IoK Session 16

‘No… that is not yours!’

Cranic pulled the now torn bedroll from the young bear.  He and his brother had gained at least 10 pounds in the last couple weeks, and their constant roughhousing was beginning to wear on the lone beastmaster.  He had separated them for the evening, which only seemed to make them frustrated. 

Rylon, the larger of the two cubs, had taken to chewing leather when upset.  Cranic had already gone to the quartermaster to replace a backpack and a quiver.  Seemed his next silver would be spent on a replacement bedroll.  Despite the inconvenience, Cranic smiled as he watched the bear paw and play at the loose batting.  He would sleep on the ground tonight.

Cranic and the cubs had set up their own small camp just north of the Nine Hammers expedition.  Still close enough to aid in the defense of the camp, but far enough away that he need not listen to the constant berating of Bolan.  The older brother had taken up the mantle of Ironsbane, though he knew nothing of leadership. 

Then again, Cranic had to admit that the camp was developing at an impressive pace.  Though he and the Srylian still slept under hides and makeshift shelters, the dwarves had moved from their tent city into several rough cabins.  Three log houses which offered protection from the elements as well as potential shelter from attack.  They were built with heavy log walls and wood flooring.  The windows and doors were also heavy construction, capable of barricading from the inside.  Standing high above them, a stilted tower offered excellent vantage over the clearing of the camp.  Bolan had saw to removing all of the trees near the camp in order to eliminate cover for any approaching golyn incursion.  Though defensible, the camp was also obvious.  Easily spotted by any scout, they would be able to hold their ground but never hide.  Not a tactic Cranic favored.

‘Hobok… your bear is eating your bedroll.’

Cranic smiled, knowing that Felsyrlus had a knack for stating the obvious.  The Syrlian Jerule was neither subtle nor tactful, and this was on purpose.  Felsyrlus intended to be seen and heard… and honest.  Cranic found him always to be honest, even when it was inconvenient.

‘I think he appreciates the flavor.  It was a well-seasoned bedroll.’

The Jerule didn’t return the smile.  He never did, but with few in the camp who spoke the Created tongue, Cranic took his opportunities to express himself when he could.

‘Jerule… How are the dwarves?’

With no knowledge of Darian or Geonomic languages, Cranic suffered from both a curse and a blessing.  Bolan had tried several times to command the beastmaster.  The elder son had come to him with the Northwinds, no doubt as a show of authority.  He bellowed in a stern timbre and pointed to the forest.  Cranic took this to mean he was not welcome in the camp and had moved his tent further north.  Felsyrlus informed him after that Bolan had wanted him to scavenge roots and berries from the woods.  Not wanting to be the dwarves kitchen servant, the two had agreed to ‘play dumb’ regarding their shared communications.  This seemed to pain the Srylian, but he seemed to also appreciate being able to confide in someone.

‘They work hard building the camp.  They clear trees and raise walls.  Bolan has denied them any drink but water till the camp construction is complete.  Seems he believes they are more productive sober.’

The nod from the Jerule suggested he felt the same about the productivity, but the concern still shown through his scaled grimace.

‘I watched the woodsman shouting at the tanner this morning.  They were legitimately angry this time.  I thought they may come to blows until Drauk stepped between them.  I also saw young one, Fardal, crying.  He hid over by those trees from the others.’

Cranic gestured to the eastern woodline, not that the dwarf was still there.  Stress was building in the camp, and he feared that it wouldn’t be long before that young dwarf decided to test his luck in the forest.

‘No one is to enter the woods alone.  If Fardel continues, Bolan may make an example of him.  I believe it is only a matter of time before he requires a scapegoat to display his authority.  This one will not be able to stop it if the Nine Hammers declare their judgement.’

It was an odd sort of law the Jerule adhered to.  The Srylian respected strength and lineage.  It was one of the reasons they worked well with the Covalian Nobles… lineage was everything to them.  As the Nine Hammers were the ‘aristocracy’ of this camp, and technically they funded everything, their will was the law.  Cranic feared that in time, Bolan would need to demonstrate his power.

‘If Bolan possesses this authority, why did he let Ironsbane run the camp for so long?  Why would this noble dwarf from a strong house not wish to wield power from the very beginning?  He seems to be enjoying it now.’

The Jerule stiffened, and Cranic observed what he believed to be a sense of pride.

‘Because Ironsbane comes from a greater house.  He is not the servant of Talanik Nine Hammers… he is Talanik’s uncle.’

Iok Session 15 – Special:  Test of Dragonspeak dictation program

I found this amusing, so everything after the line is an attempt to use Dragon NaturallySpeaking Premium Ver 13.  I’ve only calibrated once and I need to add IoK themed words to its vocabulary.  Overall, I’m rather impressed.  I was able to sit in my chair, think about the game, and just talk.  The computer did the rest.  Note the missing punctuation… it takes some practice to get used to controlling the program’s features.  For now, I see it as a great alternative method to writing… There is a different flow to the language that you don’t get from typing.  Just tell the story...

_________________________  Dragon Speak is now ‘on’__________________

Testing 123 so how well is this dictation working Nepal struggled to keep her mind focused as the undead Golden rose around her. The scouts drew weapons and prepared for a fight that they did not comprehend. Nothing about this place was real and they did not know that. What they saw and what they felt in their minds was undead Golden rising up out of the snow. What Nepal has learned from past adventures in the dreamworld was at nothing here was real. They were simply within someone else’s nightmare. Up until now Nepal had thought it was hers. Something else was here that she was not familiar with it. It was Armin who noticed first. In his dream it was his mind that had been cracked open wide through his eyes and ears represented by a helmet he wore more of a leather mask with gears and ratchets lenses which focus his vision and sharpen the Sears years. As lenses rotated he caught sight of something in the distance. It was a tree and standing beneath the tree was a figure that Apollo did not recognize and have not entered the world with her it was here first and it was not part of the nightmare. While Armin watched and listened guard gripped his acts and prepared for the real world encounter that he felt this world represented unfortunately the large Hind did not have the mind or willpower to understand how this world worked and treated just like the physical world he was used to it would flex his muscles and swing his acts thinking that his muscles actually existed. The creatures here were nothing but allusion and Garwood have to realize that on his own. Unlike Gar though the hynid and the lizard man possessed strong minds. They had already discovered that the reality around them was flexible and could be bent to their will. Earlier both had discovered how to grow wings and were now flying as if they had done so their entire lives. As the gold illusions rose up around the scouts, the hynid fired his bow the strength of his mind enhancing it into a silver rain of needles. Tearing through the gold. The dwarven Templar seemed to possess the mind necessary to understand this world but his beliefs held him back. Call was a being of law. Every ounce of his being rebelled against the Imperial nature of this world. Was not that he didn’t understand that this was a dream, it’s that he was offended by it. Despite his beliefs he still possess the will depend is reality. He fought the Golan with the righteous fire she dreamed he always held. As Nepal watched the scouts, she paid particular attention to the other flatlander. MIP was both a skin dancer and the total must. The skills he had learned altered the physical world on a regular basis doing so on the dreamworld did not require much disbelief. The golyn is Armin watched the tree and saw the form standing there it appeared as a man one that he knew there also appeared to be another man on the ground in front of him. Not possessing the wings of the lizard man that she did, Armin directed Zürich to investigate. Flying closer to the tree and over the snow-covered landscape, as it got close enough to see that the man standing next to the tree was Neville. But how could Neville be a dreamer if they had seen him murdered in the forest. At Neville’s feet was a sick looking dwarf that appeared to be irons bang in Neville’s hand was a knife as this is a realized he was watching the scene play out again from the fight in the forest. The pale iron Spain held a wound in the stomach with blood slowly and Neville leaned over him watching and wondering if his pain. It was then that this is a realized it flown to close and caught Neville’s attention. You’re not supposed to be here set Neville. With that Neville left iron Spain side and began to approach the gold fight the scouts are currently engaged in himself now aware that there was more to this dreamworld than he originally thought. While he watched the scouts battled their nightmares. Every goal man ever fought in the forest seem to crawl back out of the snow and animated courts and nightmare of what they had been. Of keen horror was the swarms of gold heads, a rolling wave of teeth and decaying flesh which sought revenge on the scouts would slam them. As several discounts were bitten the speaker from the head seeped into their wounds not a poison of the flesh but of the mind. It was Armin who first to come to this poison is the swarm of head snapped his ankles and gnashed at his wrist. In a panic, is reality began to break in Armin’s dream was no longer his own. Around him the undead Golden shifted and swarmed faster than he was able to swing his sword’s. It was now up to the others to put down this nightmare. COLM had envisioned a way to give himself an advantage one which he could not have in the physical world. Yet grown in size near doubling his height and stature. Now it giant in this dreamworld he quickly flung the gold around him to the ground breaking them with his hands and swinging a massive flaming sword now worthy of righteous his name. Gar continued to be Gar regardless of dream or physical. With a singular purpose, his acts lasted any goal within reach. Reach was at least work Gar had begun to grasp the nature of the dream as his acts stretched and bent to his will. In time the scouts had defeated once again every goal may have fought, and now look to the trees to see only Neville. As Nepal looked at the scene play out seeing the scouts stand before Neville she realized that this was no longer her dream. She could not control or limit the actions of the goal nor could she stop Neville. If it was his dream his powers here would be immense. Before she could signal or somehow motion for them to understand, MIP was charging across the snow in his woven form. He charged Neville, snapping at him with pulling teeth. The taste was not of copper but iron, foreign. Too late, MIP began to realize that this was not the Neville he knew. Neville himself did not seem to really know MIP, is an almost confused state he pondered the scouts and how they could be in his dream. You’re not supposed to be here screamed Neville. And then his body shook and morphed and changed. His legs ripped in half, stretching and breaking. Metal ripping from flesh’s legs now appeared as kitchen knives balancing the larger Neville top of the. She now looked a spider made of knives and screamed at me in anger. In near panic Nepal tried to purge the scouts to leave to guide them back to the portal. But they fought not understanding that Neville could not be defeated in this world this was his world. Dodging blades snapping and cutting arrows and spells axes and swords. If by nothing but time and time did not move the same here as it did in the real world. Neville anger grew and as the scouts attempted to outrun him to move around he called forth a swarm of gold but just their heads. Flying through the air like screaming cannonballs they rained down on the scouts. As Gar and Armin and Coleman kept kept Neville distracted the lizard man had flown back to iron Spain. What they said could only be heard by them but Nepal saw as the dwarf handed the lizard man something. In the lizard man held it close to his chest as if it was everything. He then left the dwarf delay in his nightmare. Nepal and the others now needed to flee they had at least bought time from Neville is Neville became confused and his spider form shattered about. They took this opportunity to flee to make it back to the doorway of their minds. As they crossed the footprints in the snow, Nepal realized that she realized this was the limits of Neville’s nightmare.

IoK Session 14 – The dream or the dreamer.

The snow was fresh fallen…  white and virgin.  Not a footprint or flaw to be seen.  It’s frosted surface reflecting the twilight and the stars of the wintery forest.  Na’Pau sat in the center of the circle.  The strangers, these six scouts that her uncle had taken in, stood still and frozen as the snow covered trees all around her.  There was no wind, which elevated the surreal nature of the dreamscape they inhabited.  Na’Pau remembered that as a child, the forest had always been alive with birds.  In this version, none could be heard.  It was a stillness that was calming, yet unnerving. 

Closing her eyes and opening her mind, she reached into the dreams of each of the sleeping strangers.  Opening the door which kept them prisoner within their bodies.  This was the first lesson of any dreamwalker… how to open the door.  Na’Pau had done so many times… opening her own door while sleeping.  The lucid dream was a place of endless wonder and freedom.  Once she had learned how, she experienced a second life which offered her every opportunity.  Her uncle had helped her at first, but then acted only as guide while she imagined all manner of adventure.  Spring time in the mountains, odysseys on the ocean, exhilarating adventures in the dwarven cities… she had explored them all.  She had endless freedom when in her dreams, but endless freedom comes with a cost.  That’s why her uncle had always stayed close.  Though he stayed silent, he never allowed her to wonder too far into her imaginary world.  It was possible to get lost, and she nearly did while in the dwarven caverns.  It was too much for her young mind to keep track of.  Caught up in the giant spiders and endless tunnels, she ran down through the maze in an exhilarated ecstasy.  When she felt she had had enough, she turned to find her footprints and return to her door.  She didn’t realize that in her spider chasing and tunnel spelunking, she had crossed her own steps too many times.  She couldn’t tell which way to go, and began to panic.  After all, she was only a child.  Children panic went they get lost, and when you panic in the dream world, you summon nightmares.  The spiders got bigger and scarier.  They chased her through the tunnels faster than her uncle could keep up.  For a while, she lost track of him and was left alone with the giant spiders.  It was a memory that haunted her still, and served as a constant reminder to stay focused.

Opening the door to each of the scouts minds, she opened her eyes and prepared for the beginning of their walk together.  They would not understand the rules of this reality, but that was her job as a spirit guide.  She would have to teach them quickly though, only one night to show them the way if the strangers would have time to save their mastersmith.  She would use the same techniques her uncle had… small challenges which would force them to stretch their imaginations and free themselves of their physical forms.  As a guide, she could only open the door and show them the way.  They would have to walk through the door themselves.

And so the dream went.  Na’Pau summoned the same dwarven chasm where the nightmare spider had haunted her as a child.  She showed them how to manifest matter, how to overcome obstacles which didn’t truly exist.  They learned to harness their spirit weapons and manipulate their perception of self.  She always found it such a deep experience when she witnessed someone learn to control their dream.  The way they manifested their own perception of self showed so much about who they were.  Some of these strangers were true warriors, down to their own sense of self.  Others were more grand.  You could see their faith, their connection with nature, their inner demons and struggles.  As they learned and began to alter the world around them, you learned about what was important to them.  How they addressed simply challenges.  For some, their minds were so rooted to the physical world that they struggled to be anything more than a duplicate of their physical bodies.  Others, those with gifted intellect or powerful wills were able to do more. 

The Srylian impressed her… his mind was powerful in this reality.  He was the first to fly.  The hynid followed shortly after, as did the dwarf.  Imagination, will, and sense of self… these were the true measures of a dreamwalker. 

After they defeated the spider, she decided to let them rest their minds for a moment.  Time didn’t pass the same in this world.  A short respite would not be wasteful, and they needed time to take their new reality in.  It also allowed her to step back into her physical form for a moment.  As the guide, she was not truly asleep as the others were.  Back in the real world, her body chanted and rocked with the rhythm of her heart.  A ritual which allowed her to keep herself in both realities, but it was tiring.  By sleeping in the dream, she could return to the real world for a drink and to change the herbs on the fire.  Just a minute or two, but she would allow hours to pass within her dreamworld.  It was the nature of the guide to stay silent.  She had always wondered why her uncle would not tell her what to do.  As she learned how to control the dreams herself, she realized it was the real world chanting that limited communication.  To speak in the dream would require her to stop chanting, and this was dangerous.  When her uncle did so to call for her, he nearly lost himself to the dream.  She would never forget that moment what he risked to save her.

When they had awoke, Na’Pau noticed a peculiarity within the dream.  A set of second tracks.  She had never seen this before and wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.  Another dreamer had somehow managed to enter her dream.  It was difficult to say what this would mean as it seemed the tracks had come and gone long past their corner of this reality.  Still, she felt uneasy about it. 

Who was guiding this dreamer, and how long had he been here?

IoK session 13 – Wolf Dreams

“This is dangerous, Ha’ston.  It is her first spirit walk… how do you know she will not get lost?”

Ful’us paced outside the mud hut.  Though he kept a calm expression on his face, Ha’ston could see the tension in his hands.  The large tribal warrior clenched repeatedly, like he held a heart imprisoned behind his thick fingers.  Steady and slow, he squeezed the imaginary heart.  Squeezed and released… a rhythm which kept the warriors own heart steady.

“It is not her first, it is just her first as a guide.  She will be fine.  It is our new friends I worry about.” 

Ha’ston kept his hands open and loose.  In one hand was a wooden bowl filled with herbs and seeds.  A pungent, earthy scent rose from the mixture.  Ha’ston breathed it deeply, a slight smile unfolding across his weathered cheeks.

“Na’Pau has always traveled with you.  Now she is responsible for these strangers… why are we helping them?  We need to catch up with the others before the Maji recovers.”

“You worry too much, Ful’us.”

Ha’ston took a pinch of the herb mixture and placed it behind his lower lip.  His lips puckered at the bitterness as he chewed.  Standing, he brought the bowl with the remaining herbs to the leather flap of the hastily built mud hut.  A thin smoke gently rose from the seams of the hide roof.  Within, the six strangers slept.  In the center of the hut, minding the small fire, was a young flatlander.  Eyes closed, she chanted in a silent tongue.  The words not meant for this world. 
Reaching through the flap, he placed the herb filled bowl near an empty one of similar design.

"They will reach the tree soon.  There, they will need to face their demons.  This will be enough to judge our new friends.  If their demons are weak, then we have found ones that can be trusted."

The old flatlander smiled at Ful'us.  Black flecks of tobacco shown on his otherwise healthy teeth.  His cheeks peaked when he smiled, a gesture owing to his long practice of doing so often and wide.

Ful'us frowned, a gesture he was well familiar with.

"What if they defeat their demons because they are strong?  Not of heart, but of trickery and ambition.  These ones are protecting the sea-faring dwarves.  You of all people should know not to trust a dwarf of any mountain, let alone the Forgen."

Ha'ston's smile never waivered.  Ful'us continued to clench his hands. 

"Trust is a fragile thing my friend.  It can take a life time to build and be destroyed in a minute.  We do not have a lifetime, so I will give them a night within the spirit world.  It will seem like many.  In time, they will either convince Na'Pau that they can be trusted or she will leave them to their nightmares.  Either way, they cannot harm her or us.  If they awaken with their answer, then we will have gained their trust."

Ha'ston spat and wiped his lip.  The leaf was sour, but it calmed his nerves.  A lifetime of false smiles required assistance, and the bitter tobacco always made his checks tight.

IoK Session 12 – ACT I Conclusions

“Damn it, Talanic… I don’t know what she’s talking about!”

Remenik was red.  The exasperation and fatigue shown through him with every breath, shining as a crimson furnace, and like a furnace… his lungs weezed and huffed like bellows feeding the flame.

“Remenik… This attack was more than just staking claim to their turf.  That elf called you out.  If you know nothing of this ‘Entropy Engine’, then why does she know of you?”

Astride his marbled mare, Talanic looked down on Remenik.  The older dwarf was struggling to mount his horse, and his frustration was evident.  Nothing in Talanic’s gaze offered support.  He simply watched, impatient.  Even enjoying the vantage of speaking to Remenik from his high horse.

Giving up on the mount, Remenik threw the reins over the saddle and started walking.  It was meant more as a gesture to Talanik.  An attempt to take control over his situation, but his limping gait betrayed the need for a mount.  Remenik would never make it far on foot, and though he did his best to not let his aching knee get the better of him, his direction was simply to find Jacob or Colm in order to gain the assistance he sorely needed.

As he hobbled toward the other dwarves, he could feel the weight of their situation pressing down on him.  On all of them.  His knee hurt, and he believed it was due to the burden that Ironsbane once carried for him.

Approaching the stretcher, Remenik gestured to the Srylian priestess.  Hsyrolno knelt near the old smith.  In one hand, she held a wooden cup full of a pungent poultice.  The other applied it to the dwarf’s wounds.  Slow and methodical, she worked with a patience and calm that was desperately needed amongst the caravan… as if her actions could heal the body of the smith while mending the spirits of the miners.  Alongside her, ZzyZzyk searched through the collection of herbs and vials.  Whatever he was looking for eluded him. 

“This one cannot quench his fever, Keymeister.  The master smith will need more than blessings and salves.”

Hsyrolno didn’t not pause from her actions or look at Remenik while speaking.  The application of her poultice itself seemed a ritual which she would not stray from. 

Remenik regarded the pale smith for a long moment.  These two healers have done everything within their power, both within the realms of medicine and magic.  It was an infection which would kill Ironsbane, not Nevil’s knife.  Were they in Forgen, the proper Dranite cures would be within ease of reach.  Infection and disease were the devils of the battlefield, a far greater danger than any dagger or arrow.  They didn’t just kill their victim… they poisoned the spirit of those around them.  There was no greater pain than watching your own die slowly, powerless to stop it.  Gar’s strength, Armin’s speed, Colm’s faith, and Mip’s spirit.  Even Ket with the luck of a hynid could not steal Ironsbane from his fate. 

But perhaps ZzyZzyk could.  Like the Dranites, ZzyZzyk’s knowledge of healing may be able to sway death’s grasp. 

With the help of Jacob, Remenik was able to finally get a leg over the saddle and unburden his knee.  A last long look at Ironsbane, then he pulled the reigns and returned to the side of Nine Hammers.

“Talanik… we need to send the scouts south.  Mip and Ket spotted skindancers watching the fight in the forest.  I believe it was they that chased off the Maji, not us.  That wyvern we saw was no coincidence… I believe it may have been a servant of their tribe.  A band of seven skindancers is a rare thing, and for them to take an interest in our activities should not be taken lightly.”

“After such an attack, we can’t afford to send off our guards!  Let the old smith rest and the Srylian do their job.”

Bolan Nine Hammers had joined his father’s side during Remenik’s absence.  With Ironsbane incapacitated, Bolan had taken over command of the mining expedition.  Being the elder son, Talanic had naturally wanted to see Bolan step into leadership.  It didn’t take long to see how his ill temper and contempt for the working class gnawed at the morale of the caravan.

“Bolan, we can’t let our master smith die.  You have months of mining ahead of you.  Norgart is nursing a wound himself, meaning you have no one to work a forge.  How long do you think our tools will last in the forest?  How did do you think you’ll get with no repairs?”

It was a cold way to address the threat on Ironsbane’s health, but it was at least one that Bolan could agree with. 

“Send the scouts south to find the medicine ZzyZzyk is seeking.  The Northwinds can defend us once we have set up camp.”

Talanik eyed the Keymeister, but didn’t speak.  As they both sat atop their horses, the high ground had been lost and the senior Nine Hammers waited for his son to address the matter.

“Fine.  Let them go, but if the golyn attack while they are away, I’ll hold you responsible.”

With a nod, Remenik heeled his horse and turned to leave.  The scouts would seek out the skindancers, and they best leave immediately. 

IoK Session 11 - Broken Anvil

The fog sprung up around the center of the caravan, a manifestation of the hynid's recent dabbling into shamanism.  Jacob felt a shiver as the mist climbed from his boots to his waistcoat.  Soon, he found it hard to see the golyn swarming through the forest.  'This was a gamble' he thought, knowing that Ket's enchantment would obscure the Nine Hammer family from archers... all of them, friend or foe.  He couldn't see much further than his grasp, leaving his pistol nothing more than a crude cudgel.  Dark shapes could still be observed near the closest trees.  He recognized Drauk Northwind, hunkered down and directing his crew along the golyn's flank.  Hsyrolno and Ket stayed behind him and low, attempting to secret themselves amongst the rolling curtains of mist. 

Of comfort was the cherry incense of Yugrim Ironsbane's pipe.  Like the forge he worked, the elder smith smoldered of fruit and tobacco smoke at all hours of the day.  The steady glow of his pipe's ember shown through the fog like a lighthouse along a darkened shore.  Sanctuary amongst the rocks. 

"Steady, Jacob.  Keep low and use the mounts as cover.  Remember what we discussed... it's Armin's job to protect the merchants, not yours."

With a nod, Jacob let Remenik know he understood.  His teacher was focused on the skies.  The mist may have blocked out the forest, but the brightness of the noon day sun could still be seen above.  Like an eclipse, the dark shape of the dafan and it's rider cast its shadow upon the caravan.

"I thought golyn didn't like the sun.  Why are they attacking in broad daylight?  And what of the drums?"

Jacob found himself speaking too loudly, as if he thought the mist would muffle his voice as well as his vision.  Perhaps it was the steady echo of gunfire from the sappers, convincing him to speak up.

"Golyn attack when they are told, and it seems their master told them..."

It was now Remenik's time to shout.  Jacob saw the flash and the blazing streak of fire descend.  This is what the Keymeister had been waiting for.  With the leadership of the caravan positioned tightly together, an elemental blast from an arcanists would take them all out.  He planned on this and told the Nine Hammer's family to stay close, much to the frustration of Benjamin and Drauk.  'Give the golyn 'shaman' the opportunity to show her cards.' he had said.  True to form, Remenik's prediction came true.

Raising his outstretched hand skyward, his ring of the Great Clockwork flashed as he completed the countering equation.  As the fireball approached, it was met by a shockwave from the Keymeister.  The force of it disrupting the elemental magicks, shattering the spell to nothing but glowing trails of light which gave the fog an amber glow.

In that moment, Jacob observed a glint of steel.  Though the fog was thick and he couldn't be certain, it seemed that Nevil, the Nine Hammer's dirt slave, was brandishing a weapon.  Standing beside Ironsbane, even this slight dock worker was preparing for a fight.

The shapes to the south continued to charge through the forest.  Jacob thought of the shadow puppet shows he would frequent as a child.  Dramatic stories of heroes facing off against monsters and demons.  In these stories, the heroes were knights and noble warriors.  They would save the fair maiden from being kidnapped by hobok and flatland savages.  Watching the silhouettes before him, he smiled as he thought of how these stories would be told.  Of how dwarven soldiers fought the golyn raiders.  A brave Darian swordsman charges to their side, and as he faces the massive hynn axeman... this is where the story changes.  Gar was a beast, but he was a loyal one.  Much of his blood had been spilled in this forest, and still his shadow charged into the rain of arrows. 

"Volimak's down.  Pull back!"

Culnen's heavy Forgen accent echoed across the forest.  The shadow knights were facing too many shadow monsters.  Still, Jacob held his ground.  This was not his place in the story.

Ironsbane's voice pulled Jacob back to the mists.

"The volleys have stopped.  We need to regroup.  Priestess, dismiss your fog!"

The Ninehammers clan seemed to have taken no injuries.  Jacob heard Rolak and Bolan's sharp voices.  The two brothers bickered often, and the subject now seemed to be about who would have to ride the wounded mare.  Talanic stood near Remenik and inquired as to the nature of the dafan rider.

"That is no golyn, Keymeister.  What are we dealing with?"

"Her magic is powerful.  That ball of fire was fueled with old energies... Elemental and strong.  No Talanic, this is no golyn."

"Then why is she just sitting there?"

His voice was calm, but Jacob could sense that the senior Nine Hammers was concerned.  As a merchant prince, Talanic had a reputation for seeing the angles.  Finding the opportunity when others were still assessing the problem.  If Talanic didn't already know the answer, then Jacob wouldn't figure it out.

A howl tore through the forest.  Pain and anger like he had never heard.  That was the voice of Gar, and something awful must have struck him.  Earlier, he had witnessed Drauk take a direct hit from an arrow.  A one-in-a-million head shot which would have taken down anyone not wearing a heavy Forgen helm.  A sniper was in the forest, and Jacob's gut sank as he wondered if Gar would prove the value of wearing a helmet.

The shadow of the dafan moved, and Jacob saw the sun again.  It flew overtop of the caravan and to the north.  The shadows on that side of the fog, which had not been dismissed despite Ironsbane's demand, were of Benjamin and Felsyrlus, the Jerule.  Benjamin released arrow after arrow skyward, looking for the lucky shot that would pierce the enchantment shielding the dafan rider.  Coupled with the musket balls of Drauk's longrifle, the shaman was under constant fire.

"Yugrim... what should we do?  How do we stop this rider?"

The question went unanswered.  Jacob could see the shadow of Ironsbane standing but 10' away, but he saw no ember.  The smell of cherry and tobacco had faded, leaving nothing but smokepowder and the damp of the mist.  Yugrim's shadow stood motionless as Jacob saw a glint of steel grow from the back of the dwarven silhouette.  Saw Nevil's shadow step out of Yugrim's.  Saw the dwarf fall to the forest floor.

"NO!"  The shout escaping Jacob's lips without thought or fully understanding what he had witnessed.  Rushing forward, he caught sight of Nevil as the mist parted enough for shadow puppets to became people again.  His hand was bloodied and clutching a kitchen knife.  He smiled at Jacob before darting away and out of the mist.

"Remenik!  Nevil stabbed Ironsbane!"

The world of mist and shadows swirled around Jacob.  He held his hand over the chasm of Yugrim's waistcoat, pressing upon the wound but unable to slow the wash of deep crimson that was flowing across the once impeccable vest. 

A clawed hand grasp Jacob by the shoulder and pulled him aside.  ZzyZzyk, the srylian medicine man, had firmly pushed him back while Hsyrolno chanted in the slick tongue of the lizardfolk.  Jacob couldn't tell if it was the pale mist that colored Yugrim Ironsbane or encroaching death that had drained all of the fire from the mastersmith's face. 

More pistol shots and clashing metal brought Jacob's mind back to Nevil.  The dirt slave had run north.  With heavy limbs, he rushed forward and across the fog.

"I did what you asked!  Take me with you!"

Parting through the edge of the enchanted fog, Jacob saw Nevil reaching towards the rider of a great winged lizard.  A dafan as he had heard Remenik call it.  A beautiful predator, the beast had the slick scales of a snake or lizard.  Its limbs were slender and delicate, ending in small grasping claws to simple to serve as weapons.  The head, near the size of a horse, resembled the great lizards of the Wraith Isles.  Ancient and powerful, a set of brilliant  sharp teeth shone as its serpent tongue licked the air.  Most astonishing was its wings.  Like a dragonfly, an iridescent blur which kept the dafan and rider hovering ominously just above the ground. 

And set between the dragonfly wings was a Darmic elf.  Dressed in green silks and gold ornamentation, she held a slender longsword in one hand and the reigns of the dafan in the other.  This was not a shaman, but a Maji.

The jerule rushed forward in rage, gripping his axe in both hands.  As he lifted the weapon to strike the rider, she swung her blade faster.  From it escaped a frozen wind, grasping the lizardman in an icy grip and holding him fast.

"Take me from here... quickly, I beg you!"

Nevel pleaded before the maji, desperate for escape. 

"Did you kill the smith?"

The question was calm and simple.  The wings of the dafan shielding her from the divine blades of Rikus the younger keymeister, Colm, had been attempting to smite her with. 

"Yes! Yes!  I cut him deep.  He never suspected me, now please!  I need to escape!"

"...and you will."

With that, the dafan lunged forward.  It's jaws unhinging as a serpent before a mouse, snatching Nevil between its perfect teeth.

"Tell that fat architect to stay away from this.  The Entropy Engine will never be his."

A wind stirred the leaves beneath the maji as they ascended away from the dwarven caravan.  Jacob could still hear Nevil's screams as the dafan held tight, still dodging Colm's divine blades.

Drauk rushed out from the mist, raising his rifle skyward. 

"He took Nevil, Drauk!  We need to stop her!"

Drauk aimed, the maji squared neatly amongst his scope's crosshairs.  Taking a deep breath, he paused and centered his fingertip on the trigger.  He didn't take the shot though.  Too many musket balls had been wasted on this same image held in the rifle's scope.  Instead, he shifted his aim and completed the trigger pull.

The round rocketed towards Nevil, striking him cleanly in the skull.  The screaming ceased as the dafan flew north and out of range of the Rikian blades.  Having no more use for the dead dirt slave, the dafan dropped him.  His body falling to the entangled vines still grasping the wounded and dying golyn archers to the north.

Jacob watched the dafan fly north, in the direction of the Vernfal Mountains.  Nearly all of the golyn lie dying.  To the south, he could still hear some kind of fight.  It was only a few though and he was certain the scouts could handle it. 

In the mist, he could see numerous shadows kneeling around the broken smith.  A sad puppet show, all shadows and no heroes to be seen.

But then another, more frightening thought emerged.  Jacob could still hear the drums.  In the distance, the same beating which had been heard before the first arrow landed.  Its rhythm having never changed, signaling that this story wasn't over.

Iok Session 10 – Ambushed

‘Smoke and Fire’.  If you asked what flowed through the heart and lungs of a Forgen Sapper, he would stand tall and proclaim ‘Smoke and Fire’.  Days like today are where such a motto are born.

The scent of black powder was heavy in the still air, leaving an eye-high haze around The Northwinds mercenaries. 

“On your left!”

Drauk Northwind kept a tree to his right, its trunk taking the brunt of the Golyn volleys.  Moving behind him and east, Volimak and Culnen took their positions to the left of their commander.  Pistols flared and angry musket balls tore through the haze.  Sometimes, the ball would strike true… black blood polluting the forest floor.  Most of the time, the shot blasted tree bark from the still mountain pines.  A forest is a difficult place for direct fire combat.

Monitoring the south of the mule train, Drauk counted at least a dozen archers.  They launched volleys at the miners, allowing for the arching angle to account for the lack of a clear shot.  He knew that the miners carried no shields.  He had lost that argument when it came to accounting for inventory.  Shields did not dig mines, move stone, or support shafts.  Bolan reminded him that it was the job of the Northwinds and the rag tag group of half-breeds to address direct threats.  If they couldn’t stop a couple Golyn archers from killing miners, what were they paying them for?

“Keep low and stop the archers.  Let the axmen approach.”

The tactic was to take out the present threat… the axe wielding golyn warriors appeared to be without a ranged weapon.  They needed to close before they would become a threat. 

From the corner of his eye, Drauk saw the priestess rush to the brush behind him.  The hynid was with her.  Seemed the little beast had taken a liking to the lizardwomen.  Unlike the miners, this was added support… not responsibility.  Reaching to the earth, Drauk heard the Srylian tongue of the ancients call out for aid.  A vast field of vines and entangling brush erupted from the ground, halting many of the rushing axmen.  Very useful.  To the north, the half-beast scouts were employing the same tactic.  Locking down half of their foot soldiers greatly evened the odds, which until now had been largely in the golyn’s favor.

With the hynid watching over the priestess and the jerule and Covalian pirate watching the Nine Hammers, Drauk was free to focus his attention on the southern wave of archers.  To the north, he saw as the hynn and the Traton merchant guard rushed their attackers.  Amongst the golyn archers was a massive creature wielding a long hafted war axe.  Not another ogre, but just as bad.  Back in Drauk’s army days, they called such a creature a ‘Grudger’.  Seemed the golyn shamans knew much about how to breed their own, and this was a creature bred for war.  Gar, the massive hynn, charged past and directly into the swarm of golyn archers.  He would take a beating for that… a hynn is a powerful thing, but for every swing of his axe the golyn would take a dozen stabs at him.  Drauk would have to have a word with this young beast once the smoke cleared… teach him some tactics.

The guard seemed to be in his element.  Better defense and faster than the hynn.  Also, lucky… the grudger had found itself tangled up in the srylian’s vine-field.  This didn’t stop such a brute, but did slow it down.  Made it’s swings awkward and slow.  The guard positioned himself at the edge of the srylian magic, forcing the grudger to stay within or risk dropping its defenses for an opportunistic stab.  Clever.

Drauk drew his powder-horn and reloaded his long rifle.  He needed steady aim to cut through the trees and brush.  The archers were also taking cover, and pistols just weren’t cutting it here.

To the east, the flatlander had wandered into the trap.  Drauk had seen the baiting goyln before the battle began, mostly because the goyln wanted to be seen.  It had ducked behind a tree and waited for the wagon train to send a scout.  This was classic and fortunately the flatlander managed to avoid falling into the hidden spike pit.  The maneuver is a win-win situation for the ambusher… you dig a spike pit in the path of a caravan.  For the bait, you want a minor threat.  Something you wouldn’t send more than a scout or two to recon.  As they approach, they fall into the trap and you take out a scout.  Immediately after, you trigger the pincer and attack from the flanks with your main army.  If the scouts don’t see the bait, then the caravan stumbles into the pit instead.  This usually takes out the lead horses.  Same effect of stopping the caravan, but costs the raiders more as you typically lose a horse or two.

The flatlander was still tied up with this one golyn and separated from the main fight.  Drauk frowned.  These scouts don’t seem to fight as one unit, each attempting to be a hero in their own spotlight. 

“Change tactics… need to approach round the vine-field.  Take out the archers.  Stay close and cover each other against any axmen that break free.”

The other sappers moved as one, staying within each other’s primary pistol range.  They followed along the cover of the trees, saving their load for a clear shot.  Hammer in their offhand should they need to face a golyn directly.  Drauk used his rifle to cover them, picking off the open golyn as they drew their bows.

Behind him, the jerule charged to the west and rear of the caravan.  Past the cowering miners, desperate to find cover from the rain of arrows.  They could have been carrying the damn shields this whole time.

Shifting so as to see to his right, Drauk caught glimpse of a previously unseen band of axmen descend upon the hobok and the other srylian druid.  Another vine-field was laid down, but perhaps too late.  The ax wielding butchers charged through the field and attacked the hobok. 

Drauk caught Shipworth eyeing the scene.  Till now, he had been standing guard over the Nine Hammers... the last guard.  The Jerule had rushed to protect his own, leaving only the pirate remaining.  To the head of the mule train, Skinner and Nutcatcher were doing their best to calm the animals.  Seemed Skinner had already dispatched the baiting golyn with a pistol shot, but otherwise these two were too occupied with the mules to be of any further use.

Shaking his head and attempting to catch Shipworth's eye, Drauk willed him not to leave his post.  The pirate seemed not to see or not to care.  Drawing his bow, he moved to rear of the caravan. 

Quick evaluation of the scene… Drauk saw that he had soldiers at all key directions, but they were widely spread.  No one was in the center, and that is where the asset was.  The Nine Hammers family and the senior Keymeister.  Old Ironsbane drew his blade and took a stance, but the smith hadn’t swung it in anger since before Drauk had a beard.  Several of the miners had taken superficial wounds as had the dirt slave, Nevil.  The young darian cried out when Shipworth left his side, and Drauk could see a wide-eyed panic beginning to set in.

Though he had heard the whistle, he wasn’t fast enough to react.  Drauk’s head snapped back and struck the bark of the tree.  He heard the crack of both his nose and the shaft of the arrow that had struck his helmet.  Recovering, blood now pooled into his mustache.  Had he not been wearing a helm, that shot would have been a career ender.  Dropping his visor to shield against the next, he scanned the treeline.  This was a professional that had just entered play.  Looking skyward, he sought out the tree tops for the hidden sniper.

What he saw was not his anticipated hidden archer though.  Silhouetted against the clear blue sky was the shape of a mounted rider atop a flyng lizard.  Not a wyvern, something obscure and foreign to these woods.  With the sun at its back, it was near impossible to make out detail, the rider held still... calm.  At its own pace, it observed the violence below.

If this was the shaman, then the Nine Hammers expedition was in a vulnerable state.  The flying beast could pass quickly over their line and into the caravan center.  If it was an arcanist, it could rain fire down upon them in the manner of the Rikians.  A summoner had clear view in order to conjure some evil.  Even a simple well trained archer could end the Nine Hammer's patriarch.

The options were endless, and Drauk still had to find his sniper.  Raising his rifle, he decided to shoot the sun and bear his heart to the next arrow from the shadows.  If it held fire, may the next arrow burn before he died.