Vulūne 2-5, 653 DR: Wherein the group reaches the island of Ildûn. Graiç is overcome with a strange lethargy. Resting at the Spirit Horse Inn. Introduction of Fyrgol. Gældor learns of a menace blockading the land entrance into Cwæyl. Dammon does reconnaissance. A plan is formed. Supplies are gathered. Dammon has a strange visitor. Slipping past the Ðardèð Dnur. The road south.

Continued from A Plague of Locusts.

Kændor, 2 Vulūne 653

The echo of the horn sounded across the waves. Soon the water was alive with porpoises. Lowering rope ladders the Zultàya invited the creatures closer to ask favor. The animals reacted positively to the request. The group was informed that the beasts were willing to carry them from the ship to the port of Cwæyl. It would be morning soon and Yn wished to have the Zultayan ship far from Yrūn lands before the day broke. One by one the group climbed down onto the giant “fish” and were whisked through the waves toward shore. Though the porpoises kept to the surface, cutting through the coastal waves soaked their passengers as they clung to the fin on each beasts’ back. At dockside, each grabbed the barnacled ladder and climbed from the sea onto the old wood and stone pier. The pier extended far across the dark waves of the pre-dawn morning, lit by small green lights that glowed from metal lanterns atop stone posts. Leaning to inspect the eerie pulsating lights, Jak saw a miniature creature trapped inside, giving off the emerald glow. These were Feyri he guessed. As Graiç climbed onto the pier, the group continued toward the town. Behind them the wood golem struggled forward; something was very wrong.

Entering the wharf area, they found the twilight docks to be alive with activity. A number of boats were moored to the piers and dockworkers busily unloaded and loaded cargo. Wherever they walked, the people stopped and watched the giant wooden man walking behind them. The Town of Cwæyl was built within a crevice that interrupted the Ælyri seawall. To either side, steep stone cliffs plummeted to the sea from rolling highlands. The wharf stretched along the entire seaside, bristling with small piers and floating docks. Ahead, a wide road wound up between the dockside buildings to the town’s upper tiers where better homes and buildings rose above the detritus below. Walking uphill, Dammon and Tressta stopped to inspect curious carvings that seemed to adorn the foundations, walls, and doors of every building they passed. Most of glyphs looked very old, worn smooth by ages of wind and sea water.

In time the group came to a larger building with a white horse plaque above the front door. Gældor claimed that this was an inn, so the weary travelers wandered inside to secure rooms for the day and night. Graiç, who was moving very slowly, positioned himself outside the door and settled himself, looking not unlike a pile of “boxes”. Dammon noticed that a small group had followed them from the docks and now stood at a distance, marveling at the mass of wood. They talked between themselves but their words were foreign. Inside the Spirit Horse Inn, Gældor talked with the innkeeper Dæmegd, and secured the only two remaining rooms in the place. Tressta ordered a bath drawn in the kitchen, where she sat and stared glumly at the scar upon her hand.Dammon’s magic had closed the wound, but she could feel stirring within it and knew that it was not healed. After luxuriating in bath for a watch or more, Tressta asked Gældor to inquire about a local healer. The Spiritrunner explained that there was a temple of Ælyra in the town, but that they might not welcome travelers from the Old Empire. Gældor went on to explain how the northern half of Ildûn was a stronghold for the native people of island. The Spiritrunner further explained that Cwæyl lay about a week or more north of the City of Nōyn Dag, the capital of Ælyri-Ildûn. After explaining what he could, Gældor returned into the town to learn more.

Come afternoon, Dammon’s Conscience woke him up. The familar was insistent that he come downstairs. Dammon swung his feet from the bed and gathered his things. He couldn’t remember his Conscience being so aggravated in the past. At the bottom of the stairs, Dammon stepped into the common room and found his companions partaking of a late lunch. The Netharic words returned to his ear, explaining that someone in the room could “see” his familiar. The gray-eyed magician scanned the shadows of the dim room, but saw nothing. Crossing the inn, Dammon peered out the front door. The collapsed mass of Graiç still sat beside the door. A small crowd still remained in the street, whispering to one another and pointing at the pile of crates. Nothing had changed. The familiar insisted that he had passed the watcher. Turning, he returned his attentions to the dim inside; Dammon scanned the room again. This time his sight fell upon a boyish figure, standing near the front window, that he hadn’t seen before. In fact, he almost didn’t see him a second time. There was something unnatural about the way the boy blended into the wall. Dammon stepped forward and greeted the thing in a number of different languages. The boy did not respond and only stared at him with wide non-Yrūn eyes.

Those at the table soon stopped their own conversation to watch as Dammon talked to the wall. After many frustrated attempts to communicate with the boy, its camouflage faded and it responded in a strange voice. “My name is Fyrgol,” it explained.Dammon was taken aback at the thing’s voice, which sounded like hundreds of hushed voices trying to guess what the listener might understand. This Knack convinced the magician that the boy was not Yrūn at all. If it was not Yrūn his conjecture continued, it was possibly much older and dangerous than it appeared. Dammon invited the boy-thing over to his companions’ table and it accepted. At the table, Fyrgol awkwardly introduced himself and greeted each of the people gathered. He explained, to Dammon’s satisfaction, that he was in fact a Feyri and that he had been wandering the lands for sometime. His explanation of Rings made little sense to all but Dammon and Gældor who watched him skeptically.

After much talk, Dammon returned outside to inspect Graiç. As he looked for ways to tend to the golem, his Conscience reported endlessly that the Feyri was nearby and insisted that killing the creature would be best. The magician would have none of it and eventually gave the thing leave to explore the town, which it did. Seeing the familiar disappear into the streets, Fyrgol too wandered off in search of food. Dammon meanwhile, finding no way to repair the golem, sat on its foot and performed some prestidigitation for the gathered crowd. The townspeople watched with amazement, looking back and forth between the magician and the boxes he was sitting on. The people didn’t seem afraid of his magics, but it was obvious from their reactions that they were unaccustomed to such displays. Growing tired of his own tricks, Dammon returned his attentions to Graiç. Laying his chalky fingers on the construct’s wooden surface, he reached his magical senses into the golem and found… nothing. He knew that the golem produced no magic of its own (very few things did) but was amazed to see that the thing’s connection to the Tapestry was vanishingly thin.

At about that time, Gældor returned from another excursion and ushered the magician inside for a meeting with the others. They gathered in an upstairs bedroom where the Spiritrunner explained that not all was right in the Town of Cwæyl. He related news heard around town about a recent attacks on northbound caravans which result in the death of a Drāūn priest about two months ago. Seemingly in response to this attack, a Drāūnish sentry appeared eight days ago which forbade all travel to and from theTown of Cwæyl. The Undying guardian is believed to be a Ðardèð Dnur, positioned outside this town for its connections with the separatist Spiritrider Order of Wyluragea. It was not known whether other sentries had been deployed throughout the countryside, as the attack happened near the Village of Nolmanæ to the south. Wishing to gain a better idea of the situation, Dammon wove a spell of Mūátra and was transformed into a falcon. Flying from the inn window, the magician wheeled into the sky until he could see the whole town stretched below. Toward the interior, the town’s roads collapsed to a single wagon route which wound up through a narrow passage before emerging into the hilly green pastures above. Standing at the top of that road was a tireless skeletal figure holding a sword. Strewn about the monster lay a dozen or more bodies. Dammon had seen the Undying before, and this definitely one of their ilk. Flying higher above the sentry, he looked down upon the surrounding countryside and saw evidence of abandoned homes and foundations where the town’s borders had once spilled into the highlands above. Where once a network of avenues and squares once extended well beyond he sentry’s position, now only farms and forests covered the hills. Content with his reconnaissance, the magician wheeled back toward the inn and returned through the opened window. In the street below, Fyrgol watched the bird return.

Leaving the unmoving Graiç behind, Fyrgol entered the inn and found his way up toward the group’s room. There they devised a plan to escape the town with the massive wood golem in tow. After discussing their options for a while, the group returned downstairs and shared their ideas with Ērēus and Zêla. The Heartguard agreed that the despite tensions between the Ælyris and the Ildûnan, that it was inappropriate to blockade the only land route in and out of a major town. Gældor supported this notion, explaining that in the eight days since the Ðardèð Dnur appeared, food stuffs and other supplies were growing scarce in Cwæyl. It was decided that in order to move Graiç they would need a wagon, and so Gældor returned into the evening to see what he could find. Meanwhile, Fyrgol moved toward the Spiritrunner’s large dog as it lounged by the fireplace. The inquisitive Feyri tried speaking to it as he would any animal, but the dog only growled at his attempts. There was something very different about Grym, he decided.

Malídor, 3 Vulūne 653

The next morning, Jak, Ērēus, and Fyrgol wandered up through the town streets. After many switchbacks they marched through the narrow ravine and emerged into the daylight beyond. They could smell the scene before they saw it. As they turned the last corner they beheld the armored skeleton standing in the center of a circle of corpses. A buzzing cloud of flies hovered over the bodies. The stench was overwhelming. Fearlessly and seemingly unaffected by the stench, the Feyri stepped closer to the Undying guardian, drawing a hitherto unseen silvery cutlass from his back. Unsure of Fyrgol’s intentions, Jak leveled his spear and advanced alongside the boy-thing. They walked to the edge of the bodies and stopped. Jak uttered a small Drāūnic prayer that he learned from Alcèrra, but the thing did not react. It stood silently, a blade gripped in each bony hand, glaring menacingly from its empty eye sockets. The three surveyed the area. It seemed they would have to cross the circle of bodies to pass the guardian.

Gældor returned to the inn again that evening with news of a wagon and the horses to pull it. He’d met a local named Hælgnar who owned a wagon and had been sitting in the Grotto for days looking for an opportunity to leave. When the Spiritrunner had approached him he leaped at the chance to escape. Gældor went on to explain that the Grotto was a shady neighborhood that sat beneath the northern cliffs, separate from the rest of the town. The buildings of the area were built atop wharfs which suspended the “village” above the tidal sea waters that rushed in and out of the cave. Pleased with this turn of fortunes, most of the group retired for the night.

Dammon sat in the common room passing time. It had been almost a day since his familiar had planted its needle-like claws into his unfeeling shoulder. It was no surprise when the thing found him staring into the fireplace and urged him to follow into the night. The magician found his feet and walked into the night-clad street. To his left, the massive wooden shape of Graiç sat unmoving against the inn wall. Outside the inn stood a man in a long fur-lined coat. Something about his eyes reminded Dammon of people he’d met long ago, perhaps while dreaming. The man introduced himself as Talak and with a slight bow proceeded to explain how pleased he was to make Dammon’s acquaintance. The magician thanked him, guardedly. After a few questions aboutGraiç, the man invited Dammon to a place called “The Residence” in the City of Nōyn Dag, several days south of Cwæyl. He assured Dammon that his associates there would know when he arrived and show him all due hospitality. The man nodded his head vigorously, wringing his hands with great delight. “It is a pleasure to meet another of us,” the man blurted before leaving. “Enn Vardaryk blesses us.” With that, the man turned and shuffled away into the night.

Amdor, 4 Vulūne 653

The next day passed quietly. The traffic outside the inn was unchanged from the day before. Townspeople went about their tasks normally, on this the second workday of Vulūne. Throughout this Amdor, people stopped and pointed at the “crate pile” in front of the Spirit Horse Inn. Word had traveled throughout the town that the pile had walked and settled there days before. Now and again an adventuresome soul would brave forward and touch Graiç before getting spooked and jumping away. When evening drew near, the throngs thinned until the cobblestone streets were again empty.

Once dark had settled in the streets, Fyrgol heard the sounds of approaching hoofbeats and the creak and bang of wagon wheels. Two horses appeared from behind some near buildings, followed by a wagon with two men sitting at the front. The shorter of the two men had graying hair and an unkempt beard. The other man was larger and had the look of idiocy stamped upon his expression. Gældor came forward, followed by his dog, and greeted Hælgnar. The man introduced his “helper” Jæreg. As the group filtered outside and introductions were made, they turned their attentions to the task at hand, getting Graiç into the back of the wagon. The man gathered around the wooden crates as Dammon assisted with a Weaving of Annoch’s Rising. Slowly, effortfully, they lifted Graiç onto the back, and followed the wagon up the road.

The wagon moved slowly between the crowded houses. There was no way to shield the click of hooves and wagon wheels, but a hurried cadence would have drawn attention. Soon they were among the empty houses that occupied the highest tier of ofCwæyl. The buildings in this area looked old and abandoned. Passed the empty tier, they entered the narrow climbing passage that emptied into the highlands above. The teamster and his associate grew nervous as they made each turn. They’d heard of the Undying horror that guarded the exit from atop a mountain of dead challengers. The horseless Spiritrider Gældor had assured them that his companions and he had a plan for circumventing the guardian. His assurances became less and less comforting with each turn in the road.

Finally, the chasm opened into a wider area. In the moonlight stood a deathly warrior, clad in ancient bits of armor and holding a sword in each of its bony hands. In the dark of night, they could see tiny red flames burning fitfully within its eye sockets. As they approached it stepped forward, twirling its blades into a readied stance. The horses were the first to panic. Fyrgol rushed forward and whispered to the beasts in a Feyri tongue that they seemed to understand. Jak moved to the front, readied for the thing to attack but it moved no closer. From behind, the magician weaved a wall of air around the monster and then yelled for the group to move. The Ðardèð Dnur began hacking at the winds that howled around him, a cylinder of flies and body parts. Ērēus,Gældor, and Jak began dragging corpses to the side as Hælgnar and Fyrgol guided the wagon around the vortex. From within the wall of air, the skeleton slashed and stabbed at the magical barrier, but his blades could not penetrate the strange barrier.Dammon urged the others forward, knowing that he couldn’t maintain the spell much longer. With the last corpse dragged aside, Hælgnar whipped the horses and the wagon lurched forward. The monster’s swords flashed toward the wagon and its occupants, deflected away only inches from the wagon’s edge. The others filed behind the wagon and the group ran up the hillside and back onto the road. Before they crested the first hill, they looked back to see the thing’s fiery eyes staring back at them. They had guessed that it would not leave its post, and for now seemed to be correct.

After a few watches of nighttime travel, Hælgnar pulled the wagon to the roadside and set-up a short camp.

Wōdìndor, 5 Vulūne 653

The next morning the group traveled south through the hilly countryside. Now and again the Eastern sea would open up to their left, granting the travelers beautiful vistas. The area was very rural, with very few villages and roads leading off into the inland forests and hills. Toward the day’s end, Hælgnar turned the wagon onto a small dirt road that wound into the hills. He explained that there was a good inn in at this village where there they could get good food, and rest the night.

Continued in Children of the Worms, Part 1.

Characters

• Dammon Shroudson = 2 CPs (212)
• Fyrgol = 2+1 CPs (128)
• Jak of Cænden = 2 CPs (209)
• Tressta Drynsval = 2 CPs (202)
• Ērēus of Amra = 1 CPs (301)
• Familiar = Unkn.
• Dæmegd of Elurd (Innkeeper)
• Gældor of Nyn = 1+1 CPs (156)
• Graiç of Mazzam = 1 CPs
• Grymgrykalya = 0 CPs (76)
• Hælgnar (Wagon Owner)
• Jæreg (Thug)
• Talak (Cultist)
• Zêla ma Ler = 1 CPs (163)
• Zildara of Zalan = 0+1 CPs (192)

Played: 21 Jul 2007