and we told him what we knew. We helped him search the area for a grave, but found none. With an grunt of ill satisfaction, he bounded off.

With our new burden in tow our Wild One guide led us off westwards for another day of miserable slogging through the forest. As we approached the Sol river valley he indicated this was the edge of his people's territory and he would go no farther. We thanked him and he disappeared back into the undergrowth with the skill of one born to it.

The Sol river valley here ran roughly northeast to southwest. Like the decayed marshland we had seen earlier in our travels the areas along the riverbanks seemed corrupted and lifeless. As we trudged along we saw first a great pall of smoke coming from beyond the encroaching hills on our side of the river but further south. Frvind and I stayed with the sled while the others climbed the slope to investigate.
On the other side of the rise the edge of the forest was on fire. Closer observation revealed, however, that the fireline was being herded by a large number of people on foot and several on horseback. Those on horseback and several of those on foot were accoutred in a military fashion with segmented leather armor, large square shields, and short swords. They all wore cloaks of a deep blue, and the rider sported a plume on his helmet of similar hue.

Our presence and observation was generally ignored except by the armored troopers. The horseman and several footmen turned and began trotting towards our vantage point. The others retreated back down to the sled, where in short order we were confronted by the military band.

My first impression of these folk, who were undoubtedly the near legendary Gervians of Solis, was "short" and "businesslike". The males amongst them were solidly built in frame while the females were a bit more slender but still firm. In height they fell two thirds of the way between a Valdus / Maratasen and the diminuative Masians, the tops of a male trooper's heads reaching Frvind's chin and the top of female trooper's reaching mine. The skin under their helmets and on their bare arms was of an olive hue. Their eyes were of a strange reddish-orange cast that varied in hue between individuals. On a few of the troopers facing us you could see hints of black spotting under the edges of their helmets. They carried themselves with a orderly air and gave one the impression of being serious fellows indeed.

The mounted officer, for that was surely what he was, began questioning us as to our origin, destination and intent in a brusque but firm tone. We identified ourselves as traders from the Northlands come to sell our furs and other wares in the city. Much to our surprise he seemed more than satisfied with that answer and bade us on our way with an admonition to stay to the riverside and stay out of trouble. With a solemnly phrased "The Light of Solus bless you", he swung his steed around and headed back towards the forest line, his troops gathering in column to double time behind him.

We continued our journey following the path set down by the river. As evening approached we finally came upon our first sight of the Great Jewel of the North, the Grand City-State of Solus. A black wall, some forty feet in height, spanned the width of the river and extended from it across both banks. The great river itself passed through a large arch built into the wall itself. For people who had never viewed anything larger than a village it was an impressive first sight indeed and we stopped a moment to gawk in wonder (except Churlish, of course, who isn't impressed by anything except comfortable beds!).

But every jewel has its flaws, and as we moved closer to the black wall those of the Grand City-State became more evident. Flowing out from the base of the wall was a wave of ramshackle structures of all shapes and sizes in varying states of disrepair. As we entered this area we encountered more Gervians, and these were obviously of a less well to do economic status than those encountered previously. They were of the same physical appearance, but of a much more ragged and worn character. At one point we passed a group of these in bondage, chained ankle to ankle, and overseen by soldiers. We later learned, much to the horror of some of us, that this bondage was common practice amongst the Gervians and was known as "slavery". This was unknown in the Northlands, and may it stay so.

Eventually our track along the river and through the decayed suburb ended at a large gate in the imposing black wall. Waiting in line behind several Gervian menials allowed closer observation of wall and gate. Like the surrounding suburbs both wall and gate were in need of repair, just not to the same degree. In marked contrast the soldiers guarding the gate, as the soldiers we had seen to date, were in good health wearing gear in good repair. For the first time we did see that some of the troops now sported red cloaks and/or plumes in addition to the blue we had seen up to now.

As our gaze switched to the gate itself we noted another curious thing. As each Gervian stepped up to the guards he was questioned "Are you blessed by the Light of Solus?" In reply the Gervian would hold up his right hand, from which sprang forth a small flame. The guard would respond with "The Light of Solus bless you" and the Gervian would pass through the gates. And thus we were presented with our next BIG problem.

For the Gervian had used no magic that I could detect. Frvind said the same. Yet he had produced flame. Which was not a problem for me, as the Dust of Fire was my speciality. But the others had no such thing to fall back on, and as our turn at the gate came about the truth of this was shown. When the guard spoke his phrase to me, I responded with my own flame, and he granted me great approval at my hearty fire. Frvind too was able to achieve as much, but the guards would not pass Bogys and Churlish even when we said they were but servants. It appears all who pass through the gates must pass the flame test, regardless of social station.

We stepped aside from the gateway and began following the path around the wall southwards, hoping to have a plan in play by the time we reached the next gate. One item of interest we did note at this time was that during our traverse around the wall we did at one point see nearby a building of a different sort. It was made of a white substance, markedly not in disrepair. It was surrounded by metal fencing and looked well apportioned with suspicious eyed troopers so we stayed well away from it while observing.

While we pondered that nature of this place Churlish was busy questioning a local ragamuffin he had pulled to one side. It was at this point we discovered the existance of "the glove". It seems all citizens of Solus wear a similar attachment on their hands, and from this the flame springs forth. Except in examining the item in question on the ragamuffin's hand their was no obvious mechanism to make happen so. And yet a wave of his hand caused flame to appear, with no effort, and more importantly no magic, apparent. We were confounded.

Despite this a fervent Churlish set in motion a plan to acquire a glove thru the auspices of this ragamuffin character he had been conversing with. For the promise of money this character led us in turn to a dilapidated structure that turned out to be a low class tavern. Here he attempted to bargain with the even more villainous looking character who seemed to run the place. The price this villain asked, however, was so ridiculous that the negotiation ended rather abruptly and Churlish fled the inn half fearful of a dagger in the back.

At this point in our tale I set aside my pen in favor of friend Frvind, who is aware of the next day's events better than I. For at this point, as happens occasionally with the hardcore practitioner, the Dust called to me. I find it impossible to put to paper what happened to me next. I can only say that during the course of my life as a Mara'thi, a Dust Dancer, there were times when I became lost in the Dust. My mind wandered and those around me tell me that I was as a mewling babe, unconscious but still ambling about. When I would come out of this trance-like state I would find my connection with the Dust even stronger and my ability to manipulate the dust more facile. Such was the case at this point in the tale. Afterwards, my friend Frvind filled me in on events even as I have shared my memories with you, the reader. As for myself, he claimed to care for me during m mental wandering, and I have no reason to doubt him and many reasons to believe him, as he is my valued companion.

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 3:01 pm

Session 6 - 24th March - 2017

RESERVED - GETTING IN SOLUS

User avatar
Mordred
Developer
Developer
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Dec 09, 2015 7:10 pm

Re: The Dark Age of Pantheus

Postby Mordred » Sat Apr 08, 2017 3:02 pm

Session 7 - 7th April 2017

RESERVED - The Wilderness


Return to “General Discussion”

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest