[Pathfinder] Journeys.

[cn3wton]

 “Is he yours?... Never mind that, take him down…gently, set him by hut wall over here” 

 

As Henry moves to gently remove the boy from the saddle he mumbles, "Mine? No.. no... Connor, he's Connor. His father..." his thoughts bring him back to the still form of Jerihm lying face down in the street.

 

“I am Markas,and I will do what I can, but I need to know what happened to give him the best chance”. 

 

"Stabbed by, dreads. Evil men." Henry placed the boy gently down on the bedroll, keeping a watchful eye on this Markas. Once content the man would aid the boy he moved to Albus. He cringed as he saw the boys blood wetting the side of the beast. He leaned in close "Watch over them Albus." Then he motioned to the boy and the man Henry prayed was some kind of healer. This was a command Albus knew well, and the great beast moved to them, ears up. Ready to defend them.

 

Henry turned and began to look for something to wield as a weapon. He looked down. His hands where stained in the boys blood. He clenched them into fists.

 

He would defend the boy at all costs.

[Laghail]

Breaking from cover at a run, Tvar has unsheathed his machete but is holding it reversed as he slides to a stop next to Rakki with his arms spread wide towards the approaching dreads. "Peace nightmares, peace! My friend here has claimed the gnome as her own and I can make good any debt the small one owes you. No blood needs be shed here today!" On his mad dash over, Tvar hadn't been craning his neck to take in the sights, but even as he makes a shouted plea for peace, his hindbrain informs him that the peals of silver light in the sky aren't normal. With so many armored foes rounding on the gnome that Rakki has chosen as a friend, Tvar knows he has to try and forestall violence, even if only for a chance to attack on his terms.  He growls out "hold Rakki, hold!", while he tries to make sense of a burning city that sheds silver streamers.

[Terinatum]

Oramac’s voice was barely loud enough for Bronan to hear. His battle wasn’t particularly difficult with only three left of the five, but the city’s turmoil made comprehending Oramac’s words impossible. Bronan swings a great arch and fells 2 dreads at once. Granted one was already wounded, but the picture it paints for him is satisfying. He turns a quick look with a grin to see if Bacon saw the dreads flying away in pieces. Bronan comes to a hard stop, right elbows the last dread and steps off quickly toward where Bacon once was. The field is bloody and of the hordes that fled the city, many did not make it to the trees. He hurries his stride spotting Bacon’s magic vines, but still cannot see LittleBro.

The sky is full of silver and Bronan feels the power that is coming with it. The timing is good for him. This may distract the others enough that he can find – Bronan skids to a stop not four feet from Bacon’s unmoving body sunk deep into the blood and mud of the once green grasses. He clouts one dread in the head, exploding it and whacks down on the other all while focusing on his friend. Bronan knows this isn’t good and though the city could use help, it seems as though it doesn’t need him as much as his friend did. The decision is not difficult.

He leans down and pulls Bacon from the grime more gently than one might think possible of a huge brobarian. He supports Bacon with his shield arm. Bronan turns to leave the way they had just come, looking for Oramac and heading toward the trail that lead back to the river.

[WhiteGhost]

As Quavyn peered out from behind the bush he was using as concealment, he was able to start piecing together what was going on.  The dreads were clearly on a rampage, but it was far from clear what drove them over the edge.  Just yesterday he had sold some cooking pots to a group of them.  Suddenly he is drawn out of this line of thinking by an overwhelming sense of power radiating from somewhere within the city.  The feeling of power was wholly unfamiliar to Quavyn, but based on the effect it was having on the dreads, it was clearly coming from an adversary of theirs.  

 

Of particular interest to Quavyn is this puma, which is positioning itself so that it is always between him and the nearest dreads, as if it has chosen to be his personal protector.  "Once this place cools down a bit, I am going to see what you are about, my snarly friend" he thinks to himself.

 

Off to his right, he notices a few people are acting as shepherds for the refugees, getting them into the woods and out of harms way.  One of the women gives him a look indicating the coast is clear but Quavyn simply shakes his head and turn his gaze back to the city.  "This may not be my fight, but I want to find out more about that power in the city.  "I wonder if someone found it already..."

 

Again he is drawn back to the situation at hand as he sees the massive human from Dwarf execution moving into his field of view.  "Aha, I thought that gnome looked familiar" he mutters under his breath.  "What in the world are they doing back here?"  Quavyn watches the massive brobellian causally beat a few dreads to a pulp and takes a not to himself not to anger the brobellian either.  However, when the brobellian picks up the unconscious gnome and starts to head back into the trees, Quavyn is torn.  On one hand he wants to know who these people are and how they are connected to the events unfolding here, but on the other hand, there is still much to learn about the city and the puma.  Ultimately he decides not to follow the brobellian, thinking "If he came back this time, they may be back again another time.  For now, I need to get into the city.  If they haven't found it yet, then maybe..."

 

Turning his attention to the remaining dreads, he mutters "I don't know who is radiating all that power, but I need to make sure I don't make them angry.  Putting down a few of these dreads may make help get me on their good side"

 

He loosens a few of the daggers he has hidden inside his cloak and watches for any dreads that show him their back 

[Terinatum]

The old woman who threw open the door looks down at Connor, her eyes composed and shrewd. The grown men are no threat, in fact they seem to be protecting the boy. She looks at the man with the bow and tells him what she plans. Markas hears the woman’s words, but has to look deep within himself to remember the strong roots of the celestial language. His closest translation is ‘safe harbor.’ An uncertain look is left on his face as the woman switches to common. “Look, it’s safer in here. Connor needs to be out of view.”

“You know him? Connor?” Henry isn’t happy with all the unknowns, and not just the language, but safety was definitely what Connor needed. And if she knew him… She looks quickly to the other man, the one once behind the door. His look of defiant concern eases her apprehension immediately, he and his powerful beast are welcome. She looks around to find safe places and her light-colored eyes grow wide in surprise of the damage around her tiny, entirely undamaged hut. “Your horse won’t fit, I’m sorry. That one there,” she points to the building directly opposite hers that is not on fire, “should be enough to hide him for now.”

“I will keep guard out here with Albus. It is best this way. You swear you will bring no harm to the boy? Swear it!”

“I swear it.” She bows her head slightly to assure the man of her sincerity. She looks around the side of the hut and sees the broken wall and the bodies of people and dreads.

 

----------------------

 

As the dread is taken by the vines, Tvar turns to find other enemies. He spots his companion frightening off the last standing dread, its desperate trot back to the city brings a measure of almost comical relief. Another dread near the wall joins and they disappear into the city. Tvar helps a wounded old woman to her feet and looks for any bleeding.

Quavyn is relieved that what little time he had to get daggers into the dread was now unnecessary. The immediate battle was over, but the city still raged on. Was there a way to get closer to that powerful magic? Find its source?

 

------------------------

 

A loud shriek breaks the focus of everyone. A silver and blue orb flashes through the sky. It is too intense not to take notice of. The shriek grows in loudness if that is possible as it is reaching its desired height. Without pause the shriek ceases and the orb burst open releasing silver and blue threads of light. The threads fall to the ground and onto roof tops, covering a great swath of the city. More importantly, the threads fall on the dead bodies. Some of those dead bodies start to rise.

 

-----------------------

 

The woman seems the least surprised. “How many will rise nearby?” The woman waves out two people from her hut. One young man comes out, his clothes are clean, worn thin, and easily three sizes too big. The woman who joins him looks to be aged between the boy and the old woman, but looks nothing like possible family. Her skin is a much deeper brown that looks black as she stands in the shadow of the hut. Her hair, however, is all white. She keeps it braided and wrapped around her neck away for enemy hands. An obvious soldier. “Go past the wall, get any who are still able to defend this place!” They start around the corner of the hut. “Ah! Garto!” The old woman waves the two down out of sight with a harsh whisper as two wounded dreads stumble through the broken wall at an awkward trot, back into the city, a strange look on their grubby faces. “Xee.” The two new comers disappear quickly beyond the wall.

“Nephew! Zayzo! Come, it’s time. Find the one. He is still close and no longer running, look to the trees. Garto, Xee!” Zayzo darts out of the hut, to the wall, and leaps through the stone and wood, easily landing and sprinting out of sight.

“They will bring those who will fight. And bring the one who can hold it. We need to finish the dig. Bring Connor inside, quickly now.” The old woman gestures to the boy and then inside the hut. Markas bends down to get the boy and Henry and Albus remain alert, keeping a close eye on all the alleyways that lead to their safe haven.

 

-----------------------

 

The neutral good people of the city begin to wake from their death slumber. Many risen ones find themselves away from the battle. They find friends and strangers and after hard stares, tentative hugs, and clasping hands, they regroup. Picking up weapons and shields, they form groups that create walls across roads, a protection for the survivors. Areas of the city are now dread-free and the injured are free to find shelter. And of course, the looters embolden, start their desperate search for treasures of survival to take away with them.

One man wakes alone on a street, a scattering of dead enemies around him. He wipes away the mud, shakes his head and reorients quickly from his death sleep. He scans the area quickly and darts into the building across the way. He searches and searches, but finds no evidence of what he is looking for. He frowns deeply. He turns to a small cabinet and takes out light armor and weapons that clearly were made for him. He straps on his hammer and positions his bow. Striding out to the street, a known course set in his sky-blue eyes, the man in silver moves towards his future.

 

------------------------

 

Quavyn watches the threads fall, impressed and even more curious than before. This is not small-time thing I am witnessing. Not small at all! He sees the others come from the city without dreads on their heels and feels more confident about his chances to find out about this magic. The friend of the puma speaks up.

“Well met! Come help me with these fine folks.” The woman ignores Tvar, but the young boy trots over to help a newly awaken man that lay next to a dead dread. The woman dispatches the dreads still alive in the vines. Darts finding their targets with ease. Another comes running and Tvar tries again. “Easy! What are you running from? It’s safe here.” Tvar’s words go unheeded as a young man sprints by them toward the tree line with only a quick, surprised glance spared for the puma.

Zayzo, the nephew, sprints past the leftovers of a small battle. He makes a straight shot to the tree line, never taking his eyes off the trees. Except of course, his eyes dart quickly to his left in surprise as one shape clearly distracts him. The puma, bloody from its kill. Focus! Where are you? What do I say? Gran! You didn’t tell me how to talk to him!

Quavyn stops moving, and then stops breathing, as a young man comes sprinting his way… directly his way. Before he can move to another spot to test his theory, the boy calls out. “Please, gnome. We need you!” The boy slows as he enters the trees and turns unerringly to Quavyn. “I know this is strange but these are the times we are in. You are the only one who can handle the power. You must help. It is your destiny.” The boy’s face curls in embarrassment at the destiny remark, but regains his composure. “Please sir. It is time.”

The boy seems to think that Quavyn has knowledge of this destiny. Quavyn doesn’t hide the fact that he doesn’t. “Boy, I am Belforth of Whistledown. I am not of this place nor likely to be your destiny-making adventurer. What is this power you speak of?” The idea of power and magic again takes its effect on Quavyn. Well, this would get me closer to the magic I know is happening. I doubt it’s the same. Curious though, what could be going on under the noses of these powerful magicians? That is definitely of interest. “Look, boy. I doubt I am the gnome you are searching for, but I will not leave you unknowing. I will go with you, but not too far into the city as I doubt our combined prowess is enough to keep us safe.”

“It is just inside the walls and there are others to guard us. You will be safe, I assure you. Please though, come now.” The boy turns and starts back to the city. Quavyn shrugs once and follows, staying close to the boy.

The wounded old woman decides to go to the trees where her family went and Tvar nods his understanding. The young boy asks Tvar to come help protect people just inside the wall. The white-haired woman watches the puma with interest as it starts to trot off. Tvar starts following the puma whom has made his decision for him, again.

[WhiteGhost]

It seems the tide has turned and the last remaining Dreads turn back to the city, bringing a small sense of relief to Quavyn as he tightens his daggers back into their sheaths.  As he is doing so, A loud shriek breaks through the dimming sounds of fighting and Quavyn can't help but notice the silvery orb flashing through the sky.  Suddenly the orb seems to burst open, shooting lightning down into the city.  "that is not lightning" Quavyn realizes "this is clearly some powerful magic".  He is now even more determined to seek out the source of the magic.

 

As he is about to step out of the woods towards the city, he sees a young man, maybe a boy, running directly towards him.  Not just in his direction, but directly to where Quavyn is hiding, as if he can see him or knows exactly where he is.  Before he has a chance to find another spot, the boy stops before him and starts babbling about power and destiny as if the boy knew Quavyn.    In the back of his mind, Quavyn keeps wondering if the gnome he is actually looking for is the one who was with the giant human.  "That would certainly make more sense" he thinks "he may not even know there's more than one gnome in the city..."

 

With the battle in this area seemingly over, Quavyn slings his hammer over his back and follows the boy back into the city.  

 

As they walk back towards the city, Quavyn's mind is racing as he tries to take in what has just happened.  This boy obviously knew where he was hiding, but Quavyn is unable to figure out how he could possibly have known.   "It clearly wasn't luck, because he knew exactly where I was" he thought to himself. "I wonder how much he knows"

 

Quavyn starts to second guess his lie about his name, but until he knows more about who he is dealing with he is just more comfortable keeping his true identity concealed.  The boy didn't seem to question his name, so Quavyn is fairly confident that the boy doesn't know who he is.  Fairly confident, yes, but still not sure.  "I will need to watch this one closely to see if he knows or guesses the truth..."  

 

On the way back, the boy invites an orc to come help protect the people in the city, but it seems the orc is more focused on the puma, and follows it as it heads towards the city.  "Hmmm. Seems like the puma and the orc may be traveling companions." Quavyn muses.  Given that the puma seemed to be friendly, Quavyn extends a greeting to the orc 

 

"Greeting fellow traveler!  I am Belforth of Whistledown and it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.  I don't recall having seen you and your puma friend in the city before, are you newly arrived?"   Quavyn flashes the orc a broad grin, which stretches around the ides of his narrow face, exposing a row of crooked teeth.  

 

When they arrive inside the city, Quavyn follows the youth into the hut and his attention is immediately drawn to the group of women involved in some kind of clerical ritual which seems to involve getting something out of  a whole in the ground.  Unable to contain his curiosity, Quavyn leans over to the boy and asks "Are they digging for that thing the Necromancer so desperately wants and has been sending the Dreads to scour the city for?"

 

[Laghail]

Dazzled by the flashes of arcane fire in the sky and the cries of both the dead and post-dead, Tvar lets the battleshock wash over him and focuses on the boy asking for help as twice-damned Rakki hares off after the boy. Following along on their heels, he's lurched out of his run by the specter of a grinning gnome flashing entirely too many teeth for a non-predator. "Belforth is it? What exactly were those creatures attacking you? I'm Tvar and that-" pointing after at the vanishing puma, "-is Rakki."

Ruefully wiping his hand on his leggings, and leaving smears of blood and grime, he shoves the scarred and claw-tipped appendage at Belforth in what could be an invitation for a handshake, if one squints.

"We arrived early this morning to visit friends in the city, but we weren't expecting all of this. Do you live here?"

 

Arriving at the hut, Rakki comically bounces off the doorway as though she struck a barrier. She retreats a few paces outside the door and glares at Tvar, clearly indicating she expects him to act on her behalf. The odor of the place is almost visible, but Tvar is actually comforted by the sickening miasma. He's served his time in the medicine lodges of the hinterlands and, while silver burning skies and walking dead may be new to him, the stink of death certainly isn't. Spotting an unused shovel laying by the wall he stands over it and points, while quirking an eyebrow at the woman he assumes is leading the ritual, wordlessly offering to pitch in.

[WhiteGhost]

"Belforth is it? What exactly were those creatures attacking you? I'm Tvar and that -- is Rakki."

 

Quavyn watched in mild shock as Tvar extended a bloody hand in greeting.  Not wanting to touch it, but also fearing to offend, he pretended to stumble. shifting his hammer to his right hand for support, leaving no free hand for a hand shake.  Pretending he didn't notice the offered hand, Quavyn engaged in small talk with the orc as they return back to the city together.

 

"We arrived early this morning to visit friends in the city, but we weren't expecting all of this. Do you live here?"

 

"I have come here fairly recently myself" Quavyn offered "I arrived about a week or so ago to seek my fortune.  I had a small shop selling trinkets and knick-knacks over by the ... " he gestured towards the burning city ".. well I guess it doesn't matter where now. My shop and all of my thing are gone...." Quavyn sighed and paused dramatically for a moment to try and garner sympathy  "I was lucky to get out with my pack."

 

Gesturing at a fallen Dread, "These creatures that were attacking me were my customers until yesterday.  Suddenly they all went berserk and the city fell into the chaos you see now." On the rest of the walk back, Quavyn characterized to Tvar what the city had been like before the chaos, with the three factions (Dreads, Militia and Priadorions)

[Laghail]

"I have come here fairly recently myself" Quavyn offered "I arrived about a week or so ago to seek my fortune.  I had a small shop selling trinkets and knick-knacks over by the ... " he gestured towards the burning city ".. well I guess it doesn't matter where now. My shop and all of my thing are gone...." Quavyn sighed and paused dramatically for a moment to try and garner sympathy  "I was lucky to get out with my pack."

 

Gesturing at a fallen Dread, "These creatures that were attacking me were my customers until yesterday.  Suddenly they all went berserk and the city fell into the chaos you see now." 

 

"Your customers? What exactly do you sell that made these dreads insane?" Leveling an appraising look down on the gnome, Tvar clarifies, "the elders warned me of the drugs and herbals you city dwellers have, more potent than toadstools even. They said to 'just say no, unless someone else is buying'," he quotes, holding an accusatory expression for a few paces before flashing a fanged snarl at the gnome. If one squinted, it's possible to conclude he meant to offer a teasing smile. If one squinted very hard.

-------------------

Back in the hut, Tvar sees no one objecting as he picks up the shovel and inches up to the hole. In the flurry of diggers and the droning chanters, it's hard to see exactly what they're digging up, and his damn cat is tugging on his sleeve. Pulling loose without looking, he quietly growls, "fleabag, I'm here already. Unless you can swing a pick, shut up and sit down." But the answering retching sounds from Rakki, still protesting the rotting smell in the hut, come from a full bow shot outside. Whirling back to look at the "cat," Tvar sees a small boy cowering, but still desperately pointing to another boy, this one looking dead, laid on on a nearby table. Exasperated, Tvar scoops the brat up by one arm tows him over to his friend, awkwardly steps around the workers and ritualists to finally kneel down by the table and have a look at the bloodied kid. Keeping his voice to a low growl out of deference to the ritual, "alright whelp, I'm looking after your friend, what happened to him?"

Without thinking, Tvar's fingers quirk into the hook-and-draw gesture to heg the injured boy stable. Who, coincidentally, also smells like a stable. A bloody rent in the gash in the kid's shirt reveal fresh bandages wrapping what is probably broken ribs and at least one sword wound underneath. Tvar sees the rough field medicine spits in irritation as he gathers a handful of dirt from the floor with one hand while he rips the the bandages loose of the boy with the other. Ignoring the whelp's yell of protest, Tvar smears the mud into open chest wound and roughly pinches the skin shut over the wound and the dirt, while he mutters a few oddly shaped words. A trickle of power flows unseen from his hand into the boy. Tvar's elder druid always said their sort of magic should be as boring as the growing grass, and about as practical. Now holding the whelp back from frantically trying to defend his friend, Tvar brushes dirt from what's now a healthy, unbroken rib cage with fresh pink skin. "Welp, you ask for my help then freak out when I give it? Make up your mind!" Tvar teases the kid in a rough whisper while the whelp goggles at his apparently sleeping, but healthy friend. For good measure, Tvar pinches the edges of the rip in the kid's shirt together and tugs on the garment, before releasing an unblemished, if filthy shirt. "I can't do anything about the stink on your buddy, but honest dirt never did hurt a man," says Tvar as he stands, retrieves his shovel and steps into the hole to join the diggers.

[WhiteGhost]

"Your customers? What exactly do you sell that made these dreads insane?" Leveling an appraising look down on the gnome, Tvar clarifies, "the elders warned me of the drugs and herbals you city dwellers have, more potent than toadstools even. They said to 'just say no, unless someone else is buying'," he quotes, holding an accusatory expression for a few paces before flashing a fanged snarl at the gnome.

 

Quavyn sputters in indignation at Tvar's accusation but when he sees the orc's grin he himself lets out a hearty chuckle.

 

---------------------

 

Inside the hut, Quavyn turned back from the boy after his question to find the old woman staring at him intently.  Without breaking her gaze she asks "Will you, Knower of Chaos, take on the beginnings of a long quest? For the good of the realm?"

 

Quavyn looks around in bewilderment.  "Knower of Chaos? Long quest? Realm?" his mind races furiously "What is she talking about"

 

Quavyn looks back and the crone questioningly.  "Are you talking to me?  Perhaps you have me confused with someone else.  There was another gnome outside, the one from the dwarf traitor execution?" He glances at the crone for any hint of recognition at the reference.  "Perhaps he is the one you are seeking?  I can go out and look for him if you need him..." 

[cn3wton]

Henry reaches without thought and lifts his waterskin to his lips. He registers the sweet ale and sputters.

 

This is no time for drink you damn fool!

 

He angrily corks the skin and shoves it into his belt, eyeing his companion. 

 

Albus had taken a glancing hit during the brief encounter, but nothing serious. Henry shook his head. 

 

Suddenly the dead around him began to rise! Frantically he looked around and whistled to prepare himself and Album for battle.

 

But none of the dreads rose. 

 

How strange. It seems that only the good people of this town are...

 

Mid thought henry mounted Albums and took off in the direction of the Tavern.

 

I have to trust that they will care for the boy. If there's even a chance his da is alive I have to take it.

 

Albus tore through the city, knocking aside retreating Dreads. He had failed to protect the man once, he would not do so again.

 

As Albus moved Henry's belongings shifted. The corner of an old shield became visible. Ancient, chipped green paint visible on its edge.

 

[WhiteGhost]

Squinting his eyes, Quavyn takes a closer look at the women chanting around the hole, wracking his brain for any recollection of ever having seen any of them before.  Clearly he is the one they are talking about but how could they possibly know anything about him.  "What kind of con is going on here?" he wonders.  "I have no idea what is going on, which means I am clearly the mark".  

 

Quavyn scowls at the thought of being conned but cannot figure out what the end game of this could be.  "The magic is surely real enough, and there are powers beyond my comprehension at play." he muses uncomfortably.  Nothing makes Quanvyn quite as upset as knowing he is being played as a pawn when he prefers to be controlling the game.  The whole affair is putting him a foul mood.

 

 "Only you are strong enough to get this clear of the city and away from prying eyes. They won't track a chaos-maker, believing they could not control the power of this  ... I beg to differ. I sensed your power earlier and have tracked you since. We need you. This realm needs you. The balance is no more. Evil is taking too much ground, and this is why. It shouldn't be here."

 

Quavyn wrinkles his nose as a putrid smell wafts around the room, and he has to steel himself from taking an unconscious step back away from the source.  "That thing smells like death!" Quavyn grumbles.  

 

Turning to face the crone, Quavyn straightens his shoulders and looks her in the eye.  "Look, lady, I don't know what is going on here and don't know anything about this quest.  Before I accept anything I need some answers"  He glances at the other women before continuing "First of all, what is this mission and what exactly do you expect me to be doing?  Second, what is this thing and what is it going to do to me if I touch it?  Lastly, who are you working for? I want to know who is pulling the strings behind the curtain here!"

 

Quavyn glances around at the others in the room, and then turns back to the crone, glaring at her through his mismatched eyes.  Lowering his voice he quietly growls under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear "and how do you know who I am?

[Terinatum]

“You are right, there are strings in this world that reach through the veils to the earth from across many Planes. I can tell you this as it was all that was given to me. Something broke a cornerstone, from where or what I don’t know.

But you’ve seen the angel just now change the course of this battle so where and what this is could be anything, but it is not of this world. A necromancer is hunting this piece to take it and hide it under the earth again, closer to their domain. The evil that radiates around this piece is powerful only when it is sunk into the earth where light cannot find it and water does not touch it.

 

“It has been here for some time, I suppose, as the power seems to need time to switch from its natural good state to that of its evil shadow side. I do not know exactly where this came from, but I do know it belongs with other similar pieces that are said to be scattered on this continent. They need to be reunited to reset the balance. This piece even now pulses with the desire to travel.” She is still for a moment and slowly twists from her hips and faces a new direction. “East.” She twists back to face Quavyn.

 

“I cannot force you to take this out of the city, but I do know there is no other that can resist the charms of the evil that lingers around the stone. And yes, I have searched.” She wipes off more of the mud and the stone seems to be keeping the grime at bay. Where the crevices would surely be caked in dirt, they are unspoiled. “The residue is your concern, that which clings to the barrier of the stone. It will wither in the air and light, but until then, I believe it tries to convince the wielder to rebury it, promising riches and freedom from foes.” She looks distant all of a sudden and then comes back and stares at Quavyn with a touch true compassion and respect. “My God has watched you since you left home, alone. He is sure that you can get this to a safer place, into safe hands.

 

“There is another who will carry it after you. And then yet another. This is the way to beat back the tide of evil that engulfs this land. My God does not demand anything of you. He does not want your faith nor for you to give up who you are. In saner times, He holds freedom first, loyalty second. It is a dangerous time for all and for Him as well. He is struggling to win other battles.” She turns to include Tvar. “If you take this to the East, to the Forest of No-End, there will be rest and relief for your obvious troubles. You are a Druid, yes? You must know of the Keepers of that Forest, and they will trust your word. So you will be able to enter the woods without fear. Guide the stone to the Keepers, Druid. What happens after that I do not know.”

 

The chanting has ended and the women finish their prayers. All three women move to the table where there is food and dig in hungrily. The warrior woman brings a satchel with a white cloth lining the inside and hanging out over the edges. The old woman places it in the satchel and wraps the rest of the cloth over the top before closing the flap. “Open it up to the sky as often as you can during the day and soak the bag in water at night.” She warrior woman holds the satchel, again waiting for Quavyn to decide. Quavyn can see that the outside of the satchel has an amulet stitched into it.

[WhiteGhost]

Quavyn listens as the woman goes into a spiel about good and evil, but his ears perk up as she lets slip an important detail 

 

"I do know there is no other that can resist the charms of the evil that lingers around the stone. And yes, I have searched"

 

Qauvyn smiles inwardly, keeping his outward expression neutral.  "I think I see an angle that I can make this work out nicely.  This must be worth a lot to whomever we are taking it to, and worst case scenario I can always pawn it off for a tidy profit"

 

“Open it up to the sky as often as you can during the day and soak the bag in water at night.” 

 

Quavyn nods along as the woman gives directions for carrying and caring for the slab, feigning concern as she talks about the struggles her God is involved in.

 

"I can see that this quest is of the utmost importance.  I would be honored to serve the cause of righteousness and beat back the evil that is plaguing the realm" he says solemnly.  "How shall I know the person to whom this should be delivered?  We don't want this falling into the Necromancer's hands, so I will need some kind of sign or other way to ensure I am not deceived into giving this to one of his agents."

 

"Also, it is a long and dangerous journey to the Forest of No-End, and we will need supplies and provisions to get us there. Unfortunately the commotion in the city has caught me completely unprepared and I am lucky to have the clothes in my pack.  Anything you you can provide to help us along the journey would be gratefully accepted...  "