IoK Session 8

"They have returned, priestess.  We should join the others to greet them."

Lifting the tent flaps, the Jerule looked out at the gathering crowd.  All activity in the makeshift camp had ceased to hear word of the scouts. 

"This one knows.  The wind has whispered to me.  They will bring words of great forests and of fallen creatures.  Of hungry wolves and of lost children of a betrayed mother."

With those last words, Felsyrlus saw his daughter frown.  She had a kind heart and a soft spot for all of nature.  It was a weakness that he did his best to shield her from, the isles were ruled by warriors and hunters.  They rarely concerned themselves with the feelings of a young srylian.

"Come when you are ready, the dwarves of nine hammers will expect you."

With that, he stepped into the sun and let the flaps close behind him.  It was warm today, sunny.  A good sign for the scouts to return this day. 

Approaching the gathering, the wave of Forgen tongue flowed over him.  A crude language with no subtlety or music.  Hard consonants crushed through oversized teeth.  The dwarves used their tongue for little more than tasting fermented grasses.  He had to concentrate to focus on Fardal's report, attempting to listen to the dwarves anxious report over the cacophony of the others.

_____

"So the hobok and the flatlander, they are riding bears... bare back bear-riding while bearing their bear-skin cloaks!" 

Fardal shouted over the others, reveling in the attention and excitement of the crowd.  Standing on a stump, he raised himself above the others.

"They carry pelts from the wolves they've slain, and skulls from the golyn they've defeated.  The hynn, caked in the blood of his enemies, bears a necklace of golyn ears around his thick neck!"

Mugs raised high at the stories of triumph... all but one.  Benjamin Shipworth stood at the back, a grimace on his lips as he counted out silver.  Drauk Northwind demanding payment in full, it seemed their wager had expanded since its initial agreement.  Fardel took pleasure in this simple expression, never really fond of Bolan's enforcer.

"Best of all, they left none behind.  What are the chances that seven would enter the great unknown of the Hammerfell mountains, defeat an army of golyn, fend off savage creatures, and come back with new mounts and fur cloaks... By the look of them, they are fatter as well.  If only to be a woodland scout and not have to suffer anymore of Eland's 'Tuesday Specials' "

With this, the dwarves laughed and cheered.  Eland himself, enjoyed the jest... heckling Fardal's preference for Deltan cuisine. 

"That's enough, Fardal.  Save something for the scouts themselves... I'm sure they will be happy to swap stories."

Yurgrim Ironsbane smiled up at the young dwarf, motioning for him to step down and end his show.  As Fardal descended, he whispered to Yurgrim.

'Do you think the golyn followed them?  I heard that they didn't find their nest."

"Go join the others, Fardal.  We'll worry about the mining site later"

Ironsbane held his smile until Fardal reached the frowning face of his uncle.  Reaching for his pipe and pondering Fardal's question, the old dwarf looked back into the woods.  Turning, he approached Drauk Northwind.

"Could you double your patrols for a while?  Just long enough for us to get packed up for the journey east."

IoK Session 7

An anvil is a heavy thing.  Not too big, but dense and unforgiving.  It resists motion, time, heat and cold.  It does not bend to the smith's hammer.  It doesn't care about politics.  Left alone, it will outlive them all.  The birth of an anvil requires crucible conditions of fire and will.  Despite all the good that an anvil can bring to a village, it is birthed in hell. 

"Set that over there you two.  Careful, we only have the one."

"What do you mean 'careful'?  It's not like you can hurt the damn thing!" 

Orgren's arms strained under the load of Ironsbane's anvil.  Despite Norgart's assistance, he was rather sure that all of the real weight was on his end cart.

"You can hurt an anvil... I've seen them crack when dropped.  Just like anything else, they break when under enough strain."

Ironsbane was only half paying attention to the two sweating dwarves.  Relighting his pipe, he puffed and perused the reports from Remenik.  The parchment was small and filled to the edges with near perfect lines of geonomic script.  Even at his advanced age, the keymeister kept a steady hand. 

"Master Ironsbane... Will this work?"

Orgren made a face that hid none of his disdain for Norgart's obedience.  A young dwarf from a good family, Norgart was loyal to a fault to his teacher.  Orgren chalked it up to inexperience... he'd worked with Ironsbane for years and knew the old dwarf cared little for titles.  Much like the anvil, Ironsbane was a singular being. 

"That will do Norgart.  Orgren, why don't the two of you take a break.  Grab some food and meet me back here in an hour." 

Ironsbane turned to head back to the camp.  He didn't wait for a reply, which was his usual manner.  The order had been given.  No further discussion was necessary. 

"Come on, Norgart.  Eland has some bread cooking and I could use a drink."

Norgart dutifully followed... seemed the boy would listen to any authority.  Would get him in trouble one day.

As they approached the mess tent, Orgren extended a meaty hand to halt Norgart's path.

"Hold up boy... It looks like the tent is occupied." 

Three dwarves and a darian sat at the table.  Laughter could be heard from the group, but it was not the company Orgren wished to keep.

"So they should be just about done clearing the mining site."

His Covalian accent was easy to recognize in the camp.  Benjamin Shipworth spoke with the heavy tongue of a dockworker.  Hardy people, but difficult to find an honest one.  Comes with being lied to most of your life... you learn to lie in return.

"They are.  The keymeister's contacts suggest that the scouts took one of those Golyn alive.  This one seemed smart enough to understand his fate, and provided a little info for a clean death.  Good thing too... seemed the hynn was intent on feeding the creature its own entrails.  His own had to hold him off while the merchant guard ended it.  That's the right thing to do... the damn man-beast would have gone and got himself sick had he manhandled the golyn."

Drauk Northwind took a long draft of his cup and paused to lock eyes with Orgren.

"You gonna stand there eye-balling me, miner?  Make yourself useful and fetch another pitcher from the kitchen bitch, would ya?"

Drauk shook his empty cup in the air... waiting for his refill.

"Ignore him, Norgart.  They're just talk.  Wouldn't dare try anything as long as Ironsbane holds their coin."

The two dwarves approached the tables at the opposite end of the tent.  Orgren grabbed a pitcher of water and filled two cups.  They sat in silence and drank, waiting for the others to continue their conversation.

After a long moment, Drauk laughed.  He tossed his empty cup to Culnen, who took it and his own back to the kitchen for a refill.

"So as I was saying... they are nearly done.  Sounds like The Northwinds will continue to grow fat and bored here.  I hope this sorry excuse for beer holds out."

Benjamin eyed his own cup for a moment, then looked east to the mountains.

"They're not out of their yet.  I have a silver says they come back missing one of their own."

Reaching into his belt, his tossed a tarnished raven to the table.  It rolled for a moment before landing, the two headed symbol for the Twin Raven bank locking gaze with Drauk.

"I'll take that wager.  I believe they can handle a few golyn.  Beside, they have the right balance for a squad of scouts."

He drew his own coin and showed it to Benjamin.

"They have a local flatlander with them.  We traveled down the river with the odd fellow.  Seemed to know his way around these parts, so that's to their advantage.  Plus they got themselves a hynid.  Those little vermin might not seem like much, but I tell you they're good luck."

To prove his point, Drauk drew his pistol.  A well crafted piece with a notable accessory... hanging from a brass chain was a shriveled paw, clasping a ruby genik. 

"This little fellow tried to steal from me... many years back.  So I taught him a lesson about thieves.  Before I could take his other hand, he managed to escape his cage and dart into the woods.  Mad as I was, I couldn't find the little rascal.  Figure I would keep the souvenir... some day I may need to escape something and could use the same fortune."

Holstering the pistol, Drauk laid the coin on the table.

"The forest won't kill the flatlander.  If they get hurt, they have the srylian witch doctor with them.  Old Rememik is pumping tap into the ether to aid his young apprentice, so they have Rikus watching over them.  The others know how to fight.  They've already fought off a band of golyn, so what else is out there to kill them?"

"Well... they got wolves out there.  And bear... Nutcatcher has seen bear tracks.  Why, they could get eaten by wyverns.  What if there was a glass cat following them... or what about a plains tunneler?  They eat flatlanders all the time.  Or it could be a..."

Drauk shot Volimak a look, the same one that always instructed the big dwarf to stop talking.  He did, but Drauk could tell he was still listing off the hundred possible predators, lips still moving.  The next couple months would be rough for Volimak.  He'd never really liked the forest.

"No, Volimak.  They'll live.  They'll come back with a wyvern stinger just to prove how well they can handle the forest.  Don't you worry your ridiculous oversized head about such things."

Volimak looked back to his cup, holding it with both hands.

"Nutcatcher said there was bear out here"... he mumbled into his beer.

Orgren had been listening and thought about the anvil.  No matter how tough you thought something was, sometimes bad things happened.  It was true and he had seen it... anvils break, sometimes from just hitting it the wrong way. 

IoK Session 6

“What was that?”

Armin whispered the words to himself, knowing that Cranic couldn’t understand him.  It was just enough that the hobok heard him speak, as well as just enough time to react to the sound cutting through the night sky.

It was the glint from the campfire that warned Armin.  The arrowheads were steel, unblackened, unlike their fletching.  Armin wheeled from his seat on the hillside and let the arrows clatter to the stone.  Looking to Cranic, an unspoken exchange was enough to trigger action. 

“Wake up!  Damn it…”  Armin fumbled at his belt, fingers grasping for his whistle.  With a deep breath, the shrill sound was sure to wake the camp.

The hynid was the first to stir.  Not truly asleep yet, Ket stood the high ground and looked out at the fields around them.  If they were to be attacked, they were in an excellent position.  Their camp stood on a stone mound, steep walls surrounding them.  Looking to the few shallow paths up the hillside, Ket confirmed that his snares were still hidden and waiting.  Ears perked, eyes wide, he took in all that his high ground allowed.  Most importantly, he saw that his tribe was awake.

Colm rose from his tent and stepped away, back to the fire.  With dwarven acuity, his eyes drank in the darkness.  Figures moved up the western path.  More golyn… the nasty creatures of his childhood, skulking out from under his bed and out of his closet.  There were many of them, and the hilltop guard would soon be outnumbered.  He needed reinforcements, and set his chalk and mind to summoning them.  Ancient glyphs, drawn in the hilltop, aligned to the stars… help would arrive soon.

From the trees near the cliff side, Cranic loosed an arrow at the approaching golyn.  First black blood had been spilled.  Beneath the tree, Gar charged past and to the north… taking position at the primary entrance to the hilltop.  Behind him and up the hill, the flatland totemist tapped into forgotten magicks and ancient creatures.  Manifesting a spiked tail, Mip launched a volley of his own back at the golyn.

The golyn, now positioned along the western banks, returned in kind.  A black arrow struck Gar in the shoulder, but didn’t strike deep.  Just enough to make him keenly aware of the approaching swordsmen.  Closing fast to his position was a stranger dressed in dark leathers.  He appeared human, but something was off.  His skin was pale and there was an odd smell to him.  Dank, and sick, though his agile movements and speed suggested no such weakness.  Gar planted his feet and prepared for the fight. 

A howl could be heard from the nearby trees, and a wolf rushed past the chanting Srylian.  The band of scouts had learned not to question where these loyal beasts came from, as long as they came at ZzyZzyk’s summon.  The wolf joined the band of steaming rats now crawling from the arcane portal of the Great Clockwork.  Colm’s request for aid had been granted, and the magical menagerie of creatures set to attacking the invaders.

More arrows, now of many fletchings.  The night sky was streaked by arrows reflecting the light of the camp.  A lantern now made the situation clear.  There were golyn at either side of the hill… a pincer attack designed to split the scouts in two.  The party returned fire and postioned themselves along the hills steep borders.

It was then that Colm saw and remember an awful truth.  The golyn around them would care little about the hilltop.  Though it offered them greater range and a height advantage, the golyn were a mountain race.  They climbed steep stones from the day they hatch, and the loose rocks and sloping walls would only make life difficult for the scouting party.  Coupled with their better night vision, they were in a rough position.

Darkness may be a lost advantage, but cover still existed.  Ket took this opportunity to move in and strike the leaders from behind.  It appears that the majority of the golyn were rushing the hillside in a direct assault.  He would descend the along the north, out of sight of the golyn, and use his size to sneak along the mountain brush.  Footing was more difficult than anticipated though, and the 3 days of rain had left the hillside slick with mud.  Key picked himself up and felt grateful that his fall had been concealed from the others.  At least it bought him distance. 

 Back on the hilltop, Gar finally faced off with the approaching warrior.  With full intent, he swung the massive axe in a wide arc… claiming the narrow path to the camp.  The dark warrior was quick and dodge the blow.  His footwork and expertise with his short swords suggested an experienced combatant.  Gar would be tested this night.  He would also be outnumbered as the warrior was supported by the leechling golyn… stunted creatures carrying long spears.  A nuisance, but in the proper position they offered their warrior an advantage which Gar did not have.

Down at the base of the hill, the summoned creatures defended the scouts.  Rats, owls, wolves, all of nature fought the abominations.  An arrow nearly missed Armin.  Another was dodged by the flatlander, but then the arrows ceased.  The animals were doing their job.  Just in time too, as to the west the new threat began to mount the hill. 

The scouts had not encountered their like before.  They had thought golyn weak and cowardly, but the creatures that scaled the hill were the golyn who stood against the dwarves.  Shield and axe.  Armor and teeth.  Muscle and grim desire, and with them was something stranger still.  An intense figure dressed in rags and a mask.  Obviously golyn, but something more and sinister.  This one didn’t move, didn’t speak.  Raising a hand to the sky, it pulled the darkness down upon the hilltop. 

Armin, being human, was the first to notice.  The fire still crackled near the camp, but only the heat remained.  The fire itself offered little light, little assurance.  Even his untouched lantern seemed to struggle against a malevolent dark will. 

And then they came.  The golyn butchers charged the hill.  It was Colm who suffered the first wave.  Axe battering against his armor, the blows hammering his breastplate as if it still reddened under the smith’s blows. 

As the hilltop rang with steel, it was dark and quiet to the north.  As hynid do, Ket crept behind the lines.  While his eyes and ears assured him that he had not been seen, his heart beat otherwise.  It was the silent shaman that Ket was after.  The one who brought the darkness.  Was this the one that had enslaved the ogre, Gorp?  Did this ragged creature possess such powers that it could control an ogre through fear alone? 

But the most important question to Ket’s heart… was it mortal?  Would it bleed black like the others, or would Ket soon come to understand the ogre’s fear?

Too fast… Gar swung the axe, the warrior dodge.  Gar parried, and positioned, but the warrior’s blades found the gaps in the armor.  All the while distracted by a stunted little creature with a spear, Gar could not land the blow he needed.  Just one… that’s all it ever took in the past, but Gar had never fought anyone like this before.  That thought was driven home when the warrior checked Gar’s elbow… he had swung too wide and had left himself open.  The warrior slipped in behind the swing, and drove a blade deep into Gar’s exposed right side.  Just as quickly, the blade withdrew with a sickly slick sound.  The axe swung round in another deadly arc, but wide and slow.  The warrior dodged again and swept the hynn’s leg, slicing his calf.  The wounded leg now unable to support the rounding weight of the great axe, Gar was thrown off balance.  A final stab from the dark warrior… Gar struck the ground hard.  As his skull crashed amongst the hilltop stones, the world went black.  Black as those eyes that had defeated him, and then silence.

Mip and Cranic turned just in time to see Gar fall.  The dark warrior wasted no time on the hynn, moving steadfast towards the camp.  Dropping from his perch, Cranic abandoned his bow and drew his axe.  With any luck, Gar had at least wounded the warrior.  Mip saw no such wounds as he unleashed another barrage of beastly spikes from his totem empowerments.  Why was this human with the Golyn, and what would it take to stop the being that just defeated a hynn?  Readying his spear, Mip assumed it would take more than just tribal magic.  Just as the summoned animals below were returning from whence they came, the fight was now down to sticks and stones.

Armin fought with steel.  As the golyn climbed the hill, he maneuvered so as to force them into the wolf snares hidden amongst the mountain scrub.  Working with Colm, they kept the creatures at the edge of the hillside.  Still, there were many.  In Traton, they taught the Merchant Guard to be mindful of their surroundings.  To use terrain and speed instead of heavy armor.  Most importantly, they taught Armin to watch his back.  While the heavy golyn butchers charged the hill, the leechlings and their longspears proded and poked… They seemed little concerned with accuracy or striking true.  Their focus was to distract and offer advantage to their larger breathren.  Too many times Colm and Armin found themselves in precarious positions.  Thank Rikus for the traps, as in time it seemed the golyn managed to stumble upon every one of them.  With that, there was little left to do but clean up.

One of the axe welding golyn managed to get past the traps and successfully into camp.  It was here that ZzyZzyk was holding ground.  As the srylian’s viper struck out at the golyn’s leg, ZzyZzyk took the opportunity to cast a net at his assailant.  Whether it was the preternatural dark or the nonstop rain, the golyn avoided the net and lashed out with its axe.  The swung missed his hide by inches.  If he could hold out, the venom would have time to travel from the creature’s leg to its heart, but minutes seemed like hours tonight.

Cranik swung and missed.  Slashed and failed.  The dark warrior stabbed into his leather breastplate, piercing just enough to draw blood.  In his distraction, the leechling to his rear stuck the hobok in the leg.  He was surrounded, but knew that this he needed to keep the human distracted.  Gar still appeared to be breathing, he just needed to buy time for ZzyZzyk or Colm to aid him.  Mip was moving in behind him with his spear, perhaps they could draw the human into their own flanking postion.

Colm found himself flanked, and suffered a stab from a leechling longspear.  Even stuck in the snares, these creatures were dangerous.  It was easy to overlook the little ones, but this wasn’t were the true fight was.  Ignoring the leechling, Colm calculated the leylines and breached the veil… drawing a Rikian blade from the other side.  With its own righteous will, he set it upon the human to the east.

To the west, it was time for a decision.  Ket steadied his breathing and drew his blade.  Mustering his courage, he charged from the brush.  The ragged golyn never saw him coming… lost in concentration.  Ket bounded over rocks and scrub, and struck at the shaman.  The knife stabbed into the rags… and struck air.  Between the dark and wind, he had missed.  The masked golyn turned with wide eyes and it was then that Ket realized all wasn’t a failure.  He had the creatures full and undivided attention now.  The golyn drew his own wicked looking dagger, and prepared to take out the sneaking hynid.

Steel… Armin’s scimitars whirled about him, slashing at the golyn shields.  Parrying the golyn axes.  Despite his intent, the butchers focused on Colm.  It wasn’t difficult to see why… the forgen keymeister was summoning aid.  Armin imagined that the tactician behind this attack understood magic.  The shaman had likely instructed the golyn to take out the arcanists of the group.  They were unpredictable and could foul the plan.  The swords were simple by comparison.  The Merchant Guard had taught the same tactics… you never give a Maji time to breath, else you may find yourself ensorcered.  Armin would focus on eliminating the threat to ZzyZzyk and Colm, then find this shaman.

Too fast…

The human warrior more leather and brandished a short sword in each hand.  His speed was unnatural.  Elves moved like this, not humans.  Something was enhancing his skills.  These thoughts passed through Cranic’s mind as he desperately tried to hold off the assault.  Looking to Gar, he wondered for how much longer he could.  It was then that he noticed the flaming blade behind the dark warrior.  He’d seen it before and recognized Colm’s faith.  Cranic would have to learn of this Rikus one day.

Behind him, the flatlander was entangled with a golyn who had scaled the south hillside.  With no distractions from the summoners, the remaining raiders were free to rush the camp.  These creatures were not skilled fighters.  They displayed a penchant for simple tactics.  Cranic heard a crack as the warclub struck Mip’s chest.  The armor took the brunt of the blow, but the club struck hard and Mip’s pain shown on his face.  It was a luck, not skill though.  As Mip adjusted and steered his longspear, Cranic judged that he could hold his own.

At the base of the hill, another single circle took place.  Separate from the rest of the hilltop battle, Ket and the masked golyn circled each other.  Quick stabs as each attempted to find the weakspot in the other’s defense.  The golyn was backing to the hillside in an obvious attempt to reach the rest of his party.  Ket knew he couldn’t let it have a moment to collect its thoughts.  Who knows what new darkness it could bring forth?

Colm and Armin were finally getting the better of their attackers.  The snares had helped break their formation.  While Colm directed the magic blade to aid Cranic, he dodged the blows of the golyn axmen before him.  Positioning himself so as to offer advantage to Armin, who would then finish their assault.  In a moment of inspiration, Armin managed to slay two of the beasts in quick succession.  Peering down the hillside, he saw the single stand-off between Ket and the masked figure.  Seizing the moment and his momentum, he slide down the hillside and into a flanking position opposite of the hynid.  Fear could be seen through the eye slits of the mask as the sole remaining golyn knew he was finished.

ZzyZzyk and his viper had ended the remaining golyn butcher and looked to aid Mip and the east hillside.  Few golyn remained with several being held by the wolf snares.  It appeared that the raider’s assault was broken, but the dark warrior pressed on.  To ZzyZzyk’s relief, the lamplight showed a stream of bright red across the human’s chest.  Cranic had landed at least one solid blow, proving the creature fully human after all.  Still, there was less human blood than hynn on the hilltop stones.  As quick as a Srylian can navigate dry earth, he rushed to Gar’s aid… medicine bag in hand.  With him came Colm, who no longer suffered the barrage of axe and spear and could himself focus for a moment.

Cranic had pulled back and now stood beside Mip.  The two of them attempting to hold the human warrior at bay.  The glowing Rikian blade tortured the warrior from all angles, disrupting his onslaught.  He appeared fatigued now and ready to break.  Cranic took a final swing, scraping across the black leather as the human fled.

Two days ago, the scouts had allowed a golyn to spot them and flee.  It was an unfortunate series of events that led to the discovery of the wolf snares.  Though the snares end-up as a boon, the fleeing scout is what must have triggered the hunting party that attacked the scout camp.  Mip, determined that there would be no fleeing informants today, launched a deadly and final barrage of spikes.  The spirit of his ancestors guiding them to the fleeing warrior.  The human collapsed, sending stones cascading down the hillside path.  Then silence.

The sound of steel and shield replaced by a final prayer to Rikus, one of mercy.  In Gar’s dream, he saw his tribe.  He saw hynn running free along the great plains, hunting antelope and feeling the heat of the summer sun.  Looking to the sky, the sun was radiant.  A ball of white glory, which shown down upon all with light and just rule.  The sun brightened and Gar shielded his eyes.  Then darkness, and cold, and wet.  He opened his eyes again to feel the May rains.  To the constant damp and cold of the Hammerfell mountains, and the smell of smoke and bronze coming from the dwarf crouched over him.  A silver pendent of sword and scales in his hand.

All around them lie broken bodies and pools of black.  With cold efficiency, the scouts ended the struggles of the injured and trapped.  Save one… the masked golyn.  ZzyZzyk ensured he lived, while binding him tight with a lash of rope.  What secrets would lie under that mask?