Vulūne 8-10, 653 DR: A conversation continues long into the evening. A disturbance in the woods. The ring of fire. Silhouettes among the flames. Angry villagers. Stand of the monks of Ealyma. March of the flaming dead. Burial in the Shyl Eloe. New companions. Dammon flies into the West. A night’s ferry crossing. Forced march through hostile lands. Honor among Feyri.

Continued from Ruins by the Sea.

Roydor, 8 Vulūne 653

Keléis of Ealyma looked back and forth between Dammon and Ērēus. He was suspicious of most people he met in these lands, but these two were different. He had no fear of them plotting the death of him and his brothers, but he wondered how little it might take to turn one against the other. The white-skinned Dammon avoided eye-contact with the warrior, and the warrior never addressed his companion directly. It was equally curious that both understood the ancient tongue, but used it differently. Dammon’s use of the language was exact, as if it were learned from books. The words that Ērēus came more naturally, spoken in a manner that suggested he’d had long and regular conversations in the ancient tongue. Keléis knew better than to pry too far into their pasts. Foreigners in this remote country were likely to be dangerous men. Dangerous men tended to reveal only what they wanted.

In answer to Dammon’s query, Keléis introduced himself and his fellow monks. When introduced, the sword-carrying Salkàar stood and bowed. Next, Margyna, the only woman of their group, nodded as her name was mentioned. Lastly, Baggar looked up from the book he’d been studying and joined the others at the table. Baggar was introduced as a Master of Ritual, which was further revealed to be a Channeler. The leader went on to explain that the region of Tirewyr was heathen, depressed, and unaccommodating. He spoke at length about the towns and villages they’d passed through, and shared some anecdotes to support his summary. When he finished, Dammon explained some of what the group had encountered and included mention of the Chaos magic found to the north. This revelation did not surprise Keléis as much as Baggar who began concentrating on the pale traveler. Baggar asked about the nature of Dammon’s “affliction”. The magician began to explain the condition of his skin but stopped as Baggar noted that both Dammon and Jak showed signs of Chaos magic.

Dammon relayed this to Jak who was sitting across the room. As they discussed Baggar’s observation, the monks began speaking agitatedly among themselves. Jak and the others then noticed that the inn’s staff were conspicuously missing. Baggar the others rushed toward the front door, soon disappearing into the night outside. Dammon moved toward the windows only to see the monks running around the corner of the inn. The magician raced up the stairs for a better vantage, as Jak and Fyrgol followed the monks into the night. Dammon woke up Tressta as he flung the chamber shutters open. Outside he could see the black ribbon of the river and the glow of a burning forest along its shore. Below the monks were moving across grassy fields toward the raging fire with the others close behind them. Weaving a spell, Dammon transformed himself into a falcon and flew into the night, leaving a handful of insects scurrying from the window sill.

In the high grasses, Jak could see Yrūn silhouettes moving among the burning forest. Wheeling through the dark sky above, the bird-shaped Dammon watched as villagers dragged fallen branches and trees toward the flames, feeding the ring of fire that was consuming the small wood. Within the ring, a number of cloaked people ambled blindly about, testing the limits of their blazing prison. Dammon watched them curiously, noting that they made no motions to suggest fear or discomfort from the closing flames. Those figures on the inside edges of the ring wandered unhurriedly, even though their clothes smoldered and smoked.

As the monks drew closer to the flames, the villagers stopped and turned. Baggar shouted in their direction, but the sounds of his words were lost in the roar of the flame. As one the villagers abandoned their task and moved toward the monks, a mob waving torches, tree limbs, axes, and tools. Salkàar moved to the front of the group drawing his sword. Jak and the others that gathered in the field realized for the first time that the other monks were unarmed. When the villagers drew close, one of their numbers rushed toward Keléis with a heavy branch. The monk jumped backward as Baggar placed a hand upon the local. The man dropped the tree limb and clutched his throat. The look of panic in his eyes was unmistakable as water began issuing from his mouth. Stumbling backward the man reeled and collapsed to knees, trying to cough free the fetid water growing in his lungs. As the man was left to drown in the middle of the grassy field, the other villagers converged. Dammon circled quietly above, taking note of the strange Drāūn magics.

Fyrgol moved closer to “listen” to the monks’ words. A second villager rushed forward and landed a heavy blow against Salkàar’s head. Blood trailing from his ear, the monk’s sword carved through the villager, his scream filling the night. Jak tightened his grip on his spear but Gældor bid him stay. “We must stay out of this,” the Spiritrider warned. Fyrgol raced toward the fire through the tall grass. Reaching the burning trees he started pulling burning limbs from the fire and stamping out the burning leaves. The Feyri yelled at the figures on the other side of the burning ring, but none responded to him. Dammon landed nearby and shifted back to his pale Yrūn form. Together they tried to clear a path through the ring of flames. After making little headway as they were, the magician summoned a rain of ice upon a section of the ring.

Salkàar stabbed a man through as two others buried daggers into his sides. The monk swordsman reeled and collapsed in the grass. Tressta exited the inn and ran to her friends’ sides with Ērēus close behind her. Another man screamed as Baggar touched him with his walking staff, he recoiled in disbelief as the hair on his head grew explosively, turning white as his fingernails curled in ringlets from his fingers. To the side, the drowning man finally collapsed to the ground. Seeing the bloody results of this meeting, Ērēus stepped forward with his shield out but his sword sheathed. He commanded them to stop, but they would not listen and could not understand. The villagers stood their ground, yelling back at him and Jak. As the groups faced off, an opportunist reached forward and cut Salkàar’s neck as another snagged his sword.

Behind the Ðardor, Baggar began to chant in a low rhythmic voice, with words that alarmed Ērēus. In the burning woods, as Dammon was finally clearing a path, the imprisoned figures turned as one and marched through the flames. When the villagers saw this, there was much crying and panic. Eight burning figures marched toward them through the grassy fields. Gældor was fuming as he recounted the villagers’ words from the day before, “these are their family members, their ancestors, raised against them by unholy magics.” Ērēus lowered his shield as the villagers fled. Gældor noted that some were going to summon the Riders. After discussion with the others, Baggar walked toward the burning undead and with a command released them. One by one they fell to the ground in burning heaps, released from their duty. Keléis and Margyna grabbed their fallen comrade and carried him toward the river’s shore for final rites. The others returned to the inn. As Dammon returned through the grasses, he paused briefly to examine Baggar’s handiwork: a man drowned with dark water created within and another curled into an ancient shriveled ball.

Within the inn, the group made plans to leave. Jak suggested that they cross the river and put as much distance between themselves and the inn as possible by morning. Agreeing to this, Dammon began gathering food from the pantries as everyone gathered their things for leaving.

Sūdìdor, 9 Vulūne 653

About Nightsdeep, the monks returned from their shoreside ritual. The swordsman’s remains lay somewhere beneath the dark waters of the Shyl Elōe. Seeing the group preparing to leave, Keléis asked them to stay and explained that a second group of monks were due to arrive from the west any day now. In exchange for their company and protection, the monk offered that they would be given audience with any Drāūn priests they might seek to the south. Ērēus agreed that leaving the monks in this place would surely end with their deaths. It was decided that the locals probably associated the group with the monks already, so they might as well act and move together. At Jak’s bidding, Zêla talked sense to the monks and convinced them that it would be best for them to accompany the group back across the river. Dammon offered to canvas the western hills in search of the incoming band, intercept them, and direct them south. After consulting with the others, Keléis agreed to this plan. He composed a short message for the magician to carry to the other monks that would convince them of this change in plans. The monks explained that there was a ship waiting for them in Tharm, a coastal village south of the City of Nōyn Dag. Keléis explained that from Tharm, everyone could leave for Ildûnic lands. After listening to the monks’ instructions, Dammon left the inn and disappeared into the night sky. Fyrgol returned to the stables and grabbed a second horse for the wagon. After reconfiguring the harnesses for two horses, they led them down to the ferry.

The ferry was a large flat-bottomed barge moored between two pylons. After loading the wagon and horses into place, everyone gathered aboard. The ferry was propelled by a large wheel through which a heavy knotted rope was fed. By cranking a hefty lever, the wheel would pull the boat along one knot at a time. With such a large load the work was exhausting, requiring most to take a turn at the wheel.

After almost two watches, the ferry crossed the Shyl Elōe and its passengers disembarked onto the western shore. From the far landing, they set out down the dark winding road. By morning, they were well south of the ferry crossing. Seeing little traffic, they led the horses to the roadside and rested for a few watches. In the afternoon, they returned to the road and continued south toward the Town of Loerynag. During the day’s travel, Dammon’s Conscience began trying to get Fyrgol’s attention. One the Feyri used his language talent, the familiar was able to explain to him that the group was being followed. When Fyrgol went to investigate he was disheartened to find that they were being tracked by Feyri. He warned the others of this and explained that they might have been sent by his father. There was not much to be done for they kept a good distance and hid whenever he expressed any interest.

By the day’s end Gældor estimated that they were one day from Lōérynag, a major town that stood on northern border of the Ancient Mounds. From Lōérynag, the road would turn inland and continue south toward the City of Nōyn Dag. The monks confirmed that Tharm was a couple days south of the capital city. After a good dinner the group set up vigils and retired for the evening.

Talídor, 10 Vulūne 653

While on watch, Fyrgol peered carefully into the darkness. For hours he saw and heard nothing. It was autumn. The only sounds were the wind and the blowing leaves. Toward the end of his watch, he noticed a pointy-headed Feyri emerging from behind a nearby stone. Zildara sat nearby, moodily staring off into the night. The Feyri grinned as he met Fyrgol’s gaze. “Fyrgol” the thing called. “You know who I am?” Fyrgol asked. “Did my father Harygol send you?” The visitor stepped fully into the open, a lowered bow in one hand. Fyrgol warned Zildara, who began waking those that slept. Fyrgol reached for his sword and found that it was shining with many colors. For so many years it had been dormant, and now it scintillated with strange light for the second time in a number of days. “If I give you the sword” he bargained, “will you leave me and my friends alone?” The visitor stopped and assessed the rousing camp. “You travel with Mortals?” Fyrgol explained that they had been traveling together for many days. The Daelbol Fel answered that it did not matter, “it is us against you, the Mortals cannot see us”. At that another Feyri stepped from the high grasses; the second was ugly with with elongated limbs and spider-like fingers. Fyrgol warned Zildara and the others that the Feyri were growing close as he tossed his dazzling sword to the ground before him. The visitor’s eyes opened wide. Knocking an arrow, the diminutive foe stepped forward, drawn by the beauty of the Feyrul blade.

As the creature drew nearer, a scream split the night as the second Feyri fell to the ground, clutching its leg. The archer stopped his advance and shot an arrow at Fyrgol, but he stepped aside and the arrow dropped into the grass. Jak grabbed his spear and charged forward, stabbing where Fyrgol pointed through the Yrūn could see nothing. Zildara drew her red sword and stepped toward the high-pitched screaming, where an invisible Feyri writhed and twisted in the grass. She stabbed at the thing and another scream issued forth. Then the thing reached out at the priestess and touched her leg. Zildara dropped her sword, and collapsed to the ground in a fit of tears and sobbing. A third, portly Feyri jumped from behind the same rock as the first, but did not advance. Jak stabbed at the archer as it retreated, fumbling with its next arrow. Finally, the Ðard managed to plant his spear squarely into his unseen foe’s body. A shrill ear-splitting scream rose into the night, as the iron spear tore through the Feyri like paper. As the archer collapsed, the third turned to flee into the night. Rather than pursue what he could not see, Jak moved toward Zildara’s side and skewered the screaming thing in the grass. After Zildara’s strange depression passed, the night returned to silence. Fyrgol gathered up his sword and watched the colors die along its blade, still unsure what made Skaeldythoel react in this way.

Fyrgol looked over the bodies and collected the strange bow, a quiver of arrows, and a belt of tiny vials. Inspecting the spider-handed Feyri he found no possessions, but was intrigued by the clawed wounds along its leg, which had turned black to its hip. When he described the wound, the others explained that it was handiwork of Dammon’s Conscience, who remained quiet on the subject. The combat finished, those that could returned to sleep. Fyrgol returned to the fireside, and peered nervously out into the night. There could be more out there, and if he slept, the others would never see them. Nearby, Zildara clutched her sword and also stared into the darkness. She could see nothing beyond the ring of firelight, but she really wasn’t looking for anything out there. She was recalling the bottomless despair that had overcome her, and knew that the things she had felt would be with her forever.

In time, the watches changed and the night passed without further event.

Continued in Return to Ðyr Kænōyn.

Characters

• Dammon Shroudson = 2 CPs (226)
• Fyrgol = 4+2 CPs (150)
• Jak of Cænden = 3 CPs (224)
• Tressta Drynsval = 3 CPs (217)
• Baggar of Ealyma (Monk)
• Cyreon (Gæbòl Fel Bounty Hunter)
• Ērēus of Amra = 2 CPs (309)
• Familiar = Unkn.
• Gældor of Nyn = 1+1 CPs (167)
• Graiç of Mazzam = 0 CPs
• Grymgrykalya = 0 CPs (78)
• Keléis of Ealyma (Monk)
• Margyna of Ealyma (Monk)
• Salkàar of Ealyma (Monk): killed
• Salqom (Daelbol Fel Mercenary): killed
• Volgob (Voldae Fel Mercenary): killed
• Zêla ma Ler = 2 CPs (171)
• Zildara of Zalan = 1+1 CPs (201)

Played: 01 Dec 2007