Special guest artwork by Pierre Ravenaeu.
Sunday, May 28, 2017
SESSION 40, RECAP-- PART ONE
In Seamist, Cuinn deposes Caron Duene and installs Moerel Valmyrri as count of Seamist; an investiture is held and his regency is made official. The army marches on Stormpoint. They decide to assault the northern gate, Boreas, on the grounds that the other gates breached by the Imperial army are likely fortified stronger than they were before, and Boreas will give them the most direct access to Midpoint and the great central plaza.
Cathal sails south with his Rjuven warband. He and Dolan, disguised as traders, land briefly in Tariene once again to gather information about their home. They are able to determine that there is full-on civil war in Taeghas, but the Imperial army has been driven out by a coalition led by an upstart House from the north, and that they next mean to liberate Boeruine-occupied Stormpoint. He decides to aid the Taeghan army by attacking Stormpoint from the sea. The seer Njorna augurs that his warband is likely to succeed via the switchback path up the sea cliffs, but at a high cost in blood.
The artillerists of Brosien, led by a brilliant siege engineer named Rhathwyn, begin the attack, ravaging the Boreas gate with a hail of fire from the ballistae. Mara summons her magical firehawks to harry the defenders on the gates, and soon after, the elite heavy infantry from Bayside storm the walls with their ladders. But a powerful priest of Cuiraecen is evidently among the enemy ranks, and the terrifying lightning that Aerona herself wielded in previous assaults descends from the sky, exacting a terrible toll from the soldiers of Bayside. Not long after, a second wave of magic destroys Mara's firehawks.
Cathal arrives almost simultaneously. He rams his longships into the dockyards and he and his warriors disembark. They fight savagely to gain ground on the switchback stairs up the sea cliffs. They are heartened by the sight of a glowing scarlet sky and the sound of artillery coming from the north-- the Taeghan offense has clearly begun. They manage to make it to the top, but their disadvantage due to the lower ground hampers them-- heavy casualties are sustained among the Rjuven infantry. However, they are successful, and they enter the sea gate, Nesirie's Kiss. They enter Midpoint, and Cathal glimpses a white-robed figure upon the walls of Highpoint. Fearing it may be the Dragon, he orders his warriors to take cover and make stealthily as possible for the central plaza.
Aerona, desperate to neutralize the threat posed by the other priest, summons a magical storm of hammers to shatter the enemy unit's morale. They manage to hold their ground, but are deeply shaken and terrified. This, plus the cover provided by the artillerists' tortoise, turns the tide, and the Taeghan army manages to smash through the Boreas gate. They fight their way to the Temple district, and take cover in the deserted temple of Haelyn.
Cuinn climbs to the top of the temple to gain a vantage point on the city, and glimpses a band of what appears to be a host of black-clad Rjuven warriors approaching. She calls a challenge to them in Rjuven, but it is Cathal who answers her. She makes her way down, and is torn between shock, her anger at his perceived abandonment of the House, and bewilderment, but their bonds of love and family prevail, and she embraces him.
They enter the temple along with the Rjuven horde, where Cuinn presents Cathal to the rest of the Taeghan heads of the houses. Afterwards, Cathal endeavors to summarize the events of his journey-- the Yngvi clan summoned him to locate the missing queen Freila, he tracked her to a mysterious barrow deep in the Rjurik wilderness, he and Dolan fought and slew the terrifying ancient dragon guarding it, and within, he found both Freila's body and a message from her, and discovered the dark truth behind the history of House Fulcairn. A withered draugr within the tomb arises and speaks to Cathal. Their ancestors, evidently, were ruthless Rjuven kings whose power was built on the sinister ability to steal the blood-powers of Scions. Eventually they were brought to heel by the other clans and given a choice-- either cease use of their dark power and bloodthieving ways, or be exiled. The group who chose exile in Anuire were the first Fulcairns of Taeghas. The draugr gives Cathal a circlet-- the twin of the one currently worn by Cuinn, that they have been calling the Crown of the Kings of Taeghas. Upon his exit from the tomb, he is surprised yet again. The Reaver Queen of Rjuvik, Authild, whose deeds the Fulcairns had heard of even in Taeghas, greets him. She is, apparently, Authild Fulcarni, a descendant of the branch of the family that chose to remain in Rjurik. She promises him that someday, she will come to claim the crown he bears.
Cuinn recounts the events of the past months in Taeghas for Cathal, who listens intently. When she is done, Cathal gives her the second half of the crown, and the two fit together perfectly. The company retires to make ready for the assault that is to resume on the morrow.
Cathal sails south with his Rjuven warband. He and Dolan, disguised as traders, land briefly in Tariene once again to gather information about their home. They are able to determine that there is full-on civil war in Taeghas, but the Imperial army has been driven out by a coalition led by an upstart House from the north, and that they next mean to liberate Boeruine-occupied Stormpoint. He decides to aid the Taeghan army by attacking Stormpoint from the sea. The seer Njorna augurs that his warband is likely to succeed via the switchback path up the sea cliffs, but at a high cost in blood.
The artillerists of Brosien, led by a brilliant siege engineer named Rhathwyn, begin the attack, ravaging the Boreas gate with a hail of fire from the ballistae. Mara summons her magical firehawks to harry the defenders on the gates, and soon after, the elite heavy infantry from Bayside storm the walls with their ladders. But a powerful priest of Cuiraecen is evidently among the enemy ranks, and the terrifying lightning that Aerona herself wielded in previous assaults descends from the sky, exacting a terrible toll from the soldiers of Bayside. Not long after, a second wave of magic destroys Mara's firehawks.
Cathal arrives almost simultaneously. He rams his longships into the dockyards and he and his warriors disembark. They fight savagely to gain ground on the switchback stairs up the sea cliffs. They are heartened by the sight of a glowing scarlet sky and the sound of artillery coming from the north-- the Taeghan offense has clearly begun. They manage to make it to the top, but their disadvantage due to the lower ground hampers them-- heavy casualties are sustained among the Rjuven infantry. However, they are successful, and they enter the sea gate, Nesirie's Kiss. They enter Midpoint, and Cathal glimpses a white-robed figure upon the walls of Highpoint. Fearing it may be the Dragon, he orders his warriors to take cover and make stealthily as possible for the central plaza.
Aerona, desperate to neutralize the threat posed by the other priest, summons a magical storm of hammers to shatter the enemy unit's morale. They manage to hold their ground, but are deeply shaken and terrified. This, plus the cover provided by the artillerists' tortoise, turns the tide, and the Taeghan army manages to smash through the Boreas gate. They fight their way to the Temple district, and take cover in the deserted temple of Haelyn.
Cuinn climbs to the top of the temple to gain a vantage point on the city, and glimpses a band of what appears to be a host of black-clad Rjuven warriors approaching. She calls a challenge to them in Rjuven, but it is Cathal who answers her. She makes her way down, and is torn between shock, her anger at his perceived abandonment of the House, and bewilderment, but their bonds of love and family prevail, and she embraces him.
They enter the temple along with the Rjuven horde, where Cuinn presents Cathal to the rest of the Taeghan heads of the houses. Afterwards, Cathal endeavors to summarize the events of his journey-- the Yngvi clan summoned him to locate the missing queen Freila, he tracked her to a mysterious barrow deep in the Rjurik wilderness, he and Dolan fought and slew the terrifying ancient dragon guarding it, and within, he found both Freila's body and a message from her, and discovered the dark truth behind the history of House Fulcairn. A withered draugr within the tomb arises and speaks to Cathal. Their ancestors, evidently, were ruthless Rjuven kings whose power was built on the sinister ability to steal the blood-powers of Scions. Eventually they were brought to heel by the other clans and given a choice-- either cease use of their dark power and bloodthieving ways, or be exiled. The group who chose exile in Anuire were the first Fulcairns of Taeghas. The draugr gives Cathal a circlet-- the twin of the one currently worn by Cuinn, that they have been calling the Crown of the Kings of Taeghas. Upon his exit from the tomb, he is surprised yet again. The Reaver Queen of Rjuvik, Authild, whose deeds the Fulcairns had heard of even in Taeghas, greets him. She is, apparently, Authild Fulcarni, a descendant of the branch of the family that chose to remain in Rjurik. She promises him that someday, she will come to claim the crown he bears.
Cuinn recounts the events of the past months in Taeghas for Cathal, who listens intently. When she is done, Cathal gives her the second half of the crown, and the two fit together perfectly. The company retires to make ready for the assault that is to resume on the morrow.
Saturday, May 27, 2017
Dawn
The rolling hills of south Bhaine arched their backs against a sky still deep grey, awaiting dawn's first light over the sea to the west. The shore was close enough that Cuinn could smell it faintly on the breeze. The morning air was warm, gentle. All around, larches and elms unfurled vividly-coloured buds; underfoot, the grasses awoke from a season of slumber. She always treasured the silent hours before dawn, when the rest of the Keep was still asleep, and the sky seemingly held its breath in anticipation of the first light of morning; the world seemed then a silent and peaceful kingdom where she alone held watchful dominion.
She sat on a log outside her tent, going through the motions of maintaining her gear. Her bow, the strange black bow from Melehan's hoard, Hjärfindur-- Heartseeker-- never seemed to need it. Oh, it needed to be restrung, and the strings given a sheen of beeswax, certainly, but the thing had been through a dozen battles now and not a single nick or dent showed on the dull black curve of unfamiliar wood.
Her armour on the other hand... She'd needed a new cuirass since Legate Thaliere had cut the old into unsalvageable scraps; the Wilders had spared no expense in making a magnificent new one for their Countess. The new one bore a cunningly-worked hawk rampant that spread its wings across her chest. Even the spaulders, made of wax-boiled leather, had been crafted to suggest the shape of hawk wings. It was magnificent, a tribute to the skill of the leatherworkers of the Gorge, but it was still a bit stiff, unlike her old serviceable one, which she'd been sweating and bleeding on since she'd borrowed it from the armoury and ridden into the woods alongside Cullan and Corrac for the first time.
Truly, that seems like another lifetime ago. When she stopped and attempted to retrace all the steps that had led the House from this point to here, it was bewildering, baffling. Only three years ago, and things were so different now, she was so different now, that remembering it seemed like recalling a tale about a stranger.
Things were so much simpler then. My greatest problem was trying to maintain a convincing Rjuven accent day and night. Now, look at us-- from a minor House in charge of a remote forested backwater, to wresting freedom for a nation, and then ruling it, if we succeed. And here we are, on the morning of what well may be the final battle. Either we win, or we perish.
A rustle of tent flaps and an honest-to-gods giggle broke her perfect pre-dawn silence. One of the women-at-arms-- a fetching young lass with a riotous shag of dark blonde hair-- burst out of Aerona's tent, attempting to straighten her disheveled uniform. Her gaze lit on Cuinn's from across the embers of the campfire, and she blushed beetroot red and scuttled away. Aerona followed a moment later, clad only in a half-undone gambeson, and grinned broadly at Cuinn.
"A good morning to you, Countess!" She strode around the fire and parked herself on the log. "A fine day to bring Cuiraecen's will down on the heads of our foes, yes?"
Cuinn raised an eyebrow-- almost exactly as she had when she witnessed Athelan, the Haelynite priest formerly in service of Thaliere, make a similar exit-- and they both managed to keep a straight face for at least a few moments before Aerona doubled over laughing.
"'Tis a fine thing for a warrior, to enjoy some companionship the eve before battle, no? It rallies a soldier's constitution, puts fire in their blood! Cuiraecen is, after all, a god of many hearty appetites, is he not?"
Cuinn half-smiled despite herself. "I have no particular desire for...companionship... these days."
"Aye, Countess, if you would forgive my presumption... I've served you for nigh on a year now, and to my knowledge, you have remained quite... solitary in that time." The priestess grinned broadly. "It seems a shame; the ranks of the army you have gathered contain so many doughty warriors of such skill and stamina..."
Cuinn picked up an arrow, examining its fletchings. She did not care to discuss such things, usually, but she had always been able to relax her guard around Aerona for some reason... or perhaps it was comforting to speak of such trivial things before the enormity of the task ahead of them. "I had the finest of men for a husband. I will never meet his like again. I brought justice to his murderers, and eventually I even made peace with his loss, and moved past it. But I find I would still prefer to go without, rather than tarry with a lesser man."
"But Countess, do the holy scriptures not speak of love as being perennial as the grass? That it shall inevitably return, blessing the land even after the darkest and coldest of winters? It seems to me that you are like the man in the parable who stood gazing for years at his prize oak, fallen and burned in the yard after a lightning strike... when behind him and unbeknownst to him, fine saplings were growing in the fertile ash of its wake."
"Ah, but are there not other kinds of love? I loved Corrac more than I have ever loved anything... but since he passed, I have not lost that greater capacity for love that grew from loving him, and that love has flowed into other things. Love of country, love of the Wilders, love of the people whom are sworn to serve me, and who I in turn serve. Love of the ideals we have chosen to fight for. Love of you and Mara, who are all the family I have left, as far as I know."
For a moment, she thought of Moerel Valmyrri and his strange sword, but she quickly put the thought from her mind.
"And if Cuiraecen grants us victory today? A great many eligible lords will flock to woo you. Will you turn them all away, because they cannot equal what you lost? Is this even what he would want for you, lady? I doubt it... I knew him only from afar, knew him only as Baron Fulcairn's handsome heir who made all the girls swoon... but I believe he would want you to live your life, and find joy."
And Cuinn found that tears were welling in her eyes, not out of sadness, but out of gratitude for this large, loud, ginger-haired priestess, and her friendship.
"To be honest, Battle-Sister, I hadn't thought that far ahead."
"Aye. There'll be plenty of time to vet eligible bachelors for the ladies Fulcairn once we've won this war." She grinned, cracked her knuckles, and flexed the majestic bulk of her sword arm. "Let's go wake up Mara and see if she can warm up the stewpot with a ball of arcane flame, eh?"
She sat on a log outside her tent, going through the motions of maintaining her gear. Her bow, the strange black bow from Melehan's hoard, Hjärfindur-- Heartseeker-- never seemed to need it. Oh, it needed to be restrung, and the strings given a sheen of beeswax, certainly, but the thing had been through a dozen battles now and not a single nick or dent showed on the dull black curve of unfamiliar wood.
Her armour on the other hand... She'd needed a new cuirass since Legate Thaliere had cut the old into unsalvageable scraps; the Wilders had spared no expense in making a magnificent new one for their Countess. The new one bore a cunningly-worked hawk rampant that spread its wings across her chest. Even the spaulders, made of wax-boiled leather, had been crafted to suggest the shape of hawk wings. It was magnificent, a tribute to the skill of the leatherworkers of the Gorge, but it was still a bit stiff, unlike her old serviceable one, which she'd been sweating and bleeding on since she'd borrowed it from the armoury and ridden into the woods alongside Cullan and Corrac for the first time.
Truly, that seems like another lifetime ago. When she stopped and attempted to retrace all the steps that had led the House from this point to here, it was bewildering, baffling. Only three years ago, and things were so different now, she was so different now, that remembering it seemed like recalling a tale about a stranger.
Things were so much simpler then. My greatest problem was trying to maintain a convincing Rjuven accent day and night. Now, look at us-- from a minor House in charge of a remote forested backwater, to wresting freedom for a nation, and then ruling it, if we succeed. And here we are, on the morning of what well may be the final battle. Either we win, or we perish.
A rustle of tent flaps and an honest-to-gods giggle broke her perfect pre-dawn silence. One of the women-at-arms-- a fetching young lass with a riotous shag of dark blonde hair-- burst out of Aerona's tent, attempting to straighten her disheveled uniform. Her gaze lit on Cuinn's from across the embers of the campfire, and she blushed beetroot red and scuttled away. Aerona followed a moment later, clad only in a half-undone gambeson, and grinned broadly at Cuinn.
"A good morning to you, Countess!" She strode around the fire and parked herself on the log. "A fine day to bring Cuiraecen's will down on the heads of our foes, yes?"
Cuinn raised an eyebrow-- almost exactly as she had when she witnessed Athelan, the Haelynite priest formerly in service of Thaliere, make a similar exit-- and they both managed to keep a straight face for at least a few moments before Aerona doubled over laughing.
"'Tis a fine thing for a warrior, to enjoy some companionship the eve before battle, no? It rallies a soldier's constitution, puts fire in their blood! Cuiraecen is, after all, a god of many hearty appetites, is he not?"
Cuinn half-smiled despite herself. "I have no particular desire for...companionship... these days."
"Aye, Countess, if you would forgive my presumption... I've served you for nigh on a year now, and to my knowledge, you have remained quite... solitary in that time." The priestess grinned broadly. "It seems a shame; the ranks of the army you have gathered contain so many doughty warriors of such skill and stamina..."
Cuinn picked up an arrow, examining its fletchings. She did not care to discuss such things, usually, but she had always been able to relax her guard around Aerona for some reason... or perhaps it was comforting to speak of such trivial things before the enormity of the task ahead of them. "I had the finest of men for a husband. I will never meet his like again. I brought justice to his murderers, and eventually I even made peace with his loss, and moved past it. But I find I would still prefer to go without, rather than tarry with a lesser man."
"But Countess, do the holy scriptures not speak of love as being perennial as the grass? That it shall inevitably return, blessing the land even after the darkest and coldest of winters? It seems to me that you are like the man in the parable who stood gazing for years at his prize oak, fallen and burned in the yard after a lightning strike... when behind him and unbeknownst to him, fine saplings were growing in the fertile ash of its wake."
"Ah, but are there not other kinds of love? I loved Corrac more than I have ever loved anything... but since he passed, I have not lost that greater capacity for love that grew from loving him, and that love has flowed into other things. Love of country, love of the Wilders, love of the people whom are sworn to serve me, and who I in turn serve. Love of the ideals we have chosen to fight for. Love of you and Mara, who are all the family I have left, as far as I know."
For a moment, she thought of Moerel Valmyrri and his strange sword, but she quickly put the thought from her mind.
"And if Cuiraecen grants us victory today? A great many eligible lords will flock to woo you. Will you turn them all away, because they cannot equal what you lost? Is this even what he would want for you, lady? I doubt it... I knew him only from afar, knew him only as Baron Fulcairn's handsome heir who made all the girls swoon... but I believe he would want you to live your life, and find joy."
And Cuinn found that tears were welling in her eyes, not out of sadness, but out of gratitude for this large, loud, ginger-haired priestess, and her friendship.
"To be honest, Battle-Sister, I hadn't thought that far ahead."
"Aye. There'll be plenty of time to vet eligible bachelors for the ladies Fulcairn once we've won this war." She grinned, cracked her knuckles, and flexed the majestic bulk of her sword arm. "Let's go wake up Mara and see if she can warm up the stewpot with a ball of arcane flame, eh?"
Friday, May 26, 2017
Letters Home [A collection]
Dear Adair,
I miss you very much. I’ve been asking around and have managed to hear word of a monastery of Haelynites who may be able to help me to find where I need to go. You can tell Mother that I’m safe - and you can tell Nieve to go to hell. I’m not coming home. All my life she’s tried to control me. I can’t be like her, and I can’t be like you - I’m shite at woodscraft. You can range free in the Gorge!
I wish that being married well was enough for me. I know what it could do for our family. It makes me feel a bit crazy to leave it all behind. But what happened to me was real, Adair. I relive it every time I touch the Sword. I know He chose me.
I’m worth something.
I’m meant for more.
-----------------------------------------------
Dearest Adair,
Thank you for the coin to get me through - things were truly desperate, and I know I haven’t been vigilant with my letters. I’m so grateful that I can still count on you.
I’ve found a cloister: some priests from the Northern Imperial Temple who hint they know more than they are willing to share for free. I’ve been sleeping on the floor of the temple, doing the tasks of an acolyte to earn my keep.
These men guard their tongues closely around me. I’m trying to prove my loyalty and gain their trust - I must learn their secrets. I will find the Way.
-----------------------------------------------
Adair,
I killed a man today. We were beset on the road by brigands. One tried to touch me. The Sword is still sharp, and I am stronger than I look. All but one of the priests survived.
Tonight I learn their secrets.
-----------------------------------------------
Brother,
I have received your letters informing me of Mother’s passing.
I can only hope this missive can convey some small degree of the despair that I feel at this news.
She loved us all, and placed all over her children before herself in all ways.
I regret that I cannot return to the Gorge for her rites - but know I mourn her within the Temple of Cuiraécen. It is forbidden to leave once entrance has been gained; at least until one has passed into the ranks of initiate. The temple’s location must be kept most secret.
My mentor has sent a Priestess of Nesirie to visit you all in my place. It is my hope she may bring you comfort.
I know Nieve won’t understand, and I don’t expect her to forgive me.
I know I’ve hurt you too, Adair. For that I am sorry. When I left the Gorge, I don’t believe I truly understood what it meant, when I did it.
But being here is what I need to do.
-----------------------------------------------
Dear Adair,
I have passed into the rank of Priestess, and defeated all foes before me. Your littlest sister has earned the divine gifts of the Storm God.
The funny thing is - it still feels the same way to touch lightning as it did that day in the Cradlewood.
-----------------------------------------------
My dearest brother,
It has been fifteen years since last I saw your face.
I have been dispatched to the Gorge, and will arrive by months end.
Please say nothing to Lady Morgenstane.
-----------------------------------------------
Adair.
We travel through Bhaine to Stormpoint.
I know that Cuiraécen rides with us. The hearts of the Taeghan forces are undeniable. A Haelynite has joined us, and still more allies rally to our cause.
Lady Mara and Countess Cuinn fare as well as they can, but the stalwart faces of the men and women who stand with us and fight for their countrymen buoys us all. How could we not rise to fight for these people?
But allies too have fallen. I want you to know that through all the years with little word, I still remembered my family. Your letters were a constant reminder of the sacrifice I had to make in order to be in this place, now, doing what is asked of me.
I’ll make you proud. I hope to see it in your face when we meet again - be it the Gorge, or Cuiraécen’s Feasthall.
I love you, take care of our home.
-----------------------------------------------
Nieve,
There’s too much to say in this letter, and much of it is best left unwritten.
I will say that I did not really know you until I could see you as a mother. Please kiss my nieces and nephews and tell them I love them all.
-----------------------------------------------
Balros,
Mentor - please pray to the Storm Lord on behalf of your student. She rides to victory or ruin.
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
The Northron Skein - Part 5
Cathal and Dolan ride south with Fulgrim's blessing.
Cathal sets outriders to watch their flanks, and organizes watches in which the number of Yngvi among the waking always outnumber those from other clans. They descend on Rjuvik through the dense taiga of southern Hogunmark.
There they cross rolling moors and dark forests, avoiding the scrutiny of any of Rjuvik's hardy peoples. Cathal is determined not to cross any of the Rjuvik queen's warriors.
They catch sight of a fairly large village on a river in the moors. Cathal sends Egil into the village with a few of his more discreet warriors. They disguise themselves as nomadic traders and mingle with the Rjuvik villagers to gather information. Cathal and the rest of the band circumvent the town and make camp. Egil and his spies leave the village the next morning and rendez-vous with the band.
Egil tells Cathal a tale of Authilde, the Rjuvik Queen, that counters those whispered in the south. Since Authilde seized the crown, she has defeated and killed or driven out the bandit lords of Rjuvik and has restored order to the kingdom. Cathal orders his warriors to raise a white flag of truce, just in case they cross any of Authilde's newly mobilized patrols.
Despite his concerns, they manage to cross the kingdom without drawing attention due to their superior wildcraft. The land slopes upward and turns too treacherous for the horses, so Cathal orders his people to make camp and continue on foot. He leaves some ten of his warriors behind to guard their mounts.
After a short trek, they come to the Wyrmrest barrows, a cluster of low, rocky hills covered in fresh snow. Cathal ascends the steepest of them, finding a portal of worked stone at its apex. The door has been long sealed, however, and the Hoguns take to it with pickaxes. As they work, the sky begins to rumble. It worries the Hogunr, but Cathal takes up a tool himself and strikes a crack in the barrow door. As soon as the small breach is made, a soulpiercing roar splits the air, and a shadow falls across the barrows. The Hogunr look up, and see death.
A great winged serpent, a wyrm from out of Cerilian legend, its black and grey scales shimmering in the dying afternoon sunlight, descends on the warriors of Veikanger. Its gorge pulses and throbbsd, and its maw spread wide, seeming to engulf them all in blackness. That blackness only to be lit with the furnace heat of dragonfire. Cathal and his huscarls are frozen in place, overcome by the beast's awesome presence, and many are seared by its fearsome breath. It descends among them, clasping men and women in its sword-like talons, and rending them asunder to be flung wetly through the air as the dragon ascends.
Cathal shakes free of the binds on his mind and screams out orders, telling his warriors to disperse and take cover. He rushes to the top of the main barrow, and throws his arms wide, screaming at the serpent to fight him. It pays little heed, and continues to dart and dive like a hunting bird among the Hogunr. Cathal continues bellowing orders, and eventually manages to shake loose the wits of some of his warriors, who gather bows and begin peppering the wyrm with arrows. They have little effect, but do force the creature to land, only to unleash its breath once again. Cathal dives over the side of the barrow, taking cover, but some few are not so lucky. Dragonfire melts swathes of fresh snow to vapour, and scorches the dead grass underneath. The Hogunr who are caught within its infernal deluge meet a similar fate.
Cathal yells in fury, invoking Haelyn to judge him worthy, Cuiraecen to guide his sword, and Laerme to guard him from the dragon's flame. Other Hogunr take up the call, and rush to the fight. Cathal, his Anduiran blood boiling within him, attacks the winged monster with uninhibited ferocity, darting under its lunging jaws to rake its underside with piercing jabs of his ancient blade. The wyrm's scales are marred here and there with ancient scars; chain marks, as though it were some sort of monstrous guard animal. Cathal screams to his warriors to target the scars, and sure enough, Dolan rushes in to flank the monster, his glaive drawing dragon-blood at its stroke. The dragon, enraged that it has been wounded, rears back and buffets the air with its vast wings, casting Cathal, Dolan, and the nearby warriors tumbling through the air. As they regain their feet, and make to rush back into battle, the beast's gorge expands once again, and liquid flame pours forth. Cathal raises his shield to defend, though he is at the center of the conflagration.
Just as the flames are about to envelop him, Egil and two other Yngvi interpose themselves, and their stout shields, taking the brunt of the fire. Cathal calls out to Egil, but can only watch as the brave thegns' lives are burned away. He sees Ysgerda, attacking the dragon from the side, impaled on a great horn at the tip of the monster's tail, then tossed heartlessly into a nearby snowbank. At least half of his warriors are dead or dying.
Cathal tosses his shield, useless and ruined, to the ground and begins loping toward the dragon. It has to take some time to regain its ability to breath hell, he surmises. Dolan falls in at his side and his heart rises. The two of them raise their arms to the sky and shout together.
"EYES!
EVER!
ON OUR PREY!"
Cathal sets outriders to watch their flanks, and organizes watches in which the number of Yngvi among the waking always outnumber those from other clans. They descend on Rjuvik through the dense taiga of southern Hogunmark.
There they cross rolling moors and dark forests, avoiding the scrutiny of any of Rjuvik's hardy peoples. Cathal is determined not to cross any of the Rjuvik queen's warriors.
They catch sight of a fairly large village on a river in the moors. Cathal sends Egil into the village with a few of his more discreet warriors. They disguise themselves as nomadic traders and mingle with the Rjuvik villagers to gather information. Cathal and the rest of the band circumvent the town and make camp. Egil and his spies leave the village the next morning and rendez-vous with the band.
Egil tells Cathal a tale of Authilde, the Rjuvik Queen, that counters those whispered in the south. Since Authilde seized the crown, she has defeated and killed or driven out the bandit lords of Rjuvik and has restored order to the kingdom. Cathal orders his warriors to raise a white flag of truce, just in case they cross any of Authilde's newly mobilized patrols.
Despite his concerns, they manage to cross the kingdom without drawing attention due to their superior wildcraft. The land slopes upward and turns too treacherous for the horses, so Cathal orders his people to make camp and continue on foot. He leaves some ten of his warriors behind to guard their mounts.
After a short trek, they come to the Wyrmrest barrows, a cluster of low, rocky hills covered in fresh snow. Cathal ascends the steepest of them, finding a portal of worked stone at its apex. The door has been long sealed, however, and the Hoguns take to it with pickaxes. As they work, the sky begins to rumble. It worries the Hogunr, but Cathal takes up a tool himself and strikes a crack in the barrow door. As soon as the small breach is made, a soulpiercing roar splits the air, and a shadow falls across the barrows. The Hogunr look up, and see death.
A great winged serpent, a wyrm from out of Cerilian legend, its black and grey scales shimmering in the dying afternoon sunlight, descends on the warriors of Veikanger. Its gorge pulses and throbbsd, and its maw spread wide, seeming to engulf them all in blackness. That blackness only to be lit with the furnace heat of dragonfire. Cathal and his huscarls are frozen in place, overcome by the beast's awesome presence, and many are seared by its fearsome breath. It descends among them, clasping men and women in its sword-like talons, and rending them asunder to be flung wetly through the air as the dragon ascends.
Cathal shakes free of the binds on his mind and screams out orders, telling his warriors to disperse and take cover. He rushes to the top of the main barrow, and throws his arms wide, screaming at the serpent to fight him. It pays little heed, and continues to dart and dive like a hunting bird among the Hogunr. Cathal continues bellowing orders, and eventually manages to shake loose the wits of some of his warriors, who gather bows and begin peppering the wyrm with arrows. They have little effect, but do force the creature to land, only to unleash its breath once again. Cathal dives over the side of the barrow, taking cover, but some few are not so lucky. Dragonfire melts swathes of fresh snow to vapour, and scorches the dead grass underneath. The Hogunr who are caught within its infernal deluge meet a similar fate.
Cathal yells in fury, invoking Haelyn to judge him worthy, Cuiraecen to guide his sword, and Laerme to guard him from the dragon's flame. Other Hogunr take up the call, and rush to the fight. Cathal, his Anduiran blood boiling within him, attacks the winged monster with uninhibited ferocity, darting under its lunging jaws to rake its underside with piercing jabs of his ancient blade. The wyrm's scales are marred here and there with ancient scars; chain marks, as though it were some sort of monstrous guard animal. Cathal screams to his warriors to target the scars, and sure enough, Dolan rushes in to flank the monster, his glaive drawing dragon-blood at its stroke. The dragon, enraged that it has been wounded, rears back and buffets the air with its vast wings, casting Cathal, Dolan, and the nearby warriors tumbling through the air. As they regain their feet, and make to rush back into battle, the beast's gorge expands once again, and liquid flame pours forth. Cathal raises his shield to defend, though he is at the center of the conflagration.
Just as the flames are about to envelop him, Egil and two other Yngvi interpose themselves, and their stout shields, taking the brunt of the fire. Cathal calls out to Egil, but can only watch as the brave thegns' lives are burned away. He sees Ysgerda, attacking the dragon from the side, impaled on a great horn at the tip of the monster's tail, then tossed heartlessly into a nearby snowbank. At least half of his warriors are dead or dying.
Cathal tosses his shield, useless and ruined, to the ground and begins loping toward the dragon. It has to take some time to regain its ability to breath hell, he surmises. Dolan falls in at his side and his heart rises. The two of them raise their arms to the sky and shout together.
"EYES!
EVER!
ON OUR PREY!"
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Two Songs
The most beautiful woman Trevard had ever seen had been at the Red Stag for about a week. She didn't look like anyone he had ever seen. Her skin was very dark, much darker than even the farmhands after a summer of field labour, and spring had barely started. They cleared out a space by the fire for her every night. She sat on a stool and put a fantastic thing on her lap. He wasn't sure what it was, but its wood was dark and shiny and beautifully carved, and it was covered in thin metal wires and strange knobs and holes, and he knew instinctively he wasn't supposed to touch it. But when she touched it... oh, when she touched it, with her tiny hands the colour of the Red Stag's oaken bartop, they flittered to and fro like small birds, and the magic happened.
Trevard had seen the music people before. Bards, Cedric called them. He liked them and got very excited when one passed through Portage, because everyone would flock to the Red Stag to hear them make the music. People loved to hear music. They would buy plenty of beer and sing along and stomp their feet. They would yell the name of their favourite song at the bard, and if they liked the song, throw coins in the basket at the bard's feet. Trevard loved the music too. He didn't understand how it could change how everyone in the room felt at the same time, he just knew it was magic. The bard would sing a stompy yelling song of battle and everyone in the room would hoist their tankards and holler as though they themselves were soldiers afield. The bard could sing a sad song and he would feel tears welling up in his own eyes and see them in everyone else's.
But none of the half-dozen bards he'd seen in his life came close to the strange dark-skinned lady. She talked a little funny and some words sounded strange when she said them. But when she sang, chills ran across Trevard's skin. Her voice was like honey, or moonlight, or like the flapping of the wings of swans that flew back north at winter's end.
Right now they were cheering for her and silver coins were raining into the big box at her feet, the box she carried her magic wooden string-thing in. She had just finished a song-- a funny light song that had the whole room roaring with laughter. This was a bit unusual, Trevard noticed, because most, almost all the songs she'd been playing, were very sad.
"Oi, Khinasi, play another, would ya?" a stout man at the bar hollered. "Play 'Thunder and Flame' so we can wish our boys and girls good fortune against the Imperial dogs!"
The beautiful lady smiled and in her strange voice said "I beg your forgiveness, good sir, but I am quite tired. I've need of a cool drink, but after that I've imposed on your fine Portagean hospitality long enough, and must be on the road!"
Trevard almost fell over, he got up so fast and ran to the barrel of cold fresh wellwater behind the bar. He dunked a goblet in it and rushed to bring it to her, trying very hard not to spill. She was busy scooping the silver coins into a bag and returning her wooden string thing inside the box, which fit its odd shape perfectly. Too timid to reach out and tap her shoulder, he cleared his throat and said "Excuse me, lady, I brought you some water."
She turned around. "Oh, goodness, thank you very much, young man! Exactly what I needed." She smiled so brightly he felt something warm and twitchy stir in his heart. He tried to summon the courage to say something else to her; what she'd just said sounded a bit like she meant to leave Portage, maybe forever, and the thought made him very sad.
"Why are you leaving?" he blurted out. "Don't go. You're the best music person who has ever played music here."
Different feelings flickered across her face, like sunlight turning into many colours as it shone through the stained glass in Haelyn's temple-- genuine pleasure at his words, sadness, regret, and something he didn't completely understand.
"Thank you, young man, your words honour me. You and your master have been very kind to me. The Red Stag is a lovely inn, and Portage is a lovely city. But I must go."
"But why?"
"My friend came here with an army. I received news that the army lost. I came here to try and find him, or at least learn what happened. He is not here. I am... I can't be sure, but... I think he is... gone. So there is no reason for me to stay."
"Is that why you mostly sing sad songs?"
She stopped short, and looked at Trevard for a long moment, speechless, as though she were surprised he or anyone had noticed.
And then, without really knowing why, or understanding how the silly notion overcame him, he opened his mouth, and started to sing, one of her songs-- the saddest of all of them. Maybe his heart felt so full of her songs that it needed to overflow. Maybe he wanted her to hear how beautiful her songs were, as though he were a mirror reflecting her own beauty back at her. He was very good at copying how other people sounded when they talked-- so good it startled people whenever he did it-- and he found to his own surprise that copying the sound of her singing was just as easy. He copied her high, pure tones, even copied the strange way her words sounded.
"The boughs are gnarled and grey, still
The furrows, barren, stand
Though spring's vivacious paintbrush
Illuminates the land
Our garden, dark and silent
Stays ever desolate
For want of your dear fingers
Upon the garden gate."
He barely noticed that the crowd had fallen completely silent and were staring at him, open-mouthed. Some had leaned forward eagerly, eyes on the lady, because they had thought it was her singing again. And the beautiful lady was staring, too, her eyes wide with surprise. But she only stared a moment... and then she did something so magical that he knew he would never forget it as long as he lived. She started singing along with him, but a little differently, higher in some places, lower in others, so their voices wove together, a seamless, perfect harmony. The beauty of it shivered up his spine.
"The streets bustle and prosper
Gold banners fill the air
The King's victorious soldiers
March home to bright fanfare
And yet a shadow lingers
Upon our lonely home
For want of your dear footsteps
Upon the paving-stones."
And everyone in the room was silent and still, watching them, and tears were streaming down the lady's cheeks, and Trevard realized he was crying too, and not a few of the people in the crowd were weeping like babies in their mothers' arms.
"Outside is laughter, sunshine
The sweet passage of days
The golden glow of summer
And autumn's scarlet haze
But in these walls is winter
Now and forever more
For ne'er again will you step
Through yonder lonely door."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scarlet foam bubbled up between Thea's lips, and Daevin, who'd been trying so hard to remain strong and brave, lost control, and tears leaked from his eyes. "Stay with me, Thea! Stay with me!" he pleaded. "The Captain said another healer just arrived in the camp. He's coming any minute now. Just hang on for me a little longer. Please... Please, Thea, oh, please, Haelyn, Haelyn protect us, Haelyn save us..."
Daevin didn't know very much about wounds, but the sight of the three arrowshafts piercing his little sister's cuirass filled him with a cold, grim dread. Hell, Daevin didn't know the first thing about war... at least not until the soldiers from Boeruine killed his and Thea's parents and burned the farmland their family rented from House Oswin. They'd robbed everything they could carry from the granary and torched the rest, a harvest's worth of stores for both feeding them and paying tribute to House Oswin. So, with no other real options to prevent two orphans from starvation, they'd both signed up for the peasant levy, despite Thea being not quite old enough--not quite fifteen-- and Daevin barely older. The recruiters were not being choosy. So many Baysiders had fallen in the siege that they couldn't afford to.
They'd marched all the way here, a few days' ride west of Seamist. They'd heard Countess Fulcairn's ringing speech to the assembled Imperial army. Taeghans had turned to fight with them, and they'd charged the enemy infantry, the great ginger-haired priestess from Wilder's Gorge leading them. They had been assured that the peasant levy would play a support role only to the heavy infantry, but within moments, they were surrounded by enemy fighters, swinging their barely-trained swords to and fro, just trying to stay alive. While the priestess and her ghost-warriors had fought bravely to try and protect them, the battle had gone poorly for them. Daevin saw Baysiders cut down in droves. He was certain they would be annihilated, but the priestess sounded the retreat, and then moments later the Imperial force pulled back... not before sending a last defiant volley at their unit, including the arrows currently jutting from Thea's torso.
Oh, gods. Her lips were blue. Her eyes were open, but unfocused. With every breath came another surge of pink and red foam at Thea's lips. Blood had overflowed from her cuirass, and he now knelt in a pool of it. Where is the priestess? Daevin had seen the casualties, waist-deep piles of corpses on the battlefield. He knew she would try and save everyone she could, but there were so many of them, and so many more important than some untrained peasant teenage girl from Bayside. Please, Haelyn, Cuiraecen. Anyone. I'll do anything. If you save her, I'll join your service. I'll become a monk. I'll devote the rest of my life to you. Gods know I'm not a very good soldier. Please. Please, gods, please...
Then the infirmary tent flap opened, and two women entered. One was small, in long white robes, pretty in a sweet, shy way, with long dark hair braided back from her face. The other Daevin mistook for a man at first; she was tall, broad-shouldered, short-haired, clad in chainmail and bearing a vicious axe, but her fine features were unmistakably a woman's. She hovered protectively over the smaller woman as she immediately went to her knees next to Thea, unconcerned as her white robes immediately became saturated with her blood.
The small woman's eyes were gentle as they met Daevin's. "It's very bad, I'm afraid," she said softly. "Are you her brother?" she asked, no doubt noting their matching reddish-gold hair and elfishly pointed chins.
Daevin nodded, unable to speak.
"I will do everything I can. I promise. But her fate is in Haelyn's hands now. Will you pray with me?"
Daevin nodded. She held out her hands, and he took her hands, and they rested their interlocked fingers just above Thea's chest. The small woman began to sing softly, a hymn he knew from Haelyn's feastdays, and though his voice was small and shaking, he sang with her.
"Praise be, praise be, O Haelyn
O Lord of Law and Light
All that is foul and darkness
Shall flee before Thy might..."
Between their joined fingers, a strange and sourceless light began to shine, warm and gentle like the hearth of their farmhouse beckoning through the cold gloom of a winter's day. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the words of the hymn, stumbling occasionally, sobbing sometimes. Please, Haelyn. Please. Cuiraecen. Anyone. I'll do anything. Please.
And then after what seemed like an eternity, Thea coughed and spluttered, and half-sat up, and the arrowheads with their half-broken shafts fell to the floor as her healing flesh rejected them.
Daevin stared at the small woman, speechless, unable to find the words to express his awe and gratitude.
She smiled back at him. "She'll need to remain still. Her wounds still need to be poulticed against infection and then bandaged... Dreya, could you please pass me some rags?" The tall woman reached into an enormous pack and pulled out a swath of clean linen. She passed it to Daevin. "I'm sorry, I cannot stay. I have so many others I need to try and help. But I believe she will be alright. Haelyn will bless both of you for your courage."
She took the tall woman's hand and they walked out into the evening.
Daevin burst into exhausted, relieved tears and squeezed Thea's hand, as she feebly turned her head to and fro in confusion, hovering in and out of consciousness.
I'll keep my promises. I'll keep my promises to the gods.
Trevard had seen the music people before. Bards, Cedric called them. He liked them and got very excited when one passed through Portage, because everyone would flock to the Red Stag to hear them make the music. People loved to hear music. They would buy plenty of beer and sing along and stomp their feet. They would yell the name of their favourite song at the bard, and if they liked the song, throw coins in the basket at the bard's feet. Trevard loved the music too. He didn't understand how it could change how everyone in the room felt at the same time, he just knew it was magic. The bard would sing a stompy yelling song of battle and everyone in the room would hoist their tankards and holler as though they themselves were soldiers afield. The bard could sing a sad song and he would feel tears welling up in his own eyes and see them in everyone else's.
But none of the half-dozen bards he'd seen in his life came close to the strange dark-skinned lady. She talked a little funny and some words sounded strange when she said them. But when she sang, chills ran across Trevard's skin. Her voice was like honey, or moonlight, or like the flapping of the wings of swans that flew back north at winter's end.
Right now they were cheering for her and silver coins were raining into the big box at her feet, the box she carried her magic wooden string-thing in. She had just finished a song-- a funny light song that had the whole room roaring with laughter. This was a bit unusual, Trevard noticed, because most, almost all the songs she'd been playing, were very sad.
"Oi, Khinasi, play another, would ya?" a stout man at the bar hollered. "Play 'Thunder and Flame' so we can wish our boys and girls good fortune against the Imperial dogs!"
The beautiful lady smiled and in her strange voice said "I beg your forgiveness, good sir, but I am quite tired. I've need of a cool drink, but after that I've imposed on your fine Portagean hospitality long enough, and must be on the road!"
Trevard almost fell over, he got up so fast and ran to the barrel of cold fresh wellwater behind the bar. He dunked a goblet in it and rushed to bring it to her, trying very hard not to spill. She was busy scooping the silver coins into a bag and returning her wooden string thing inside the box, which fit its odd shape perfectly. Too timid to reach out and tap her shoulder, he cleared his throat and said "Excuse me, lady, I brought you some water."
She turned around. "Oh, goodness, thank you very much, young man! Exactly what I needed." She smiled so brightly he felt something warm and twitchy stir in his heart. He tried to summon the courage to say something else to her; what she'd just said sounded a bit like she meant to leave Portage, maybe forever, and the thought made him very sad.
"Why are you leaving?" he blurted out. "Don't go. You're the best music person who has ever played music here."
Different feelings flickered across her face, like sunlight turning into many colours as it shone through the stained glass in Haelyn's temple-- genuine pleasure at his words, sadness, regret, and something he didn't completely understand.
"Thank you, young man, your words honour me. You and your master have been very kind to me. The Red Stag is a lovely inn, and Portage is a lovely city. But I must go."
"But why?"
"My friend came here with an army. I received news that the army lost. I came here to try and find him, or at least learn what happened. He is not here. I am... I can't be sure, but... I think he is... gone. So there is no reason for me to stay."
"Is that why you mostly sing sad songs?"
She stopped short, and looked at Trevard for a long moment, speechless, as though she were surprised he or anyone had noticed.
And then, without really knowing why, or understanding how the silly notion overcame him, he opened his mouth, and started to sing, one of her songs-- the saddest of all of them. Maybe his heart felt so full of her songs that it needed to overflow. Maybe he wanted her to hear how beautiful her songs were, as though he were a mirror reflecting her own beauty back at her. He was very good at copying how other people sounded when they talked-- so good it startled people whenever he did it-- and he found to his own surprise that copying the sound of her singing was just as easy. He copied her high, pure tones, even copied the strange way her words sounded.
"The boughs are gnarled and grey, still
The furrows, barren, stand
Though spring's vivacious paintbrush
Illuminates the land
Our garden, dark and silent
Stays ever desolate
For want of your dear fingers
Upon the garden gate."
He barely noticed that the crowd had fallen completely silent and were staring at him, open-mouthed. Some had leaned forward eagerly, eyes on the lady, because they had thought it was her singing again. And the beautiful lady was staring, too, her eyes wide with surprise. But she only stared a moment... and then she did something so magical that he knew he would never forget it as long as he lived. She started singing along with him, but a little differently, higher in some places, lower in others, so their voices wove together, a seamless, perfect harmony. The beauty of it shivered up his spine.
"The streets bustle and prosper
Gold banners fill the air
The King's victorious soldiers
March home to bright fanfare
And yet a shadow lingers
Upon our lonely home
For want of your dear footsteps
Upon the paving-stones."
And everyone in the room was silent and still, watching them, and tears were streaming down the lady's cheeks, and Trevard realized he was crying too, and not a few of the people in the crowd were weeping like babies in their mothers' arms.
"Outside is laughter, sunshine
The sweet passage of days
The golden glow of summer
And autumn's scarlet haze
But in these walls is winter
Now and forever more
For ne'er again will you step
Through yonder lonely door."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scarlet foam bubbled up between Thea's lips, and Daevin, who'd been trying so hard to remain strong and brave, lost control, and tears leaked from his eyes. "Stay with me, Thea! Stay with me!" he pleaded. "The Captain said another healer just arrived in the camp. He's coming any minute now. Just hang on for me a little longer. Please... Please, Thea, oh, please, Haelyn, Haelyn protect us, Haelyn save us..."
Daevin didn't know very much about wounds, but the sight of the three arrowshafts piercing his little sister's cuirass filled him with a cold, grim dread. Hell, Daevin didn't know the first thing about war... at least not until the soldiers from Boeruine killed his and Thea's parents and burned the farmland their family rented from House Oswin. They'd robbed everything they could carry from the granary and torched the rest, a harvest's worth of stores for both feeding them and paying tribute to House Oswin. So, with no other real options to prevent two orphans from starvation, they'd both signed up for the peasant levy, despite Thea being not quite old enough--not quite fifteen-- and Daevin barely older. The recruiters were not being choosy. So many Baysiders had fallen in the siege that they couldn't afford to.
They'd marched all the way here, a few days' ride west of Seamist. They'd heard Countess Fulcairn's ringing speech to the assembled Imperial army. Taeghans had turned to fight with them, and they'd charged the enemy infantry, the great ginger-haired priestess from Wilder's Gorge leading them. They had been assured that the peasant levy would play a support role only to the heavy infantry, but within moments, they were surrounded by enemy fighters, swinging their barely-trained swords to and fro, just trying to stay alive. While the priestess and her ghost-warriors had fought bravely to try and protect them, the battle had gone poorly for them. Daevin saw Baysiders cut down in droves. He was certain they would be annihilated, but the priestess sounded the retreat, and then moments later the Imperial force pulled back... not before sending a last defiant volley at their unit, including the arrows currently jutting from Thea's torso.
Oh, gods. Her lips were blue. Her eyes were open, but unfocused. With every breath came another surge of pink and red foam at Thea's lips. Blood had overflowed from her cuirass, and he now knelt in a pool of it. Where is the priestess? Daevin had seen the casualties, waist-deep piles of corpses on the battlefield. He knew she would try and save everyone she could, but there were so many of them, and so many more important than some untrained peasant teenage girl from Bayside. Please, Haelyn, Cuiraecen. Anyone. I'll do anything. If you save her, I'll join your service. I'll become a monk. I'll devote the rest of my life to you. Gods know I'm not a very good soldier. Please. Please, gods, please...
Then the infirmary tent flap opened, and two women entered. One was small, in long white robes, pretty in a sweet, shy way, with long dark hair braided back from her face. The other Daevin mistook for a man at first; she was tall, broad-shouldered, short-haired, clad in chainmail and bearing a vicious axe, but her fine features were unmistakably a woman's. She hovered protectively over the smaller woman as she immediately went to her knees next to Thea, unconcerned as her white robes immediately became saturated with her blood.
The small woman's eyes were gentle as they met Daevin's. "It's very bad, I'm afraid," she said softly. "Are you her brother?" she asked, no doubt noting their matching reddish-gold hair and elfishly pointed chins.
Daevin nodded, unable to speak.
"I will do everything I can. I promise. But her fate is in Haelyn's hands now. Will you pray with me?"
Daevin nodded. She held out her hands, and he took her hands, and they rested their interlocked fingers just above Thea's chest. The small woman began to sing softly, a hymn he knew from Haelyn's feastdays, and though his voice was small and shaking, he sang with her.
"Praise be, praise be, O Haelyn
O Lord of Law and Light
All that is foul and darkness
Shall flee before Thy might..."
Between their joined fingers, a strange and sourceless light began to shine, warm and gentle like the hearth of their farmhouse beckoning through the cold gloom of a winter's day. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the words of the hymn, stumbling occasionally, sobbing sometimes. Please, Haelyn. Please. Cuiraecen. Anyone. I'll do anything. Please.
And then after what seemed like an eternity, Thea coughed and spluttered, and half-sat up, and the arrowheads with their half-broken shafts fell to the floor as her healing flesh rejected them.
Daevin stared at the small woman, speechless, unable to find the words to express his awe and gratitude.
She smiled back at him. "She'll need to remain still. Her wounds still need to be poulticed against infection and then bandaged... Dreya, could you please pass me some rags?" The tall woman reached into an enormous pack and pulled out a swath of clean linen. She passed it to Daevin. "I'm sorry, I cannot stay. I have so many others I need to try and help. But I believe she will be alright. Haelyn will bless both of you for your courage."
She took the tall woman's hand and they walked out into the evening.
Daevin burst into exhausted, relieved tears and squeezed Thea's hand, as she feebly turned her head to and fro in confusion, hovering in and out of consciousness.
I'll keep my promises. I'll keep my promises to the gods.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
SESSION 39 RECAP
The morning after the defeat of the Imperial army by the newly united Taeghan army, Cuinn calls a council of the heads of the other houses to discuss their next move. Tychon, unsurprisingly, wishes to attack the remainder of the Avanese and drive them out by force; Ukko and the others feel they need to save their strength for the siege of Stormpoint. Some tensions arise as Corliss Isilvaere feels House Valmyrri were disloyal to Islien, and questions are raised about the loyalty of Athelan, the Haelynite priest who-- after what was undoubtedly a memorable night with Aerona-- joined the Taeghans. Cuinn decides they need to negotiate, and sends a messenger to the Avanese to arrange a parley. She also sends a message to Blaede Sloere, as nothing has been heard from Brosien for some time.
Cuinn, Mara, and Aerona meet the Imperial envoy to negotiate. The Avanese want twenty gold bars to leave Taeghas without further raids in order to resupply, and state they will only relinquish the Taeghan soldiers if the estates loyal to the Empire continue to give tribute to it. The latter is an unbearable compromise, as the Fulcairns cannot abide a patchwork Taeghas of conflicting allegiances; Aerona cunningly points out that mercenary units would be cheaper, and Cuinn notes that she pities them, for she has seen how Avan treats those who fail him. They manage to negotiate down to twelve gold bars, and the Taeghans are released from Imperial service without further cost.
Cuinn thanks Corliss for her unfailing bravery and loyalty to House Fulcairn, and vows to aid Corliss and House Isilvaere however she can in the days to come; wishing to dispel the tension between Corliss and the Valmyrris, both who purport to speak for Islien, she speaks with Moerel Valmyrri privately. She offers them the regency of Seamist as reward for their bravery, and promises to either exile or make a vassal of Caron Duene. Moerel's heirloom sword is still vibrating mysteriously; he discloses that it vibrates in the presence of those with Valmyrri blood. Cuinn, made suddenly uncomfortable, departs.
Cuinn signs the agreement letting the Imperial army leave in peace, and they depart. The Taeghans who remained loyal to the Empire return with great apprehension. Cuinn and Aerona reassure them, and Cuinn vows that they will be safe from harm if they renew their allegiance to Taeghas.
A messenger comes back from Brosien bearing a letter not from Sloere, but from the Duchess of Brosengae. She claims that, at Sloere's request, Brosengae has taken over Brosien as a "protectorate", and she invites Cuinn to visit to discuss the situation.
Cuinn and the other heads of the houses are outraged. Cuinn decides that they cannot ignore this direct attack against Taeghan sovereignty, even with the impending siege of Stormpoint, nor can they ignore the plight of Sloere, who they doubt is complicit of his own free will. Cuinn, Mara, Aerona, and a dozen men-at-arms ride south for Brosien.
They find Brosengae military here and there, but not enough to be called an outright occupation; they notice that the servants in the Keep appear genuinely terrified. The Fulcairns immediately suspect not all is as it seems. They are greeted warmly by a beautiful and well-dressed woman calling herself the Duchess, and at her side is Xander the Arcanist-- the wizard who served the Imperial army under Thaliere, who evidently escaped and made straight for his home of Brosengae. Sloere is present, unharmed, but his wooden demeanor makes it clear that something is amiss. Stiff pleasantries are exchanged, and dinner is served. The Duchess claims she came at the behest of Blaede Sloere to "protect" Brosien while a three-front war rages in Taeghas; she makes it clear her forces are going nowhere.
The Fulcairns silently deliberate what to do. They are certain that Sloere is being blackmailed or otherwise manipulated, and worry that the consequences of a military assault on Brosien may fall squarely on his house, and also sense that Xander may be constructing a magical trap for them of some kind. They consider playing along and attempting to gather information or at least speak to Sloere. However, Cuinn decides that this insult to Taeghan sovereignty, and her newly-fledged rule of Taeghas, cannot be suffered, and her actions here will send a clear message to both allies and enemies. She draws her bow at the dinner table and, before anyone can blink, puts two arrows into Xander at close range, killing him instantly.
However, the "Duchess" is not taken off guard-- she moves just as fast as Cuinn, and as soon as Xander falls, she is on Cuinn, rapier at the ready. Both parties of men-at-arms leap into action. Aerona attempts to hold them off with her spectral warriors, and Mara tries to help Cuinn, who is locked in a duel of blinding speed with the "Duchess". She savagely wounds Cuinn using techniques that are decidedly familiar to her, and only by sheer luck does Cuinn manage to best her. Her death does not demoralize her men in the slightest, and the Fulcairns quickly realize the truth-- she was not the Duchess of Brosengae but an assassin, and this was indeed a trap laid for them. However, without the wizard and the assassin, they are at a disadvantage, and the Fulcairns and their men finish them off.
Blaede Sloere is also gravely wounded, but the gratitude is plain on his face; he confirms this was a trap and they are holding his wife and child hostage upstairs. Aerona moves to the keep door to hold off any further attack; Cuinn and Mara quickly move upstairs, where three men are holding Lady Sloere and their two children at knifepoint. Mara casts a sleep spell and it lands with perfect precision; Cuinn dispassionately slits the captors' throats, and they go to reunite Blaede Sloere with his family.
He explains that he had been fighting a sustained war with Brosengae through a long and convoluted web of deceit, sabotage, skirmishes, and treachery, perpetrated in part by his own vassal houses, culminating in this attempt to assassinate Cuinn and consolidate Brosengae's ownership of Brosien. He expresses his gratitude and vows undying loyalty to the Fulcairns, and commits both gold and a unit of siege engineers to aid with the war in Stormpoint. Cuinn embraces him and expresses regret that the previous rulership of Taeghas had done so little to aid Brosien; she vows that this will not happen again.
The Fulcairns return triumphant to rendezvous with their army in Seamist.
Cuinn, Mara, and Aerona meet the Imperial envoy to negotiate. The Avanese want twenty gold bars to leave Taeghas without further raids in order to resupply, and state they will only relinquish the Taeghan soldiers if the estates loyal to the Empire continue to give tribute to it. The latter is an unbearable compromise, as the Fulcairns cannot abide a patchwork Taeghas of conflicting allegiances; Aerona cunningly points out that mercenary units would be cheaper, and Cuinn notes that she pities them, for she has seen how Avan treats those who fail him. They manage to negotiate down to twelve gold bars, and the Taeghans are released from Imperial service without further cost.
Cuinn thanks Corliss for her unfailing bravery and loyalty to House Fulcairn, and vows to aid Corliss and House Isilvaere however she can in the days to come; wishing to dispel the tension between Corliss and the Valmyrris, both who purport to speak for Islien, she speaks with Moerel Valmyrri privately. She offers them the regency of Seamist as reward for their bravery, and promises to either exile or make a vassal of Caron Duene. Moerel's heirloom sword is still vibrating mysteriously; he discloses that it vibrates in the presence of those with Valmyrri blood. Cuinn, made suddenly uncomfortable, departs.
Cuinn signs the agreement letting the Imperial army leave in peace, and they depart. The Taeghans who remained loyal to the Empire return with great apprehension. Cuinn and Aerona reassure them, and Cuinn vows that they will be safe from harm if they renew their allegiance to Taeghas.
A messenger comes back from Brosien bearing a letter not from Sloere, but from the Duchess of Brosengae. She claims that, at Sloere's request, Brosengae has taken over Brosien as a "protectorate", and she invites Cuinn to visit to discuss the situation.
Cuinn and the other heads of the houses are outraged. Cuinn decides that they cannot ignore this direct attack against Taeghan sovereignty, even with the impending siege of Stormpoint, nor can they ignore the plight of Sloere, who they doubt is complicit of his own free will. Cuinn, Mara, Aerona, and a dozen men-at-arms ride south for Brosien.
They find Brosengae military here and there, but not enough to be called an outright occupation; they notice that the servants in the Keep appear genuinely terrified. The Fulcairns immediately suspect not all is as it seems. They are greeted warmly by a beautiful and well-dressed woman calling herself the Duchess, and at her side is Xander the Arcanist-- the wizard who served the Imperial army under Thaliere, who evidently escaped and made straight for his home of Brosengae. Sloere is present, unharmed, but his wooden demeanor makes it clear that something is amiss. Stiff pleasantries are exchanged, and dinner is served. The Duchess claims she came at the behest of Blaede Sloere to "protect" Brosien while a three-front war rages in Taeghas; she makes it clear her forces are going nowhere.
The Fulcairns silently deliberate what to do. They are certain that Sloere is being blackmailed or otherwise manipulated, and worry that the consequences of a military assault on Brosien may fall squarely on his house, and also sense that Xander may be constructing a magical trap for them of some kind. They consider playing along and attempting to gather information or at least speak to Sloere. However, Cuinn decides that this insult to Taeghan sovereignty, and her newly-fledged rule of Taeghas, cannot be suffered, and her actions here will send a clear message to both allies and enemies. She draws her bow at the dinner table and, before anyone can blink, puts two arrows into Xander at close range, killing him instantly.
However, the "Duchess" is not taken off guard-- she moves just as fast as Cuinn, and as soon as Xander falls, she is on Cuinn, rapier at the ready. Both parties of men-at-arms leap into action. Aerona attempts to hold them off with her spectral warriors, and Mara tries to help Cuinn, who is locked in a duel of blinding speed with the "Duchess". She savagely wounds Cuinn using techniques that are decidedly familiar to her, and only by sheer luck does Cuinn manage to best her. Her death does not demoralize her men in the slightest, and the Fulcairns quickly realize the truth-- she was not the Duchess of Brosengae but an assassin, and this was indeed a trap laid for them. However, without the wizard and the assassin, they are at a disadvantage, and the Fulcairns and their men finish them off.
Blaede Sloere is also gravely wounded, but the gratitude is plain on his face; he confirms this was a trap and they are holding his wife and child hostage upstairs. Aerona moves to the keep door to hold off any further attack; Cuinn and Mara quickly move upstairs, where three men are holding Lady Sloere and their two children at knifepoint. Mara casts a sleep spell and it lands with perfect precision; Cuinn dispassionately slits the captors' throats, and they go to reunite Blaede Sloere with his family.
He explains that he had been fighting a sustained war with Brosengae through a long and convoluted web of deceit, sabotage, skirmishes, and treachery, perpetrated in part by his own vassal houses, culminating in this attempt to assassinate Cuinn and consolidate Brosengae's ownership of Brosien. He expresses his gratitude and vows undying loyalty to the Fulcairns, and commits both gold and a unit of siege engineers to aid with the war in Stormpoint. Cuinn embraces him and expresses regret that the previous rulership of Taeghas had done so little to aid Brosien; she vows that this will not happen again.
The Fulcairns return triumphant to rendezvous with their army in Seamist.
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
Thunder and Flame
[To everyone's surprise, Marlae Agelmore, the venerable bard from Three Corners, took up a bow and marched with the Wilder archer regiment. She composed this as a marching song to rally the troop's spirits, and it proved very popular all over the north.]
Steady as it goes, lads!
'Neath the hawk, wave, and rose, lads! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Cuinn the Countess, she came, lads!
With her thunder and flame, lads! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Steady drive the nags, girls!
'Neath brave new griffon flags, girls! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Cuinn the Countess, she came, girls!
To break two sets of chains, girls! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
With the Lady of Thunder who rides on her left
Mara Firehawk rides on her right
With the Lords of Portage and Bayside,to flip
The bird at the Emperor's might!
So we March to take back what is rightfully ours
With our eyes ever fixed on our kill
If Cuinn's arrows should fail to find Thaliere's heart
Then the thunder and flame surely will!
Steady as the forge, lads!
For the pride of the Gorge, lads! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Aim as keen as the elves, lads!
Masters? None but ourselves, lads! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Steady down the path, girls!
Bring Cuiraecen's wrath, girls! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Bring the Empire to shame, girls!
With our thunder and flame, girls! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Steady as it goes, lads!
'Neath the hawk, wave, and rose, lads! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Cuinn the Countess, she came, lads!
With her thunder and flame, lads! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Steady drive the nags, girls!
'Neath brave new griffon flags, girls! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Cuinn the Countess, she came, girls!
To break two sets of chains, girls! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
With the Lady of Thunder who rides on her left
Mara Firehawk rides on her right
With the Lords of Portage and Bayside,to flip
The bird at the Emperor's might!
So we March to take back what is rightfully ours
With our eyes ever fixed on our kill
If Cuinn's arrows should fail to find Thaliere's heart
Then the thunder and flame surely will!
Steady as the forge, lads!
For the pride of the Gorge, lads! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Aim as keen as the elves, lads!
Masters? None but ourselves, lads! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Steady down the path, girls!
Bring Cuiraecen's wrath, girls! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Bring the Empire to shame, girls!
With our thunder and flame, girls! (Hey! Hey! Hi!)
Monday, May 8, 2017
The Northron Skein - Part 4
Cathal prepares to move south with Dolan and the rest of the
warriors provided by Fulgrim. Njorna enters the yard, visibly distraught, and
rushes to Cathal, saying she has seen the blood of Thrumrsson’s hostages
staining the gold they prepare to send in payment for the Gryphon stone. Cathal’s
conscience takes control, and he commands his warriors to make ready for the
ride back to the bear lord’s hold.
The journey is quicker this time; they ride hard and know the terrain better. Cathal sends out scouts and outriders upon crossing into The White Witch’s Realm. One returns with news that Thrumrsson’s hold is under attack. Cathal, worried that the Yngvi captives may be in imminent danger, forces a march the rest of the way.
When they reach the hold, the Northern walls are under assault by another, superior band of Trygvaar warriors. Thrumrsson’s fortress is ablaze, and chaos calls out within. Cathal wastes no time. He gathers his swiftest and quietest followers, and scales the south wall of the fortress. They meet no resistance there. It seems all of the bear-chief’s fighters are occupied. Cathal orders a few warriors to the south-east gate to let in the rest of their band, ordering them to secure their retreat. He orders his three scouts to spy the battle-line, and to return to him should the captives be among those fighting. He and seven other warriors, including Dolan and Egil, move to infiltrate the main hall.
They find a group of Trygvaar women, children, elderly and sickly in the hall. Cathal briefly considers taking them back to Hogunmark with his band when they retreat, but errs on the side of practicality. He informs them that the Southeast gate is clear, and that if they wish to try their luck in escaping, they may. Only half of the Trygvaar take him up on the offer, the others grumbling stubbornly.
Cathal, Egil and Dolan ascend to the upper level of the hall, sending the other four huscarls into the cellars below, all searching for the Yngvi captives. Cathal’s group stumbles on a small team of Trygvaar warriors attempting to batter down a barricaded door. Caring little about for which side they fight, Cathal rushes them, killing one instantly and wounding another. Dolan and Egil fall in behind him and they make short work of the surprised Trygvaar. Cathal knocks on the blocked door and calls out, identifying himself and his intention. There is no answer, and the sound of fighting rises from below. The three of them rush to the cellars to come to the aid of the other Yngvi.
There, they find the hostages locked in crude iron cages, but three of their allies are locked in combat with some of Thrumrsson’s raiders, another is wounded on the floor. Cathal orders Dolan to free the Yngvi hostages while he uses his blood to heal the fallen warrior. He, Egil, and the man he healed then charge to reinforce their companions. Cathal fights ferociously, felling Trygvaar wherever he casts his blade, Egil also makes a brave accounting, and the Trygvaars’ nerve quickly breaks, though another Yngvi suffers a wound. The attacking force eventually breaks into the cellar, a deep, cavernous hall, and Thrumrsson’s men are forced to leave the Yngvi to their task, or be slaughtered between their two foes. Dolan has, by then, freed the hostages.
Cathal leads them out of the dungeons, and covers their escape. As he stands at guard, a large warrior, not one of Thorbjorn’s, calls out as the attackers breach the hall at the other end. He is a massive, black silhouette against the fires outside.
“IT’S HIM,” He screams, “THE ONE THE LADY SEEKS!”
Cathal calmly spreads his hands, gives the warrior his best leg and yells
“Tell your queen that I am flattered, but I really must be going!”
He and the other Yngvi mount up outside, and flee back to Hogunmark.
Upon arriving, they are given a hero’s welcome. Cathal is loath to rest too long though, and almost immediately prepares to depart for Rjuvik. Fulgrim informs him that warriors belonging to other Jarls have arrived in Veikanger, having heard of Cathal’s quest. Some twenty or thirty from all over Hogunmark, asking to join his band.
Cathal meets with them and consults Dolan as to which he should bring. The cagey mercenary offers his opinions, saying there are some whose motivations are not clear, and they must be left behind. Cathal thanks Dolan for his counsel, but chooses to bring them all in the end, though is careful to set up watches in which Yngvi always outnumber the newcomers among the waking.
His band, now close to seventy strong, makes for the south. There they must seek out an ancient barrow; a time-haunted burial mound near the fetid swamps of Dankmaar, and within a day’s ride of Viborg, where the Reaver Queen is said to have her hall.
The journey is quicker this time; they ride hard and know the terrain better. Cathal sends out scouts and outriders upon crossing into The White Witch’s Realm. One returns with news that Thrumrsson’s hold is under attack. Cathal, worried that the Yngvi captives may be in imminent danger, forces a march the rest of the way.
When they reach the hold, the Northern walls are under assault by another, superior band of Trygvaar warriors. Thrumrsson’s fortress is ablaze, and chaos calls out within. Cathal wastes no time. He gathers his swiftest and quietest followers, and scales the south wall of the fortress. They meet no resistance there. It seems all of the bear-chief’s fighters are occupied. Cathal orders a few warriors to the south-east gate to let in the rest of their band, ordering them to secure their retreat. He orders his three scouts to spy the battle-line, and to return to him should the captives be among those fighting. He and seven other warriors, including Dolan and Egil, move to infiltrate the main hall.
They find a group of Trygvaar women, children, elderly and sickly in the hall. Cathal briefly considers taking them back to Hogunmark with his band when they retreat, but errs on the side of practicality. He informs them that the Southeast gate is clear, and that if they wish to try their luck in escaping, they may. Only half of the Trygvaar take him up on the offer, the others grumbling stubbornly.
Cathal, Egil and Dolan ascend to the upper level of the hall, sending the other four huscarls into the cellars below, all searching for the Yngvi captives. Cathal’s group stumbles on a small team of Trygvaar warriors attempting to batter down a barricaded door. Caring little about for which side they fight, Cathal rushes them, killing one instantly and wounding another. Dolan and Egil fall in behind him and they make short work of the surprised Trygvaar. Cathal knocks on the blocked door and calls out, identifying himself and his intention. There is no answer, and the sound of fighting rises from below. The three of them rush to the cellars to come to the aid of the other Yngvi.
There, they find the hostages locked in crude iron cages, but three of their allies are locked in combat with some of Thrumrsson’s raiders, another is wounded on the floor. Cathal orders Dolan to free the Yngvi hostages while he uses his blood to heal the fallen warrior. He, Egil, and the man he healed then charge to reinforce their companions. Cathal fights ferociously, felling Trygvaar wherever he casts his blade, Egil also makes a brave accounting, and the Trygvaars’ nerve quickly breaks, though another Yngvi suffers a wound. The attacking force eventually breaks into the cellar, a deep, cavernous hall, and Thrumrsson’s men are forced to leave the Yngvi to their task, or be slaughtered between their two foes. Dolan has, by then, freed the hostages.
Cathal leads them out of the dungeons, and covers their escape. As he stands at guard, a large warrior, not one of Thorbjorn’s, calls out as the attackers breach the hall at the other end. He is a massive, black silhouette against the fires outside.
“IT’S HIM,” He screams, “THE ONE THE LADY SEEKS!”
Cathal calmly spreads his hands, gives the warrior his best leg and yells
“Tell your queen that I am flattered, but I really must be going!”
He and the other Yngvi mount up outside, and flee back to Hogunmark.
Upon arriving, they are given a hero’s welcome. Cathal is loath to rest too long though, and almost immediately prepares to depart for Rjuvik. Fulgrim informs him that warriors belonging to other Jarls have arrived in Veikanger, having heard of Cathal’s quest. Some twenty or thirty from all over Hogunmark, asking to join his band.
Cathal meets with them and consults Dolan as to which he should bring. The cagey mercenary offers his opinions, saying there are some whose motivations are not clear, and they must be left behind. Cathal thanks Dolan for his counsel, but chooses to bring them all in the end, though is careful to set up watches in which Yngvi always outnumber the newcomers among the waking.
His band, now close to seventy strong, makes for the south. There they must seek out an ancient barrow; a time-haunted burial mound near the fetid swamps of Dankmaar, and within a day’s ride of Viborg, where the Reaver Queen is said to have her hall.
Friday, May 5, 2017
After party
It is deep in the night when the Priestess tosses the roiling masses from her tent; she pushes them out into the blackness to find their beds or folly. They wander off in pairs or more toward the still-burning fires throughout the war camp.
Aerona is pacing - rolling her shoulders, her hands raised up in a guard. She should be exhausted but she’s ravenous. Nothing: not sex, nor drink, nor food has quenched the electric buzz of her limbs. Nothing can sate the blaze in her belly. She’s the lioness rampant tonight.
The conflict is as yet unfinished - and the unbridled hunger of Cuiraécen flows through his Priestess. Aerona curses herself for encouraging Mara and Cuinn to ride off without her - choosing instead to march in with the infantry. She rages at her inability to have brought her confrontation with the Haelynite to its fateful conclusion. The Knights Hawk have been decimated, their leader Iseult Bennett remains close to death, and Laurentius has fallen; all these things she laments. If she were a devotee of Nesirie, she would sink her body to the neck into the river and wail for the fallen.
“Let my sword lance the wicked as the knife lances a wound, oh Lord Cuiraécen. Let me strip from myself that which is unworthy of your Favour.”
There is naught she can do but avenge the exalted dead. Aerona had stood firm - the rock upon which the wave broke, but the infantry streamed behind, crushed between two lines of Anuireans. Her ghostly Shield Brothers - terrifying in their luminous ferocity - had struck down any who dared approach, isolating her at the front of the phalanx. But it wasn’t enough. She knew without doubt that the Haelynite would have been forced to his knees before her: when the retreat was called, he’d slunk away heavily wounded. Her own infantry however had barely survived the fight.
Aerona lit incense and oiled herself before her altar. Eyes closed, she thanked the Protector of the Weak for protecting her - for sending her to Wilders Gorge, and saving her from herself. Cuinn and Mara, and the people of the Gorge, and of Taeghas herself had opened before Aerona like a gift. She’d discovered her passion in the people she’d left behind a long time ago. This kingdom had risen up to meet Cuinn’s ambitions with a fervor that surprised and delighted the Priestess. Surely the hand of Cuiraécen had guided Balros in sending her here - if only to bear witness to an army turning on itself at the order of the Lost Queen of Taeghas. Cuinn and Mara were so unimaginably powerful - everywhere they went the world reshaped around them. Aerona saw the hands of the gods in their wake.
There’s a shadow in the doorway.
Aerona is on her feet before the the intruder makes it through the tent flap but her punch is wide and is blocked by an elbow. The palm strike to her abdomen pushes her back further into the tent, but her attacker is just fending her off. It's a moment before Aerona connects the tall, dark-haired man with the Haelynite. He is dressed in plain clothes, and his shoulder length hair hangs free. Once inside the doorway, he stands silently before her. Aerona could yell, and the entire camp would be upon them. The Haelynite stares intently into her face, dark eyes smouldering.
Somewhere in the distance thunder rolls. Aerona rolls atop him as soon as they are able to tear his clothes from his body. They don't talk, not yet, but both are determined to outlast the other. Here too, Aerona sets out to prove her mettle.
Shrapnel
Cuinn was having trouble sleeping.
She was exhausted; was in fact beyond exhausted and still running on the dregs of battle-rage and desperation and terror. Still, this was hardly an unusual event. Even before Reynhild Andersdottir and her ill-gotten gift of gods-touched hyper-alertness, Cuinn rarely slept more than a consecutive few hours. It was likely a result, she figured, of growing up in a world where your companions would like as not slip a knife between your ribs for your boots or the handful of jerky in your purse.
She'd even taken the precaution of pitching her tent well away from Mara's and Aerona's. They certainly didn't help. Mara was apt to shout phrases in ancient mystic languages in her sleep, some of which would make the room shake, glowing sigils half-appear in the air before winking out, or summon a stink of brimstone. Aerona either snored, particularly if she'd been drinking, or kept all and sundry awake with ecstatic cries from her tent's other occupant, or occupants. Or both.
Only next to Corrac had she ever slept the untroubled six or more hours' span of sleep that everyone else in the world seemed to relish.
For a brief moment she pictured him sitting next to her at the open flap of her battlefield tent, clad in his field plate, stropping a dent from the edge of his sword. What would you think of all this? she wondered. Would you grin at me wryly? Remark "Reyn, my star, don't you think this has all gotten a little out of hand?"
Because at some point, she realized, she had ceased doing this to honour Corrac's memory, or Cullan's. Nay, at some point, the burning ambition that kept her rushing headlong down this foolhardy path stopped flowing from any other source but inside her.
And with a twinge of guilt, she realized it had been a long time since she had thought of Corrac. His shade seemed a firefly burning a bright trail through the darkness of her memory, something precious but evanescent, where it used to feel like an anchor dragging her to the bottom of an abyss of loss.
Cuinn winced; she was more bandaged and poulticed wounds than hale flesh at the moment. She had nearly died; she had not gazed death so squarely in its vacant eye sockets since the battle with the Bladesingers. Her face smarted. Thaliere's greatsword--a handsome, monstrously large thing with an onyx dragon head for a pommel-- had taken the tip off her right earlobe, slashed along her lower right jaw and chin, cleaved clean through her cuirass and into the flesh beneath her left shoulder. If she'd been a fraction of a second slower, the erstwhile Countess would have taken her head clean off. As it was, she would carry the scar from their fight. Aerona had offered to try and heal it, but Cuinn declined. Thousands of men and women have died, for the ambitions of dukes and emperors, for our lofty notions of independence, for my desire to see the lost glory of House Fulcairn restored. Thousands of men and women have given up far more than a gobbet of flesh. Let me see them, let me remember them every time I look in the mirror.
She rose and walked into the night. An eerie stillness had descended on the valley. The dying had been put out of their misery, and the wounded had, through Aerona's spells and more mundane medicines, at least found some rest. The carrion crows had been driven off. The only sound was the wind, and the last crackling embers of the pyres where bodies burned.
Tomorrow, she would ask Aerona to use her skill at magically shaping stone to erect a monument for the fallen, here on the valley floor. A griffon taking flight, perhaps, to commemorate their bravery in the fight for Taeghas' freedom. A touch of irony; a flying creature it might be, but she knew she would carry its monolithic weight always.
''Tis a great victory we have won today, but I feel the weight on my heart and the scar on my face more than the victory. And perhaps this is as it should be. The day I throw away lives on a whim is the day I am no longer fit to lead.
Something glittering caught her eye as she walked. There, in a pile of iron shrapnel, was a handful of chips and splinters from the ensorceled rubies that had powered the arcanist Xander's iron construct. She bent to pick them up; they gleamed like spilt blood in her palm.
Maybe I'll have one set into the Crown of the Taeghan Kings, she mused.
So many deaths, all for my desire to see the lost glory of House Fulcairn restored.
My desire.
I am no one's grieving widow anymore. No one's wife. No one's paramour. I am no longer an impostor, a bandit, a grifter playing at respectability. I am Cuinn Fulcairn.
As she walked away, two teenage squires from Seasdeep, who'd sneaked from their encampment hoping to scavenge bits from the golem's remains, timidly crept closer. One pointed at her retreating silhouette and whispered "The Titanslayer" to the other, but she didn't hear him.
She was exhausted; was in fact beyond exhausted and still running on the dregs of battle-rage and desperation and terror. Still, this was hardly an unusual event. Even before Reynhild Andersdottir and her ill-gotten gift of gods-touched hyper-alertness, Cuinn rarely slept more than a consecutive few hours. It was likely a result, she figured, of growing up in a world where your companions would like as not slip a knife between your ribs for your boots or the handful of jerky in your purse.
She'd even taken the precaution of pitching her tent well away from Mara's and Aerona's. They certainly didn't help. Mara was apt to shout phrases in ancient mystic languages in her sleep, some of which would make the room shake, glowing sigils half-appear in the air before winking out, or summon a stink of brimstone. Aerona either snored, particularly if she'd been drinking, or kept all and sundry awake with ecstatic cries from her tent's other occupant, or occupants. Or both.
Only next to Corrac had she ever slept the untroubled six or more hours' span of sleep that everyone else in the world seemed to relish.
For a brief moment she pictured him sitting next to her at the open flap of her battlefield tent, clad in his field plate, stropping a dent from the edge of his sword. What would you think of all this? she wondered. Would you grin at me wryly? Remark "Reyn, my star, don't you think this has all gotten a little out of hand?"
Because at some point, she realized, she had ceased doing this to honour Corrac's memory, or Cullan's. Nay, at some point, the burning ambition that kept her rushing headlong down this foolhardy path stopped flowing from any other source but inside her.
And with a twinge of guilt, she realized it had been a long time since she had thought of Corrac. His shade seemed a firefly burning a bright trail through the darkness of her memory, something precious but evanescent, where it used to feel like an anchor dragging her to the bottom of an abyss of loss.
Cuinn winced; she was more bandaged and poulticed wounds than hale flesh at the moment. She had nearly died; she had not gazed death so squarely in its vacant eye sockets since the battle with the Bladesingers. Her face smarted. Thaliere's greatsword--a handsome, monstrously large thing with an onyx dragon head for a pommel-- had taken the tip off her right earlobe, slashed along her lower right jaw and chin, cleaved clean through her cuirass and into the flesh beneath her left shoulder. If she'd been a fraction of a second slower, the erstwhile Countess would have taken her head clean off. As it was, she would carry the scar from their fight. Aerona had offered to try and heal it, but Cuinn declined. Thousands of men and women have died, for the ambitions of dukes and emperors, for our lofty notions of independence, for my desire to see the lost glory of House Fulcairn restored. Thousands of men and women have given up far more than a gobbet of flesh. Let me see them, let me remember them every time I look in the mirror.
She rose and walked into the night. An eerie stillness had descended on the valley. The dying had been put out of their misery, and the wounded had, through Aerona's spells and more mundane medicines, at least found some rest. The carrion crows had been driven off. The only sound was the wind, and the last crackling embers of the pyres where bodies burned.
Tomorrow, she would ask Aerona to use her skill at magically shaping stone to erect a monument for the fallen, here on the valley floor. A griffon taking flight, perhaps, to commemorate their bravery in the fight for Taeghas' freedom. A touch of irony; a flying creature it might be, but she knew she would carry its monolithic weight always.
''Tis a great victory we have won today, but I feel the weight on my heart and the scar on my face more than the victory. And perhaps this is as it should be. The day I throw away lives on a whim is the day I am no longer fit to lead.
Something glittering caught her eye as she walked. There, in a pile of iron shrapnel, was a handful of chips and splinters from the ensorceled rubies that had powered the arcanist Xander's iron construct. She bent to pick them up; they gleamed like spilt blood in her palm.
Maybe I'll have one set into the Crown of the Taeghan Kings, she mused.
So many deaths, all for my desire to see the lost glory of House Fulcairn restored.
My desire.
I am no one's grieving widow anymore. No one's wife. No one's paramour. I am no longer an impostor, a bandit, a grifter playing at respectability. I am Cuinn Fulcairn.
As she walked away, two teenage squires from Seasdeep, who'd sneaked from their encampment hoping to scavenge bits from the golem's remains, timidly crept closer. One pointed at her retreating silhouette and whispered "The Titanslayer" to the other, but she didn't hear him.
Monday, May 1, 2017
SESSION 38 RECAP
The Fulcairns discuss the plans for the spring campaign with Count Tychon and Count Ukko. They decide they must intercept the Imperial army enroute to Stormpoint and appeal to the Taeghans to join them as a free and independent Taeghas. Cuinn discloses two things to the other counts-- the ancient crown of Taeghan kings, and the documents proving House Fulcairn once ruled Taeghas. Ukko states that these make her not just a rebel, but a legitimate claimant. Emboldened, they part ways until spring.
The armies of Wilder's Gorge, Bayside, and Portage begin to march. Aerona dispatches a magical message to Caern of Redstone, bidding him to join the fight for an independent Taeghas. Both armies' scouts become aware of each other, and the Imperial army sends a messenger to offer terms of surrender-- Thaliere vows that the soldiers will go unharmed if they join the host enroute to Stormpoint. In lieu of answering, Cuinn, resplendent in the tabard with the new crowned-griffon heraldry of free Taeghas, with hawk on wrist and a cairnhound following alongside, addresses the army, her voice magically boosted by Aerona. She entreats the Taeghan army to join them and fight for the freedom of Taeghas and its destiny as a sovereign nation and people, free from the yokes of both Boeruine and Avanil. The Imperial envoy leaves, Count Tychon spits at the ground in his wake, and the armies mobilize.
The Imperial army is a terrifying sight-- more than twice the size of the northern Taeghan army, equipped with siege engines and the wagons of the Imperial mage, the arcanist Xander. The Fulcairns nonetheless grimly urge their army forward. Suddenly a cry is heard from the Imperial army, urging Taeghans to fulfill their duty to the land and the common people of Taeghas. Someone names the speaker Valmyrri-- the long-lost vassal house of Wilder's Gorge. A mysterious vibration is felt. Two units, formerly in service to Islien, and a unit of Seasdeep turn against the Imperial army. The Silver Lions, led by Corliss Isilvaere, waver, undecided as to their allegiances.
The fighting begins in deadly earnest. Mara summons her horde of firehawks, Cuinn stays to protect her, and Aerona descends into the fray with the Bayside elite infantry. Almost immediately, a horrifying sight appears-- Xander has raised a massive iron golem encrusted with gems. Immune to normal weapons, it begins slaughtering the Valmyrri soldiers.
Cuinn, wielding her magical bow from Melehan's armoury, sends volley after volley at the iron titan. Mara, catching sight of Xander, sends a fireball not at him, but at his wagon of supplies. The alchemical reagents explode in a massive mushroom cloud, slaying a number of bystanders, though Xander manages to evade.
Aerona summons her ghostly warrior guardians and attempts to hold back the enemy infantry, but the Bayside infantry is taking heavy losses. Soon she finds herself face to face with the Haelynite priest whose magic is healing and bolstering them, and the two begin trading blows.
Xander and Mara are locked in a magical duel; Xander attempts to magically change Mara's form. She evades, but traps him in a sphere of magic, where he is immune to attacks but is unable to cast. He can, however, move slowly, and begins to inch away. They cannot give chase, for soon, Thaliere herself, face red with rage, and her Dragon Knights, are upon Cuinn, Mara, and their men-at-arms. Despite the protective shields of the Dragon Knights, Cuinn manages to strike Thaliere with two arrows before they are upon them and Cuinn is forced to drop her bow.
The Silver Lions, Corliss Isilvaere's unit, turns against the other units of Islien and joins the Taeghans, effectively betraying her father and family.
Mara's young mage assistant, Dorian, bravely takes on a Dragon Knight singlehandedly; all his magical abilities barely help him stay alive, and Mara can only watch, horrified. Their men-at-arms are clearly outmatched by the Dragon Knights, and Cuinn cannot stand toe-to-toe with Thaliere in melee combat; Thaliere rains blows on Cuinn, gravely wounding her. Cuinn gets in a lucky strike with her blades, and an odd golden light seeps from the wounds-- the Haelynite priest's magic has saved Thaliere's life. Mara makes a desperate, dangerous gamble-- she throws a fireball directly into the melee. A Dragon Knight hurls himself on Thaliere, taking most, but not all, of the damage for her. Taeghan men-at-arms and Dragon Knights alike perish in the blaze, but Cuinn's god-touched blood protects her; the majority of the flames sluice harmlessly off her. But Thaliere and two Dragon Knights survive, and rise.
Both Cuinn and Thaliere are so grievously wounded that both can barely stand and continue fighting. Mara draws her own blood to gain the power to cast one final spell-- she sends a storm of magic missiles at Thaliere that cut through her armour and perforate her body in a dozen places... finally slaying her.
Aerona and the Haelynite priest are locked in combat, and Aerona has greatly injured the priest, but she realizes that the decimated Bayside infantry are falling back, and she disengages to join them, shrugging off a handful of javelin strikes as she retreats.
The Taeghan men-at-arms surge forward to protect Cuinn, Mara, and Dorian, just as a horn sounds-- the Imperial army are finally falling back. The battle is won, at least for now. Miraculously, the other heads of the Houses have survived. They quickly confer over what to do. Tychon, ever zealous, wishes to pursue them and drive them off forever, but Ukko and Cuinn believe they need to regroup, tend the wounded, and assess the situation further, as the Imperial army has merely retreated, not been routed decisively.
Cuinn and Mara are greeted on the field by a trio of brothers who state they are of House Valmyrri. Cuinn thanks them for their service. One of them notes that his ancient legacy sword, the heirloom of their house, is still vibrating-- the characteristic vibration they all had sensed earlier in the battle. Cuinn asks what it means, but he replies "A family matter" and says no more.
The armies of Wilder's Gorge, Bayside, and Portage begin to march. Aerona dispatches a magical message to Caern of Redstone, bidding him to join the fight for an independent Taeghas. Both armies' scouts become aware of each other, and the Imperial army sends a messenger to offer terms of surrender-- Thaliere vows that the soldiers will go unharmed if they join the host enroute to Stormpoint. In lieu of answering, Cuinn, resplendent in the tabard with the new crowned-griffon heraldry of free Taeghas, with hawk on wrist and a cairnhound following alongside, addresses the army, her voice magically boosted by Aerona. She entreats the Taeghan army to join them and fight for the freedom of Taeghas and its destiny as a sovereign nation and people, free from the yokes of both Boeruine and Avanil. The Imperial envoy leaves, Count Tychon spits at the ground in his wake, and the armies mobilize.
The Imperial army is a terrifying sight-- more than twice the size of the northern Taeghan army, equipped with siege engines and the wagons of the Imperial mage, the arcanist Xander. The Fulcairns nonetheless grimly urge their army forward. Suddenly a cry is heard from the Imperial army, urging Taeghans to fulfill their duty to the land and the common people of Taeghas. Someone names the speaker Valmyrri-- the long-lost vassal house of Wilder's Gorge. A mysterious vibration is felt. Two units, formerly in service to Islien, and a unit of Seasdeep turn against the Imperial army. The Silver Lions, led by Corliss Isilvaere, waver, undecided as to their allegiances.
The fighting begins in deadly earnest. Mara summons her horde of firehawks, Cuinn stays to protect her, and Aerona descends into the fray with the Bayside elite infantry. Almost immediately, a horrifying sight appears-- Xander has raised a massive iron golem encrusted with gems. Immune to normal weapons, it begins slaughtering the Valmyrri soldiers.
Cuinn, wielding her magical bow from Melehan's armoury, sends volley after volley at the iron titan. Mara, catching sight of Xander, sends a fireball not at him, but at his wagon of supplies. The alchemical reagents explode in a massive mushroom cloud, slaying a number of bystanders, though Xander manages to evade.
Aerona summons her ghostly warrior guardians and attempts to hold back the enemy infantry, but the Bayside infantry is taking heavy losses. Soon she finds herself face to face with the Haelynite priest whose magic is healing and bolstering them, and the two begin trading blows.
Xander and Mara are locked in a magical duel; Xander attempts to magically change Mara's form. She evades, but traps him in a sphere of magic, where he is immune to attacks but is unable to cast. He can, however, move slowly, and begins to inch away. They cannot give chase, for soon, Thaliere herself, face red with rage, and her Dragon Knights, are upon Cuinn, Mara, and their men-at-arms. Despite the protective shields of the Dragon Knights, Cuinn manages to strike Thaliere with two arrows before they are upon them and Cuinn is forced to drop her bow.
The Silver Lions, Corliss Isilvaere's unit, turns against the other units of Islien and joins the Taeghans, effectively betraying her father and family.
Mara's young mage assistant, Dorian, bravely takes on a Dragon Knight singlehandedly; all his magical abilities barely help him stay alive, and Mara can only watch, horrified. Their men-at-arms are clearly outmatched by the Dragon Knights, and Cuinn cannot stand toe-to-toe with Thaliere in melee combat; Thaliere rains blows on Cuinn, gravely wounding her. Cuinn gets in a lucky strike with her blades, and an odd golden light seeps from the wounds-- the Haelynite priest's magic has saved Thaliere's life. Mara makes a desperate, dangerous gamble-- she throws a fireball directly into the melee. A Dragon Knight hurls himself on Thaliere, taking most, but not all, of the damage for her. Taeghan men-at-arms and Dragon Knights alike perish in the blaze, but Cuinn's god-touched blood protects her; the majority of the flames sluice harmlessly off her. But Thaliere and two Dragon Knights survive, and rise.
Both Cuinn and Thaliere are so grievously wounded that both can barely stand and continue fighting. Mara draws her own blood to gain the power to cast one final spell-- she sends a storm of magic missiles at Thaliere that cut through her armour and perforate her body in a dozen places... finally slaying her.
Aerona and the Haelynite priest are locked in combat, and Aerona has greatly injured the priest, but she realizes that the decimated Bayside infantry are falling back, and she disengages to join them, shrugging off a handful of javelin strikes as she retreats.
The Taeghan men-at-arms surge forward to protect Cuinn, Mara, and Dorian, just as a horn sounds-- the Imperial army are finally falling back. The battle is won, at least for now. Miraculously, the other heads of the Houses have survived. They quickly confer over what to do. Tychon, ever zealous, wishes to pursue them and drive them off forever, but Ukko and Cuinn believe they need to regroup, tend the wounded, and assess the situation further, as the Imperial army has merely retreated, not been routed decisively.
Cuinn and Mara are greeted on the field by a trio of brothers who state they are of House Valmyrri. Cuinn thanks them for their service. One of them notes that his ancient legacy sword, the heirloom of their house, is still vibrating-- the characteristic vibration they all had sensed earlier in the battle. Cuinn asks what it means, but he replies "A family matter" and says no more.
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