#65 - Blood and Services Rendered

From the posthumously-published memoirs of Lord Szen d'Jorasco

First: exact no harm. 

That's what they teach you in the healing arts—impetuous decisions kill. Think slowly and clearly before acting. This, of course, is an easy criticism to make with the luxury of hindsight. Let the armchair chirurgeons argue and debate while they drink their wine around their hearths late into the night, long after the embers have grown cool. That convenience is rarely afforded in the midst of battle.

During the Last War, members of the Healers Guild risked life and limb to help soldiers wounded on the battlefield.

I had failed to persuade this diseased woman, mottled and grey skin slinking off her frame, to allow examination. Her less-than-gentle response came at the cost of my own well-being, a topic for future consideration. She glided backwards and disappeared into the dark recesses of the library. I took her for lost, but our elf was not content with such an escape, giving chase with steel and wand. She cast out violet pillars of light, erupting across a shelf along with the back corner as the horror took full shape. The sorceress had her work cut out for her.

The warforged named Clarion—from whose pipes some form of sound or music seemed to be constantly emitting—exited the room, hurrying out of my sight and down a flight of stairs. From behind the house, a gutteral growl soon spouted forth from some infernal beast. The young man, having just thrown off wrestling some inner struggle, made no hesitation in dashing towards the window. I had only the briefest glance but distinctly saw fur and teeth develop, with newly shaped padded feet swiftly carrying the shifting form out the window.

Past the din of clashing weapons, I could make out the other warforged, Cypher, charging down stairs as well, a clatter of tools marking his path. Lost from sight, I had little time to wonder what drew them away before vicious swarms of oversized rats poured out from a wall behind me. Walking stick wobbled and legs nearly gave way, but quick reflexes allowed me to dodge the assault. The dwarf had lacked the same awareness of their approach, a gnawing mass of teeth and claws digging into her legs the price paid for such neglect. My dislike of violence notwithstanding, they would need to be put down fast.

The barbarian continued his onslaught, leveled mighty blows upon the still-standing and possessed suite of plate mail. A strange blackness began to seep out of deep gashes in its defenses. Sluggishness began to overtake the demonic form, but not before it lashed out at the barbarian. Fully encompassed in the swell of battle, he shrugged off the pain and struck back with his fiery maul, the light and shadows swirling about in the aphotic room. A mighty blow found its mark, crushing in the helmet and spewing darkness into the air. Rid of the taint of its foul magic, the suit collapsed to the floor in a heap of lifeless metal.

Seeing the battle taking its toll on the barbarian, I stepped forth and addressed myself as a servant of House Jorasco. My offer of aid was answered by a maddened war cry. Good enough. A deep breath, and a soothing warmth passed from my dragonmark into the savage warrior. Having heard the cry of two more beasts out back and reinvigorated by my work, he charged headlong out the window with hardly a nod of approval. A thankless work, this craft. As it has always been.

Taking in the room once more, I seemed to have misplaced one female elf. The lady of the house looked equally lost, looking to and fro in search of her missing foe. Dafrena took no notice, focused intently on the vermin scrambling at her feet. Bodyguard instincts honed, she threw herself in front of me and into harm's way. Her axe swept out furiously, cutting deep crimson gouges into the rotting floor.

A chilling howling poured in the room from the backyard, pouring in from the open window. The clash of battle did not sound as if it was going quite as well there and would be in need of my abilities. With no time for dawdling, I worked a quick spell to hasten to the window. More hellish beasts, larger and fiercer than previously encountered, closed in on my recently made allies. Yet let it not be said that Lord Szen d'Jorasco flees from combat! I flashed a show of hands, a layer of deep concentration upon my furrowed brow, and a gentle hum enveloped the scene. I smiled at the slumber cast upon the yard until I realized the only target affected by my magic was none other than our form-shifting friend. I suppose my skill had lost a bit of its keen edge these last few years.

Soon after falling asleep, a beast clamped down on his leg. He snapped awake, the pain causing him to revert once more to human form. Anger seethed from him and he cast a silvery moonbeam against the rear of the pack. They bayed and gnashed teeth at the scorching blast, but it was little good against this powerful magic as the largest fell in a smoldering, desiccated heap. Hoping to save face from my previous gaffe, I tightly gripped my channeling rod and healed one warforged for what I could. There! A minor service but all the same I'm sure it was much appreciated.

And then I heard it, the sound all healers—indeed, everyone—know well. A woman's scream of terrible pain, often preceding death, echoing up the stairwell from the floor below. Having spent as much time on battlefields as any soldier, I can also readily identify the scream of a dying man, but there is nothing so jarring to one's core as the aforementioned cry.

The lady of the house marked the scream as well, might even have seemed delighted by it. She turned towards the stairs, but Dafrena had concluded her private battle and shifted her focus to larger prey. The lady of the house clashed with the dwarf, sword and axe glancing off one another. They traded blows, the two dancing to the song of battle only they could hear. With tenacity and grace in equal measure, Dafrena thrust herself fully into each strike. Coin aside, the thrill of combat was her payment for her commissioned task.

The lady's broach seemed a likely focus of her power and I'd much preferred a quicker conclusion. A steadier, more clever hand may have lifted it clean, but the rush of movement made things too difficult for me to pick it from such a distance. Seeing the end approach, the lady attempted to flee but found no quarter as Dafrena savagely cut her down.

Tragic indeed. But choices were made.

Soon after, I removed the broach from the now lifeless body and walked steadily closer for a more thorough inspection. I admit my curiosity got the better of me, being unable to resist a more reasonable subject now. A purse adorned her waist, which I quickly pocketed, along with a small satchel. Before I could grab the latter, I noticed the body growing warmer, the humors of her being seeming to rage all the more. Suddenly it burst into flames and the body was engulfed. I lifted the satchel as well and tossed it away as the corpse burned through. 

The scream below had come from the female elf, who above all still remained a stranger to me. Evidently she had succumbed to a trap of our host's devising, relating, I suspect, to a painting of some interest. It being the only adornment in the house free of rot, moisture, or damage, it evidently portrayed a number of ir'Valish family members. Including the lady of the house. I didn't really look into the matter, but I recall that the young woman-turned-man-turned-wolf recognized one of them.

Seeing nothing else readily amiss but my strange new companions and the painting, I sought after our barbarian. Again, my more base traits seemed to take hold of me as I realized he might be of use in debt for my healing arts. But could he be trusted? Perhaps a small test of his character, I thought, would prove helpful in answering. Finding him down the hall and among the larders, I calmly walked up and asked for payment in recompense of the aforementioned healing.

True, the price of a platinum dragon for these arts was outrageous. His shock was not unexpected, nor his fury at such a fee. Accusations of thievery and threats of violence against my being accompanied this. I simply reminded him House Jorasco would hate to hear of such affairs as delinquent payments or the health of a longstanding member being threatened. I smiled smugly at my bit of cleverness.

The warforged tinkerer, overhearing our discussion, attempted mediation after questions of my helpfulness were laid bare by the seething warrior. "Perhaps we should pay the fee...and we can move on...he could be of help to us."  This warforged seemed to appreciate the long view. Very curious of his kind. Indeed, alliance with a member of House Jorasco would be worth far more than a single platinum. Or did he simply abhor violence as much as I? The barbarian grumbled, the rage in his throat causing him to choke.

A proposal then! "Best my dwarf in a contest of strength and you would have my services. But fail and my price is to be paid." Of course, I never cared to collect, but through loss or victory I gain the help of this party. Either Dafrena bests him, showing them her strength and earning their assistance as payment, or they earn my services as combat physician. Thinking myself all the more clever, my smile widened.

Except the barbarian's honor would have none of it. "Your coin, thief," he spoke as it clattered at my feet. I must admit a giggle bubbled up from deep within me, simply could not be restrained. This one, swiping with wreckless abandon moments ago, had strength of self enough to forgo any more conflict unless necessary. Now that was unexpected.

Had this brief acquaintanceship come forth dead on arrival? The postmortem on this, if you'll forgive me, will need to be thorough. 

Exact no harm, indeed. 

#64 - Ignoble Hospitality

From the posthumously-published memoirs of Lord Szen d'Jorasco

Subject: Shifter male approximately 35-40 years of age. Signs of bloat corroborate he was found waterside, as previously reported by the King's Citadel. Extent of rigor mortis leads me to believe death was recent, but water-logging makes this assessment difficult. No obvious external trauma—lacerations, puncture wounds, contusions all missing. Lack of significant fluid in lungs also rules out drowning. No immediate sign of struggle. Scarring present across the subject appears to be well worn. Combined with musculature, this indicates a veteran of combat.

The Mark of Healing,
manifested by heirs of
House Jorasco

Combat. It's been too long since I've seen anything more exciting than the latest lordling walking in after a night trawling the bars for wenches, leaving him covered with pustules on...well, better left unsaid. A real case for once. Of course, they brought the subject to be questioned first by a local priests, channeling their respective divinities. Silent as the grave, they say. The dead can be so stubborn sometimes.

But silence speaks volumes as well.

Covadish could explain that. Indeed, partially digested leaves were found in the subject's stomach during the autopsy. Rare things, those, and a powerful tool in necromancy. None but elves oft make their way to Aerenal, where the creeping plant grows. This shifter had secrets someone wanted desperately taken to the grave.

The Citadel suggested continuing the search outside of town at the nearest former estate of ir'Valish. Accompanying me would be Dafrena Oakfoot, who I've had passing dealings with. Quarrelsome, without doubt, but effective, that one. Am I being honored by this protection on the trip, or sent out to be less bothersome if my guard is but one dwarf who is in the outs of her respective order? To be pondered, but perhaps details worth focusing on at a later place and time.

After four days out, our caravan left us off at the base of a long sloping hill, leaving us with our ponies and the weight of a sleet storm bearing down. At the crest of the hill and beyond a neglected orchard, a hedge 15 ft. high. Two horses of differing quality are tied up nearby. We approached with caution, resting our own rides away.

The sky cracked. Once. Twice. Three times in the space of a few breaths. All above the hedge. Clearly not of a natural origin, though its source I could not tell. Waiting outside produced no answers, so into the grounds we headed.

We were immediately faced with a dark visage, a statue of a man or woman reaching out, encased fully in what seemed to be a crudely-hewn block of crystal. A cursory inspection indicated that no immediate life threatened harm but was beyond my ability to heal. Safe enough for now, we can return later with proper attention to help. I wished the assuring glance I shared with Dafrena was a true indication of my confidence, but this was no time for doubt.

We heard shouting, a crash of what could only be stone and metal, and the bellowing of what sounds to be a barbarian's chant in the short distance, juxtaposed oddly with the song of a singing follower of Dol Arrah. We turned, Dafrena's taut arm muscles rippling under the grip of her greataxe with nervous tension. I noted in secret irritation that she was not the slightest bit aggrieved by the cold rain and sodden clothing by which we'd both been victimized. No doubt her joints deigned not to ache, either.

A fiery blast echoed beyond, drawing our attention forward again. It was followed shortly by a sudden collapse of some great weight into the ground and a sound not unlike broken glass. My confidence waned as the excitement waxed. You don't spend your life in battle without appreciating the thrill of what lies ahead.

I pressed forward past Dafrena. Above, there came a soft flapping as if great leaves rustled above. Soon after, a deep-throated yet feminine voice caught my ear, as close as a secret. "Get out..." it whispered, menacing and still melodic in timber. This message was for me alone, and magically delivered, as my companion showed no sign of perceiving it. What fearsome creature would possibly attempt to scare off an aged halfling before the dangerous fighter at my side? A best guess is this revealed a weak defense to scare off would-be predators. Indicated logic, rational thinking—I would be the leader of this party of two, of course. Anything more formidable would strike fast and hard rather than avoid confrontation. Bolstered by my insight, I sent up three small glowing butterflies with a gesture of prestidigitation. Coral fuscia and rose lights dance off one another in the black sky. We meant no harm and choose not to engage. We pressed on.

Soon an iron defender blocked my path. Well made, good design. Not shoddy work here, this one was created with skill. Its ferocity was held in check in a defensive stance. I may have been swayed to fear this if not for the party standing a few feet behind it in the aftermath of what had probably been a fierce battle. Against...I'm not certain.

The party: Two warforged, one who clearly possesses the musical talents of the song of Dol Arrah mentioned previously and another of shorter stature carrying a pack of tinker's tools. A young woman seemingly distraught but no stranger to a fight. And the largest man I've seen in quite some time dressed in truly impressive scaled armor.

These were not folk who attack unprovoked, that was clear. My spirits rose. Dafrena, still uneasy, awaited my orders. Pressing questions from this group led me to produce my identification papers. A younger man they present; stronger perhaps, but a foolish one. I know differently now. These were not enemies, but an opportunity. A small illusory display of covadish to this group showed little sign of recognition—the young woman might have understood. Still, they could prove useful to our cause.

Introductions were short—even names were glossed over. The clearing were we stood was littered with strange indications of what had transpired. Shards of crystal, more figure-prisms, two piles of freshly-scorched things. A very foul stench as well—almost like burnt troll. Who knows?

I could see we were all pressed to get out of this storm and on to our respective tasks at hand. We sent the young woman up into the house, adeptly climbing up with a rope attached. Barbarian and warforged alike followed, with the dwarf and I to hold the rear. I can't say I appreciated being left in this weather for so long but letting our new friends risk whatever danger may be ahead suited me just fine.

As if summoned by these thoughts, I heard the telltale signs of battle inside—the roar of beasts and the clashing of arms. Dafrena wasted no time and clambered up. I had no desire to rush into the fray and merely tied the rope to my sack, awaiting a lift. These weary bones don't climb like they used to. I was forced soon after to make use of what nimbleness my old frame still possessed, ripped from the ground and in through the window. I saw that the casual abandonment of class and proper etiquette was maintained.

I caught myself and in a moment gathered the cause of the urgency. Our young woman was no where to be seen. A young man instead wrestled with frantic thoughts like one bewitched by magic. Dafrena battled a canine beast from some depth of Khyber unknown to me, which spat fire and barked with the same. I saw her strike it down with a furious blow and split its body in two. Another whined softly on the floor nearby. Two walking suits of armor engaged as well, keeping the rest occupied.

But books! Shelves raced down the room, some of them not empty. My absence in the fracas would not be missed and so I glanced along the bindings looking for what may show a master herbologist present. Those volumes not in disrepair left me nothing of interest. A pity.

More clashing, more furious strikes. I turned my attention around the corner to see a ghoulish persona reeling from a devastating blow and sent crashing into the wall. An interesting specimen, with what seems like a motley grouping of distended protuberances across her face. Disheveled clothes, torn and musty, cloaked her with the adornment of a brooch capping it. Brelish nobility gone to seed?

Having seen enough violence for a lifetime, I offered my services and produced my signet ring. "My Lady! House Jorasco wishes to offer its help in whatever way it can. Please approach and I assure you I can remedy what ails you! My aid is at your disposal."

A head cocked to the side. The breaking of my voice belied my bravado of stepping forward. Her face twisted, grotesque and horrible, and a shriek left her lips.

In my younger days, I would've leapt spritely away from the surge of energy which she flung at me, but I could do little but twist against one fiery blast and force the other to glance off. The singe of my eyebrows will stink for the rest of the day. It wasn't even proper fire; what magic did this lady wield? This foul weather must be the cause of spreading this classlessness. Fortunately, I know of a dwarf who specializes in such brutality.

#63 - Mazes and Mansions

As told by Magnus of the Island of Seren.

Rendar was gone.  Really gone. We were so busy as he left that I sort of didn’t pay attention to it. But now, it’s just me and Cypher who remember all the things and all the reasons and all the people who are after us and I don’t remember all that well. I hope we can see this through, whatever that means.

Now that the battle was over, we took stock. The only one of our foes who got away was that woman, a mage who summoned an air elemental. She was spotted by a local climbing onto the back of one of the wyverns. I don't know if the wyverns themselves are still a problem for us or not. They're not too smart; not half as smart as the least of dragons.

We worked with the halfling to get his inn back in order and discovered the cellar with its five corpses—a pair of locals and some Brelish lawmen. We all realized that it was our fight that got all these innocent people killed and threatened. We didn’t do it but we accidentally brought death to this little hamlet. Trouble follows us whatever we do.

We emptied Drazul’s pockets and gave the money to the innkeeper (it was quite a lot, so I'm told). He in turn let us stay overnight and then gave us some horses to ride. Aleae took a gray mare called Whirlwind, because the horse, addled by some past injury, tended to twirl around when left to idle. I took the other one, an old warhorse named Torc, for myself.  He was past his prime, but he has some fight left, and he has some armor. It will be fun to fight with him beneath me and I am ready to travel without walking every step!

We set off the next day with the warforged keeping pace beside the walking horses. It would be nice to be tireless as these constructs are, but I don’t want the half-life of a warforged. They have none of the delights of the flesh to amuse them when the fighting is done.

Once we were far from the buildings, Aleae tested out some of her new magic. She sprouted wings! She can't fly all day, but she can take to the air and scout around. We are becoming more powerful.

The first day we made the road and then a light camp without incident, though it did begin to snow light. I never saw much frost on Seren, except the snow-capped mountains of Argonnessen which loomed to the east, or from the breath of a white dragon.

White dragon....that is what Vensharatyrx was. Lucerix knew all about her, too...

The second day we passed some small caravans going away from Wroat. Soon enough we caught up to a small family travelling slowly in our direction. Rungo the warforged dog had spotted them first and somehow didn’t understand that the small human with them was a baby.  The man's name was Cord and he was a former soldier of the great war on this continent some years ago. They seemed peaceful and we offered to let them travel with us. (Are they safer in our company or left alone without us drawing trouble? I am disturbed, I cannot offer protection to those around me.)

The weather continued to worsen, the rain freezing into sleet. My travelers cloak is fine, but if we ever head north, I think I will need some furs.

As the day darkened, we saw a little firelight off to the right side of the road and could soon make out a house and kept grounds. The other members of the party started talking about some rich clan and some foul events in the past; this house is part of that story, I guess. They said a name: ir'Valish. Whatever that is.

 I personally was drawn to the place, though, or to that fire. Somehow the light in the upper window was telling me that I should come to it. Or avoid it. Not sure which.

I spoke up, letting them know that I want to investigate. The travelling family had heard the old tales and begged us to stay on the road and to make a decent camp with them, far from this place of foreboding ill.

We decided to investigate anyway, the family can leave and make camp, we may catch up with them again.
The distant firelight stays on as we approach the house and see a huge crater blasted in the front, removing the direct approach to the door. The blast must have been made by a spell in some past battle. We made our way to the side and left the horses tethered to a tree.

Soon enough we see a great hedge wall and, holding Aleae up on our shoulders, she told us that it was a maze of sorts, cut from the hedges.

The light in the window then extinguished. So our presence had been noticed.

Aleae saw some sort of statue in one corner of the maze and used her new flying spell for a better view. She grew leafy wings and went aloft, planning to guide us through the maze. We entered and soon enough find a figure encased in some strange crystal. We studied it overlong before moving on. Aleae guided us to the statue that caught her eye.

In this clearing, we found a huge crystal statue of some sort of clawed or blade-armed woman with flowing robes. Looked elven. Surrounding the statue, we see many smaller (normal-sized) creatures held in crystal. Aleae swooped down and started pulling the vines that wrapped the statue. Cypher and I start smashing at the crystal surrounding a figure, but it is too hard for us to really break. Cypher’s armbow dealt some acid damage to the crystal and I poured some of my acid on there as well to try to free the trapped creature. We could get to the skin on the hand, but nothing happens.

Clarion uses his magic to determine if any of these creatures are still alive and we learn that they are—or at least some of them. A trapped dwarf woman nearest the giant statue drew our attention, since her crystal was clearer. We went to work on her again, smashing and poking to break the crystal. As it broke off, the crystal chunks began to melt into the grass. Not normal crystal! And soon the dwarf is sort of exposed and begins to scream. The screaming changes from rage to agony as her skin and flesh begin to burn and melt, as if he veins were set on fire. We were horrified. This was not the way to free these people. I said that we should go into the house and kill the magic at its source.


Aleae sensed a creature outside the maze and changed her focus to that. Cypher sent Rungo out to investigate, too.

Clarion started a holy ritual around the next closest figure, this one was human. His holy magic worked faster than all our weapons and soon after a woman is revealed wearing some sort of tree armor. She reminded me of some of the natural shamans on Seren, though this one is much too frail, unpainted, and wearing fewer bones.

She said she was from fighting some group when this crystal trapped her, a group called the Children of Winter. (Related to the Winter Coalition, I wonder?) She was trapped before the end of the war, she had been in there for years. I could not understand all that she said.

Moments later, the giant crystal statue came to life and we all joined in combat. We smashed at the thing and Cypher managed to get a big crack through the middle of the statue/golem with a simple magic touch. The newcomer, the human female, managed a spell that I hadn't seen before. She summoned lightening from the stormy skies overhead and two blasts blast at the thing. It burned the golem but strangely, its crystal bounces the light around us all, blinding some of us.

Aleae, flying up above, spotted an old witch behind the shrubbery and they begin a flying magic battle.  I wish she could bring the fight to earth where I could smash the crone with my mace and end her foul magical spells.

We fought on.