Trading and BleedingTrading and BleedingSix months have passed since the bloody recapture of the Temple of Pelor at Redcliff. Despite a brief rebellion led by the cobbler Matkel and firmly suppressed by the adventurers, peace reigns in the village. Work crews raised from the village have returned the abandoned temple in the crater to proper order, and regular services to Pelor for the villagers are held once more in the Low Chapel. A shrine to Moradin in one of the side chapels has attracted a few potential converts as well, and the few initiate worship in the Sanctum - scene of the final battle with the Yak Folk curst. The library, now weather-proofed, has been cleared out and many of the books salvaged by the joint efforts of Lotheemas, Lothalla, Twenty Ocloth, and Galacien. All the shutters have been removed and stored, but glass hasn't yet been sourced from one of the nearby cities for the windows. An annexe has been built for the secular PCs to live in, while the priest and Galacien the bard occupy the two rooms in the temple itself. The village, looking ripe for attack to the PCs, has been fortified by a wooden stockade around the centre area, to which the farmers can retreat at need. Shunned by the villagers after the events of the summer, the house of Andalor is abandoned and has half-collapsed; his son Marnor is now town mayor. |
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Humming the tune of a song she'd discovered among the papers and books of the library, the bard Galaecien joined Lothalla and Twenty Ocloth for breakfast. With the work on the temple largely completed, the adventurers were turning their thoughts to other things, and the three were thinking of trade that day.
What maps they had available showed two cities fairly close, Raden and Ritac; but even closer was the fortress of Lorindel. Held by the Blades of Wisdom and Mercy, an Aderran knightly order, it was only a week's ride away. If the village of Redcliff was going to survive, it would need trade, and perhaps some strong friends.
Before setting out, Lothalla decided to summon her familiar. Carefully preparing the ritual, she called for an owl, and after several hours a silent-winged bird answered her summons. Naming it Flinton, she set it on her shoulder as the three rode away into the cold rain.
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After a week of uneventful travel, the three came over a ridge and got their first look at Lorindel castle. Although not part of the Desolation proper, this far north Stryre was visibly blighted by the malignant magic of the Dragon, and the landscape was sparse and unwelcoming. Rearing out of this blasted wasteland was a massive castle of pale, dusty stone, square and heavy in design, battered and workmanlike, a working castle; one on the frontlines, a place at war.
Flinton soared above and confirmed the travellers' suspicions that there were several watch-posts set in the broken landscape around the fortress, and that they had been observed as soon as they came into range. The bird also confirmed that watchers on the walls had observed them. Unbothered, the two women and the ratman presented themselves at the gate, where two men-at-arms with spears awaited them.
"Greetings," said Lothalla. "We are from Redcliff, a little village to the east - you may have heard of it - and we come bearing news for your leader. The Temple of Pelor has been refounded there." The guard looked pleasantly surprised. "That is good news," he said approvingly. His eyes tracked across the two not unattractive females, and then onto Twenty Ocloth. Their brows darkened. "Your companion is not of a kind we generally expect to find in civilized company," said one. "He fought bravely to free the temple from the curst creature that had taken posession of it, and is a true comrade," stated Galaecien firmly. The guards eyed Twenty Ocloth, reviewing their impressions. True, he was a slitheren; but his fur was neatly combed and his clothing clean, and he sat his horse calmly. "If you will vouch for him, I will take your parole," said one finally. "Fine, as long as you don't insult him," said Lothalla, adding "again," quietly under her breath.
The guard led them into the fortress, through mighty gates and well-planned barbicans, past watchful guards, and through halls filled with sparring men training in weapons, then quiet halls filled with prayer and song to Aderra. Everywhere were men carrying books or reading, but all wore swords and looked as if they knew how to use them. He left them in a small meeting-room and returned to the gates.
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After half an hour, three different men entered the room. Two were obviously senior officers within the Order, but the leader had that indefinable calm power that true leadership brought. He introduced himself as Gythien, commander of the fortress.
Lothalla and Galacaeien explained the purpose of their visit, suggesting that Lorindel might do much better trading direct with Redcliff than buying its' produce at a mark-up from the nearby cities. They also suggested that horses could be traded; a good move, because the Order needed good mounts for its' regular strikes into the Desolation. Lothalla spoke warmly of the village's excellent inns, although Gythien seemed to feel that such diverseions were beneath his knights. The two women did most of the talking, but it was the diplomatic speech of the urbane ratman that made the biggest impression. With a basic agreement made to send a trade mission headed by Brother Hospitaller, the order's quartermaster, soon, the talk turned to other matters. "Forgive me," said Gythien to Twenty Ocloth, "but I am not used to seeing your species in civilized company." The ratman bristled. "Perhaps you shouldn't go marauding into other people's lands!" he snapped, and it was Galacaeien's turn to calm things down.
"We have been worrying about the safety of our village," she said, changing the subject, "can you give us an idea of what might be likely to come over the border?" Gythien stifled a smile. "I would have thought you could have asked your own expert," he nodded at Twenty Ocloth, "about the monsters of his homeland," he commented. "Monsters?!" snapped Twenty Ocloth, "don't judge all of a species at once!" Gythien was unabashed. "When members of a species come at me in a screaming slathering mob, or rob, burn, rape, kill and destroy, then I call them monsters." he said. "Some humans behave like that," commented Galacaeien. "Yes - and I treat them exactly the same way," answered the paladin. "To answer your question; tougher every year. As the elves heal their land, the Desolation shrinks; there is less room for the curst, and only the strong and adaptable survive." "So adaptable, in some cases," put in Twenty Ocloth, "that my entire race has migrated out of the Desolation and into the Tainted Forests."
Night was falling, and the companions were glad to accept the offer of dinner and a bed for the night. A young page named Niruc esorted them to three plain but comfortable rooms, and warned them to remain on the guest floor as the fortress had military secrets to protect. Lothalla sent Flinton out through the narrow window to scout and the bird was just in time to see twenty-five knights ride out from the gates towards the road.
An hour later, the three joined the Order for their meal. Apart from Gythien and his senior officers, the Order were gathered in common for the meal at long tables. No weapons were worn in hall, and the three were glad of this, because although some knights were merely curious at the appearance of a curst in their fortress, some glared at Twenty Ocloth in outrage. Discipline was good, though, and nothing was said or done.
After the meal, Galacaeien rose and stepped up onto the dias. Lothalla used a Light spell to floodlight her and the bard sang a song she had written about the battle for the Temple of Pelor in Redcliff. It conformed to the 'public' version of events, with Andalor dying in defence of his temple but no mention of the fact that it was his 'rescuers' who actually killed him. This went down quite well, but her second song got a much better reaction. This was one she had found in Redcliff's library, a legend of a dreamquest by the god Pelor and goddess Aderra to the Tower of Madness, where the skills of each complemented the other and their co-operation allowed them to prevail. The parallels were obvious, and so was the martial chorus, and the bard had them singing heartily by the end of the song. Pleased, she sat down, feeling the atmosphere improve.
The Order was not by any means well-stocked with female members; only four female knights were present. By the end of the evening, each had been propositioned; Lothalla by a man-at-arms with a face like a leather backpack, and Galacaeien by one of Gythien's two lieutenants. Lothalla simply brushed her admirer off, but Galacaeien wrote hers a song and tucked it away, in case he appeared as part of the trade mission...
 DM Note: We have Ben's character acting like a patron instead of a PC priest here because of an absence of Ben... so the encounter needed feeding to the characters who were present!. |
On arriving back, the three were in the process of setting up a town meeting with all the farmers and crafters in Redcliff in order to explain things to them, when the Lotheemas joined them, looking worried. He told them that the roofer Inveros had fallen off the temple in broad daylight, while working on the repairs, and seemed far more affected than he should have been. He asked them to go and have a look at him.
When the companions reached the man, they were shocked. Apart from cuts and bruises and a broken leg, he wasn't hurt, but he looked at death's door - pale, barely concious, lethargic. Carefully they examined him, and finally Lothalla found, under his hair, two puncture marks in his neck. They were around the spacing for human canines, though the wounds were far deeper than any human bite could be - and yet not bleeding despite looking fairly fresh. Then she noticed something even odder. The angle of the punctures seemed to indicate that the bite had been delivered from above....
Harbouring dark suspicions, the pair checked all the work gangs from the temple, but found no more bite marks. They were just ready to mark this down as a one-off when Lothalla turned too quickly and bumped into Glahdis, a woman she knew slightly. Glahdis had sought her advice on her pregnancy, mistakenly believing Lothalla to have magic that could safeguard her baby. Though she'd been unable to help, the two had remained friendly. As they laughed and regained their balance, Glahdis' hair flared around her head... and Lothalla caught sight of the tell-tale bite marks.
After she'd gone, Lothalla and Galacaeien compared notes. Both Glahdis and Inveros lived on the south edge of the village, they knew. After the meeting, they resolved to spend some time in the Tiger's Wheel, the pub at the east edge of the marketplace, and see what they could pick up. Galacaeien dredged her memory for folk tales about vampires, fairly sure that this was what they were up against. She didn't know much; they preyed on sentients, draining fresh blood from them; they were strong and could vanish into vapour; they feared garlic, faith, fire, running water and silver. Vampire hunters were not unknown, and she recalled they tended to wear silver torcs to dissuade attack. On their way to the meeting, both picked up a silver necklace from Saypon the silversmith...
The meeting formed a trade guild, dubbed "The Economics of Redcliff" by Lothalla, and Lothalla explained to the assembled traders and crafters what they needed to do to attract business from the knights of Lorindel. The general response was enthusiastic, and before long they had a long list of the town's traders and what they had to offer. They had also taken the opportunity to eye everyone for bite marks, and had found two more victims; Athazar, landlord of the Tiger's Wheel, and Miria, wife of the butcher Unnmyr. She, like Glahdis, was heavily pregnant, and Galacaeien chatted to her in sisterly fashion, drawing information out of her about pregnancies in the village. There seemed to be a normal sort of number, but as she spoke Lothalla could sense she was hiding a fear; hiding from it, most likely.
Later that evening, the pair were sipping beer in the Tiger's Wheel - Redcliff's quieter tavern - while Flinton flew around outside, scouting. They'd been there for about an hour when suddenly Lothalla flinched so badly she nearly dropped her drink. A wash of utter shock and terror had flooded into her through the empathic bond with the little owl, overwhelming any other communication. It lasted several seconds and then dropped back to a sizzling tension, through which the sorceress could feel the bird approaching at speed. As she and Galacaeien headed for the exit, another blast of terror surged across the link, sending Lothalla running towards her familiar, the bard at her heels.
They met the owl at the southern edge of town, and for quite some time the familiar was incapable of speech. Finally he explained that as he was flying between three houses, he'd heard a scream of the most soul-searing terror that he nearly fell out of the air. Recovering, he turned for home, and was passed in the air by a flying head. Lothallla blinked. "What, thrown?" she asked. "No, flying. Trailing every internal organ in a bleeding cluster below it, a woman's head, hair rippling ... uuuughhh!" replied the owl.
Lothalla, sure things were serious, cast a Greater Mage Armour on both her and Galacaeien, and they followed the owl back to the house from whence the scream had come. Neighbors told them it was the house of the hunter and forester Shenshal; the doors and windows were fast but there was light inside. Galacaeien used a spell to open the door, and they cautiously went inside.
The ground floor had two rooms, a kitchen behind a main room, and stairs up to a bedroom. A woman was huddled on her knees over a clearly dead man lying on his face. Lothalla noticed a trail of blood on the stairs, and went cautiously to investigate. Galacaeien hummed quietly, a song of steadfast courage in the face of disaster, using her music to boost the spirits of all present. Lothalla felt strengthened, and the woman - Shenshal's wife - calmed down enough to let Galacaeien look at the body. When the bard turned it over it was all she could do to stifle a scream. The man's face showed such a terrible rictus of fear that it was obvious he had died of simple fright.
Ascending with pounding heart, Lothalla found a cosy bedroom, with a low lamp burning and a window open to air the room, and a trail of blood droplets sprinkled across the floor and bed to the window and across the sill... whatever had been here was gone.
For now.
Session Date: 17th August 2010