Link to OOC thread

It was early morning in the small village of Vanten, just 50 miles north of the great city of Travar. Not much ever hapened here. Tracers came through on the way to the city. Traders came through from the city. People left for the city when they got older. People came here when they got to old for the city. All in all, it was a village always coming and going. Nothing ever happened here. Small village, maybe 100 souls, down by a small lake, some good planting ground. Just farmers and "retired" traders and a souple if Inns. Nothing ever happened in Vanten. Nothing ever would again. Everyone was dead.

He walked through the village. Not much to see. Some bodies here and there still, but no property famag. Not a bad place to set up shop really. Of course, he would need more "locals" to do the basic work around here. Everything was so backward and primitive. It would take work, but he had time. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. Time. He had all the time in the world.

There were new rules here, that much he had figured out already. And his body had changed ... significantly. He felt stronger. More of his old power had returned. Power he had traded in for strengths of another sort long ago. And these new grafts .... the crystal arm... very curios that.

He couldn't help but look around in wonder at the astral plane all around him, over and under and through everything in the world. Only special peopele like him could see it. Who would be able to challenge him in a place like this? A curios thought. Would they know more than he? Less? He would have to find some "locals" to recruit. Of course, with his new partner, "recruitment" would be easy. Child's play really. Once he know more of his new surroundings, he would see what he could do about keeping his part of the bargain. Until then though... much work to do.

The now familiar tingle in the back of his mind.... Epsilon... I have some patience.... some... do not test it

He couldn't help but shiver. How long had it been since anything had had that effect on him.Back to work then. To bad. All work and no play...

The message had arrived not an hour ago, while she was out performing. Morganna had returned to her rooms in the Silver Maiden, a fine Inn in Travar, to find the sealed scroll waiting for her. It was good paper, and fine pen man ship. She didn't recognized the crest on the seal, but she really hadn't been in Travar long enough to learn the important heraldry. Only a few days really. The work she'd been perfoming was enough to cover the cost of the rooms, and a bit of site seeing. Being a troubadour in Travar was definetly a good career decision.

The Scroll read simply

Salutations Morganna the Elf,
Word has reached my ears of some of your exploits, most impressively, your delving into lost Braza's Kingdom. I am come to understand that you are an adept, and a practitioner of a number of fine disciplines, including the Way of the Warrior. If you will kindly join me in the local wine house the Gift of Jaspree this evening, at eight o'clock, I have a proposition for work that I believe you will find to be dangerous, lucrative, and I hope, exciting. I do hope to see you there.

Sincerest Regards,
K'stalanna Agorii
House V'strimon

House V'strimon she had heard of. One of the prominent t'skrang trading houses here in the south, involved somehow in the War with the Therans, involving the Behemoth up at Lake ban. Thankfully the war had come and gone before her arrival in Barsaive. Morganna had seen enough of war for a while.

If nothing else, could be a good chance for some of that spicy t'skrang wine. And still enough time to catch a decent bath and a massage... so many things to do... Morganna thought with a smile.

It was a good night.

For some reason, half the trolls Ralo met thought that it was simply hilarious the idea that a windling could do any undo harm to them, and so made it a point to jibe him at every given oppurtunity. For some reason they're ideas of "honor" apparentlly didn't apply to anyone under seven feet tall (which conveniently included obsidimen in their "honorable" category). So the two today thought it would be just a hoot to throw a bucket of water at him and let their "dogs" lose.

"Dogs" Looked more like ponies with teeth. Either way though, he'd taguht them a thing or two about "jibes". The loss of some blood and coin shoud help set things right in their minds for a while. Trolls were supposed to be notorioius for their long memories. Hopefully they'd learn something from their encoutner and remember that, instead of his general description. Trolls were also notorious for traveling in large gang when carrying out reprisals having to do with their long memoies. And some of them had airships. It was all well and good to poke the occassional bit of fun, or arrow, at something that couldn't fly. Maybe Travar wasn't the best place for him just now.

So after he'd blown most of the trolls coin on good food, drink, a bit of company, and bought a couple of rounds for his new burly, surly , irritable ork friends at that bar (after extorting a vow from them to "give what for" , as that t'skrang had put it, to any who sought to cause him trouble of course), and sent a messenger to that troll pair Oga and Sudgren to let hem know where that "windling thief" could be found (very good messenger of course, expensive. Cant' have a messenger go wrong after all), he'd taken off back to his Inn room with the lass few bits of silver. After all, hard to fly with too much coin. And what good was it anyway to hoard coin? Hand't done the trolls any good after all. Bought them quite a bit of trouble after all.

It occured to Ralogatol that he tended to think in run on sentences.... odd that...

In any case, he'd no sooner returned to his small room than a messenger had arrived with a message most curious bearing a mark that appeared to be that of a member of Hous V'srtimonn, addressed to him, and promising coin and a chance to exercise his skills.



Salutations Ralogatol, Windmaster,
Word has reached my ears of some of your exploits, many adventures over the past few years. I have come to find my self in need of a personage of your many skills, both as scout, archer, and warrior of the winds for an issue that concerns me and my own. If you will kindly join me in the local wine house the Gift of Jaspree this evening, at eight o'clock, I have a proposition for work that I believe you will find to be dangerous, lucrative, and I hope, exciting. I do hope to see you there.

Sincerest Regards,
K'stalanna Agorii
House V'strimon

did always liek the way t'skrang speak... thought.

And so, it was not long after he set out , on another grand quest for... how had that traoubadour put it "another Grand Quest for Coin and Cleavage." yes, it was a good day.

Morgana's eyes lingered over the fine parchment, carefully taking in the quality and the penmanship.
Praise be Astendar... finally someone with taste! Morgana smiled a long, slow speculative smile, tapping the letter against her lips. This calls for something special, I think...

By half past seven, Morgana was feeling luxuriant. She had been massaged, oiled, primped and dressed... an extravagant splurge, yes, but when quality came calling, quality answered.
As Morgana made her way out of the 'Maiden, she stopped to note that evenings' talent. Elerell had made quite a fuss when she had told him she had plans for the evening and that those plans did not involve getting groped by his clientele, but it looked like he had managed to find a substitute in time.
Another elven troubadour, a male this time. Well, he's certainly not bad on the eyes, but his range is mediocre and his stylings pedantic. He'll be gone by morning.
With a rueful smile and a knowing glance to the innkeeper, Morgana swept out the door into the teeming streets outside.
Keeping her cloak tight about her - more to discourage thieves and pickpockets then to keep out an unwanted chill - she pressed her way through the crowd. Her eyes scanned the streets, always looking for the next story, the next song... and the next wannabe thief or cutthroat.
Soon, she found herself outside the gilded doors of the wine house known as the "Gift of Jaspree". Checking the waterclock in the square, Morgana opened the door and slid inside.
Right on time.
Morgana smiled.

The Maitre-de of the establsihment, a human man of middle years, with distinguised grey wings of grey in his hair, greeted Morgana warmly at the entrance

Good evening to you mistress, my name is Alodar. Are you meeting someone, or shall I find you a table so that you may sample some of the finest wines in all of Travar?

Wit ha welcoming bow, he deftly procured a wine list from the top of the pdoium behind himself and smiled. In another place, the man might be suspected to be a skilled thief.

Of course, the clientelle here is certainly up a few notchs from "another place". Perhaps he's just a thief that's good at picking his ground.

"Good evening, my talented Alodar. I am here to see one K'stalanna Agorii of House V'strimon. Would you please be so kind as to direct me to the appropriate table?"

Alodar nods You are expected of course. I was told to expect you, and another. This way please.

Morgana is led through the wine house, to one of the private rooms in the back. The door man raps three times of the sliding door, and annoounces her.

By all means, please do come in. You are of course expected with much anticipation.

Ralo smiles while reading the message.

Time to leave this place, it seems. Better pack my whole stuff and take it to the tavern.

Thinking so, he begins to pack his gear and flies to the tavern to meet with the T'skrang, trying to avoid the attention of any troll he notices on the way.

Stats



Background

Ralo is given the same reception as the elf, and quickly shown to the dining room in the back of the wine house. As he enters, an attractive female elf is being seated by an attendant across from a t'skarng. There is also a windling sized "chair' in the room.

The ts'krang gestures for each of you to sit. He , or she, is well dressed with a velvet doublet of dark purple hue. A cape of Crimson and matching hat, with large purple feather of course, sit acorss a chair at the back of the roomm. The t'skrangs skin is a sharp green color, with blue and purple speckles in it's crest. It seems to be smiling broadly.

K'stalanna: A good evening to you both. I am well pleased to see that you have accepted my invitation. If it pleases you, I would prefer to discuss business first. I find the heavy weight of it tneds to do odd thins to my appetite. So without further preamble, we will begin.

It has come to my attention that certain personages have been dissapearing. Appearances would tell us that it a group of Theran slavers. The dissaperances are taking place near the Lake Ban area. I am sure that I do not have to explain to you the events concerning the Behemoth there until last year. We are concerned that this could have something to do with it. If not, all the better.

The dissapearances concern a village called Amden some 50 miles to the north of our present location. I will of course provide a map of the area and it's surronuding villages. It's a small cluster of villages in a 20 square mile area that co exist off of each other and trade brought through over land instead of the serpent. Farming villages mostly.

I would like you to investigate the dissapearances and stop any further issues in the area that are related to them. A Theran presence, if they ar ein fact Therans, cannot be tolerated so near the Serpent River. And the cost to business is staggering.

I am willing to compensate the both of you for your time, to the tune of 1,500 silver pieces each. Payable half up front of course, due to your sterling reputations.

What do you say? Do we have an accord?

Well, I am of the mind to accept your offer. Provided of course that certain accommodations are made.

Morgana smiles, and takes advantage of the momentary pause to pour herself a generous helping of the spiced T'skrang wine, drawing out the moment. With practiced grace, Morgana eyes the wine in the dimmed light of the shop. She takes a slow sip, eyes closed, savoring the bite of the drink. Her eyes then open, staring directly into the eyes of the t'skrang. Suddenly, she is all business. A pleasant smile remains on the face but never quite reaches her eyes.

The half up front is generous and I accept it with pleasure, but as I'm sure you're aware the voyage you are proposing would require extensive supplies and equipment. Equipment that a house like yours trades in quite frequently.
From what you know of myself and my reputation, you know that I have never failed to deliver once my services have been aquired. As such, I would ask that all equipment and supplies needed be provided free of charge. If it is, as you say, a Theran presence, trade WILL stop. Providing our supplies would be a triviality compared to the loss in revenue that would occur should the mystery around the disappearances continue.
So, K'stalanna Agorii, do we have an accord?

roll negotiations

I'd considered my opening bid quite generous. how ever you do have a point as to payment percentages requisite to the fulfillment of the contract. As horse and additional supplies should tally no more than 200 silver pieces at any decent market, I would be willing to compensate your expenditure costs at 50%, maximizing at an additional 110 silver pieces. Of course, said sums would be applied retroactively, with receipts of course.

Morgana muses for a moment, considering the counteroffer.

A fair trade then. Very well, I accept. K'stalanna Agorii of House V'strimon, you have engaged my services.

Morgana raises her glass and toasts the t'skrang.

And now, if you please, the down payment? The sooner we get the niceties of business taken care of, the sooner we may enjoy the exquisite atmosphere and cuisine offered.

Morgana beams at the t'skrang. She is using the First Impression Talent

With a smile: Let dinner be served then! I hope you don't mind but I have taken upon my self the burden of ordering. I trust that you enjoy fine taste of freshly caught and exquisetly spiced fish along with a warm glass of spectacularly spiced t'skrang wine?

A small bag is brought to the table by a human aid from out side the room with the promised coin inside while the waiters bring in small plpatters of various fish along with the wine. If nothing else goes right form this point on, at least you can say that it is a dinner to remember.


Prepare your shopping list

Ralo listens to the conversation between the two other name-givers present at his table.
After they finished negotiations and the woman toasted to the t'skrang, Ralo stands up at the table: K'stalanna Agorii of House V'strimon, I accept your offer too. Who would I am if I don't stand up and take a fight against slavers?
He nods to both and raises his glass, holding it in bot hands. Shustal!

Description of Ralo
Being slender even for a windling, Ralo stands 19 inches high and weights around 10 pounds. His skin is currently of a bright light blue, while his long and wild hair has a deep yellow color. Ralo sports several tattoos: a tiny sun around his right eye, a pattern of interweaving circles on this left lower arm and a stylized heart on his right upper arm. All tattoos are clearly the work of a windling, other name-givers won't be able to tattoo such fine lines and many details.
Ralo wears a light white shirt and light red pants, in which whirling blue patterns are woven. Both shirt and pants are made of linen.
His wings shimmer silver with a hint of gold, like threads, in it.

The t'skrang toasts in exchange with a smile.

Prepare your equipment my compatriots, and strengthen your hearts for the dangers and thrills of the roads. And be assured that I shall spread the tale of your adventures upon your successful return!

You've got a bit of extra silver to work with for equipment, plus your up front pay. Go ahead and get anything off the standard equipment lists (like healing potions)

Equipment List


Afterwards, request the merchant make three copies of the reciept. Two for my personal records, and one copy to be sent by courier to the t'skrang.

Ralo only needs a short time to buy everything he deems useful for the trip.

So, I'm ready. he says after his return, carrying a small package, a pair of swords and a bow over his back.
But before we leave, let me introduce myself, dear lady: my name is Ralogatol. Who do I have the honor to share the next weeks with?

With a bow and a smile, Morgana introduces herself. Using the First Impression Talent

Well met, Ralogatol. I am known as Morgana, re-knowned Troubadour of the 4th Circle and Wizard of the 3rd.

It's an honor to meet you, mylady. I'm a Windmaster myself, maybe you heard of this discipline before? Be assured that every member of this discipline is among the finest and smartest warriors in Barsaive - and Thera as well!
I'm sure we can make for an entertaining journey and shares tales about our travels through our beautful province.

I'm intrigued. Well then, allow me some time to gather what I need and then we can be free to start this adventure. Meet me in one hour by the water clock in the town square?

The hour passes quickly for Morgana and she is waiting in the square perhaps just a few minutes late.

Ralo, however, returning to his quarters to gather the last of is belongings, finds a quartet of angry and injured trolls waiting out front. Apaprently htey've never heard that Inns that have special rooms for windlings usually have entraces on the roof just for them as well. Easy enough ot bypass them.... if you want to.

Ralo pauses for a moment, spying on the angry trolls from safe distance. No, not this time. He decides to bypass them and use the windling-only entrance to his room instead.

The pair meet in the square, more or less on time. Unsuprisingly , the windling hitches a ride on the elf's fresh riding horse.

Luckily Morgana had the foresight to purchase a map of the area. It indicatees a ten day ride in a west/northwestern direction. A small clutch of villages sit around your destination. According to the cartographer, the area is rarely visited, mostly during the harvest season, as the t'skrang had said. Besides a few client villages that dot the landscape for the next couple of days ride, there's little but open wilderness between you and the villages.

About a weeks trek across open ground, headed towards te Thunder Mountains. At least you have no reason to go in to them.

The first day of travel is rather uneventful, although the windling seems just a bit anxious, It may be feeling the open air again, or perhaps there's something he'd rather leave behind in the city. The elf woman has a tendency to hum songs to herself throughout the day. The very fine blade at her side, mostly concealed beneath her cloak, hints at more than the exterior provides.

Lodgings are found easily at one of the small villages. Traders and travelers are common enough in this area, and the price is more affordable than an Inn in Travar it's self. The food is fresher as well. The beds do leave something to be desired however,

The next few days of travel are more an exercise in small talk between companions of circumstance. Morgana has stories from many provinces out side of Barsiave. Her accent is a bit curios, not quite fitting in with what is the norm for the regions. She knows many songs however, and is quite proficent on a curious insturment she plays. It is shaped in almost an 8 pattern, whihc she holds against her neck, and plays strings that run it's length with a strip of cat gut on a stick she calls a bow. An elvish instrument apparently. Certainly something a windling could play, if only it were in the right size.

As for Ralo, a free ride and good converstaion seem enough at the moment. True to his people, he seems quite the chatter box at times. Deeper seeds are also seen in him though when potential advesaries approach. He becomes calmer and more alert, bow in hand, ready to deal with any problem that may come.

By the fourth night out, you're camping beneath the stars. The bedrolls may not be what the inns had, but at least there's no worries of bed bugs.

As the night wears on and the firelight begins to wane, the final haunting strains from Morgana's instrument die out, leaving nothing but the silence of the woods around them. A cool wind blows through the trees, whipping Morgana's long hair about her face. Her eyes closed, she sways gently. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was listening to something only she could hear. In a quiet voice, she begins to speak.
Ralo, nights like this... they are rare. They are nights that have a magic all of their own. They whisper to those of us who weave the stories and songs. They tell us what stories must be told, and what stories must be kept for another night of magic. Tonight, the wind is whispering a name. Si'lune. Si'lune Horrorslayer. Tonight the wind wants to hear her story...and so I must tell it.
I warn you Ralo the Windmaster, this is not a story for the faint of heart. I see in you a great deal of courage, more so then others three times your size. I see that this story belongs with you. And so, settle back. Close your eyes. Let the words paint the picture, let the wind whisper the song. Listen to the tale of Si'lune Horrorslayer.

As the night wears on and the moon reaches it's peak, Morgana's words fill the darkness. She speaks of Si'lune Ni'Harrow, a young woman, old beyond her 16 years, chosen by Nethermancy. She tells of the tragedy that befell Si'lune in the abandoned kaer, of how her master fell to the Black. Of how Si'lune journeyed and fought, of the Pale One t'skrang who taught her, who gave her the sword that would help forge her legend: Night Scar. The sword that held within it the soul of a doomed Nethermancer. A sword of ice and void. The troubadour told of battles with horrors, Named and Unnamed. Of how Si'lune herself became marked by the Horror that killed her master. The Horror once known as Thessail. Soon, Morgana's voice grew hoarse, the final battle with the Horror untold.
And now, my brave Ralo, who has listened with such courage. Now is the time for rest. Tomorrow will come quickly enough. Rest for now. Tomorrow night, the story continues.... the story always continues.
With that Morgana wrapped the strange instrument, carefully placing it inside a colorfully embroidered bag. Lying out on the unrolled sleeping bag, Morgana stared up into the stars. She soon closed her eyes, but not before a single tear rolled down her face.
Telling her story... oh, it makes me ache. I miss them so much. Titan...Si'lune, Val.. my Bahamut. When will I see you again?

Alexander
Summer in Coel was usually the busiest time of the year. The harvest would come in, the snow caps were already melted so the rivers and creeks were full, and traders were coming through. All the busying about always meant business. Plows needed repairing, Water wheels needed new gears, and traveler's horses needed reshoeing. And of course, as a mere journeyman, all of this fell to Alexander.

He was the only remaining true smith in the village. A Weaponsmith, a practitioner of an ancient and honored trade, not some simple balcksmith. It had been almost a solid year since he had crafter anyhting more than a simple hunting spear or arrow heads.

And now he was flooded with orders.

All the strangeness had started not a month ago. First it was the lack of visitors villagers from Vanten. They usually came around this time with the first of their apple crops. There had been no sign of them. The Talden borthers had gone to Vanten three weks back and still not returned. They weren't known as the most reliable of folk, but it was only a day's ride. And they weren't the only ones.

Some of the sheerers had returned from Joppstown with more disturbing news. The village was completely emptied. There were no bodies, no blood, nothing. There was simply no one there. And no travelers, no messengers, no traders at all. Something was defintely very wrong in Amden's valley.

So Alexander stood at the forge, making yet another spear head. Not a boar spear this time, but something meant to pierce a name giver. He'd made two swords for the vilalgers, but it was plain to see that most of them had little idea what to do with it. Axes and spears though, those they knw how to use.

It wasn't enough that people feared that something might be out there. They knew something was, just not what . Some of the livestock had died, completely torn apart. People thought they saw shadows moving in the darkness just outside of the light. There was nothing definitive. But in a time and a place not so long after the Return that a few Grandfather's still remember the kaers nearby, no one took chances. Old weapons he'd already sharpened and oiled. Now it was on to crafting the new. Finally, some real work.

It was late already. Dinner had been delivered by his mother Narissa an hour ago. Luckily, nothign ever really got cold when he was working in the forge. It didn't pay to interrupt a rythm after all. But he'd finally put the finishing touches onto the spear head. All that was left was to temper the steel, then sharpen. He smiled at the perfect spear head, gleeming in the coals. Just like the last five he'd produced. Exactly the same in every way. Consistency was the key. Anyone could do quality, but to make quality exactly the same every time....

There was a knock at the forge door. A voice... a harsh whisper, someone speaking urgently, but trying to keep their voice down.

Alexander? Alexander, open up! It's me, Garen! Garen Talden! Open up!

MOrgana/Ralo
Two days more ride had the pair just on the outskirts of a small bumpkin village called "Joppstown", apparently named after some enterprising individual that thought the way to immortality meant naming a hick town after himself.

It meant a warm home cooked meal at least. If these farmer towns did one thing right, it was cook. They had precious little else to do with their time. Still to far out of the village to smell the cooking smoke, but it was only just past dusk, and they'd be there in time for the food, or at least the left overs.

The horse tripped, nearly tossing the elf from the saddle. Ralo, less secure, did fly loose, but luckily battles with gravity went his way mor eoften than not. So it was his singular pleasure t ohave the first and most nobstructed view of the mauled human body the horse had tripped over.

It was impossible to tell his age. His clothing, what little was left of it, spoke of humble origins. The rents in his clothing showed good muscles, and what was probably a good suntan. His face however, showed only stark terror. His body hand been clawed at and gnawed upon, although not much actual meat was missing.

Perception test

Alexander started at the sound of his name. The abrupt change from the world of thought to that of the wider world still threw him at times. Truth be told he enjoyed that ability to get so absorbed in the details that he forgot what else was going on. Few could match his attention to detail and few could do what he had done. Five identical spear heads.

What could Garen possibly want at this time of day?

Alexander put down the spear head and quickly crossed the forge opening the door enough to let Garen pass.

Come in. What holds you that you come so urgently this night?

Garen stood in the doorway, framed by mooonlgiht, the flickering flames of the forge illluminating his horrid face. It was torn , and covered with dry blood. Most of his clothing was torn in one place or another. He was nearly entirely covered with blood. The wheezing sound of his voice was no doubt due to the large tear in his neck that had cut in to his wind pipe. He seemed to be holding something close to his waste. With horror, Alexander realized Garen was holding his own entrails. There was no way he could be alive, but there he was, in the doorway to the forge.

The Talden brothers... missing for weeks....by the passions..

Garen Talen coughed, dried blood coming out of his mouth like dust.
Alexander, there isn't much time! My brothers are coming, and they want blood! They've gone mad from the pain! We reached Vanten, there village was a ruin! They're building a tower there! Everyone is dead, but they're still building it!Alexander I ... I think.... I think I'm dead. But I can't lay down. I hurt... oh passions I hurt, and it won't stop! It won't stop!

Garen lurched forward, grabbing Alexander's shoulder to steady him self, his last words coming out as a harsh but quiet attempt at a wail. Blood was everywhere, not all of it dry now. Garen smelled of rotted meat.

Alexander, my two brothers, they've gone mad. They're coming here. They're going to kill. And there's something else coming with them. Watch for the shadows Alexander! They'll get you! Fear the shadows!

I have to go! I can't stay here much longer.. the pain!
At the word, his features snarl, becoming a look of hate, pure rage. Alexander recoils against the coming attack, but it never comes. Garen turns and flees out in to the night, the only sound the shuffling of his feet throug hthe dirt road. He's out of sight in moments. Only the blood on the floor is proof of the living nightmare.

Garen was always the quietest of the Talden boys, always the most gentle. His brothers wer always dragging him in to things.... by Mynbruje, was that real!?

Without a word, Morgana swings down from the dusty horse. Her eyes scan the horizon, searching.

Satisfied that nothing is lurking in the immediate area, Morgan quickly looks over the body. Her fingers flying to find a pulse, to see if there is anything that can be done or if it is indeed to late.

There is no pulse to the body . He's still a little warm. Morgana's fingers to find a small scroll case tucked nto the dead man's tattered clothing.

She's in such a hurry with the body that it takes a moment to register what she saw while looking around. A pair of shadowed firues, moving away from athe tree only thirty yards off.

He's gone, no pulse.... wait, what was that?!
Morgana's eyes fly up in alarm, searching for the tree and the shadows. In one smooth motion, she is up and drawing her sword from it's scabbard.
Ralo, we have company.

Warned by Morgana's words and a feeling of immediate danger, Ralo draws his swords and flies to the dead body, still scanning the surrounding area. He follows the view of Morgana and turns to the trees, thirty yards away - and immediatly, he flies up, at least 15 yards.

Two shapes, moving slowly low in the grass, can just be seen moving towards you. They seem to be crawling through the grass. They are approxiamently man sized, but it's too dark to make out any details. They're moving at a quick pace for crawling.

Could I have been so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't realize... This can't be real. It just can't. If the Talden brothers are truly dead and coming for blood ...

Alexander runs to his chest at the back of the forge forgetting his now unfinsihed "perfect" spearhead and the food from his mother. He grabs his sword - the one he forged himself. He takes a moment to don his sword and sets his mind to thinking of what to do.

Who can I go to? They will all think that I have gone mad. Mother! She'll be able to raise others.

He realizes with a sense of shame that his concern is for his mother's safety more than that of the village.

Can't worry about that now. Must get help.

He tears off after Garen and tries to gain proof of what is unprovable.

Garen! Garen, wait! Come back!

Alexander
It doesn't take long to catch the fleeing man... if that is indeed what he is. He's moved out of the village, heading south towards the mountain. Most people don't come out after dark, especiialy in so isolated aplace. It's easy to follow the unique trail. Only a dead man walks like that.

Seeing the figure sihlouted against the moonlight on top of a hill rise is like something out of a nightmare. He keeps going, looking over his shoulder, seeming fearful.

A minute later, you catch him. Garen whirls, nearly falling, some of his entrails slipping from his fingers and catching at his feet.

Why won't you leave me in peace!? I just want to die! Why are you tormenting me? Let me go! The Hound Gate will free me! I know it will! Leave me be!

For a moment rage clouds his features again. Murderous rage. Then Garen seems caught in an inner conflict, as if he's fighting off himself.

The Hound Gate. An ancient citadel higher up in the mountains. Great black walls and gate swith the likeness of hounds, and a huge gate of iron. Why would Garen be going there? Everyone knows the place is haunted.

Garen turns and contines fleeing. His pace hasn't changed. The constitution of the dead. But it's still slow from his damaged leg and draggin his entrails behind him now.

Dead or not. Friend or not. I can't go to Hound Gate this night. I may be thought mad but I must warn others.

With some reluctance in his step, Alexander, heads back to the village. He first stops at the forge and dons his armor - made at the requst of his former master, Silas, for a test - and then goes quickly to the village elders.

Mother will know to keep the door barred.

Resolved he moves on.

Preparing for battle, Morgan uses her free hand to weave the beginnings of a spell. Noting the vegetation, Morgana weaves "Vines", hoping to ensnare the approaching creatures, or at least to slow them down enough to provide more time to prepare.

@Plan B - Perception test to still see target for effecting target

@ Alex - You turn, thoughts of armor and the safety of the forge swirling in your head. You see two figures at the base of the hill of which you are at the top. Garen is fleeing away from you and the vilalge. The two figures stand between you and the safety of home. Even in the dim moon light, it isn't difficult to recognize the figures of the 'remaining' Talden brothers.

Mat speaks Alexander? Out a little late, aren't you young pup? This isn't much of a place for a moon lit stroll either.

The two figures walk forward, still thiry yards off.

Fancy us running in to you way out 'ere. You've got something we need Alexander.

Mat continues talking and moving forward slowly. Lott is just growling, liek a feral creature.

See, we're dead... but there's somethin' that can make us feel a whole lot better. Blood.

Mat and Lott roar together and charge.

Alexander Initiative

Perception Test:

Perception and spell casting tests are successful. Threadweaving takes 1 round, spellcasting the second.

Ralo speeds up to get thirty feet into the air and getting a better overview.

Figuring out that the opponents are close enough for an attack, Ralo decides to distract them so give Morgana more time to finish their threadweaving.

One of the figures on the ground reaches up to take a grab at you as you buzz by.



The attacker completely misses, incurs a negative penatly next rond due to being distracted by a buzzing Ralo.

Rnd 2 - Morgana casts Vines and ensares the second attacker, which was hurrying towards her.

Ralo: Opponents Init for Rnd 2 =7

Initiative for round 2 = 9

Dive Attack on the buzzed opponet (who is facing a -6 step penalty for the round).

Attack against Ralo : 8 miss -w/ agressive attack

The creature screams with rage and flails about at the buzzing Ralo. From this close it's hard to miss the stench. It's an undead, a cadaver man or something similar. This one used to be an ork, but rot has diminished it's frame to a smaller size. It continues screaming and tearing at the air, inches from rending Ralo.

The second cadaver man is still trying to rip it's self free from the entangling vines and tall grass that has magically come alive and grappled with it.

Initiative Round 3 : 4

While the Vines spell keeps the target ensnared, Morgana leaps into the fray, going after the captured cadaver man.

Using Air Dance Talent in place of Initiative.

Melee Weapons

Init w/ Airdance was 2x defender's init. Roll second melee weapons. Phys defense is 5. Also roll damage.

Damage from 1st Attack

2nd Melee Attack

Damage from 2nd Attack