George R. Shirer's Blog, page 19

Lux Tenebris: The House of Knowledge

The water was hot, drawing the little aches and pains from Malora's limbs. She lay in the tub, her head lolling on her shoulders, thinking of her next move.
After discovering the shrine to Ryat, the raiding party had returned to Treeport. Lord Terret had been informed of their discovery and had gone into immediate consultation with the town's spiritual leaders. Malora had excused herself from the scene and slipped away. She'd run into Fericille who had escorted Malora to an inn near the High House.
"I'm pretty sure Eamor is going to want to hear your take on the matter," said the sorceress. Then she'd left, with a wave at the innkeeper, and Malora had asked for a bath.
When she saw that her fingers were going pruney and the water was going lukewarm, Malora reluctantly climbed out of the big wooden tub.  There were thick, soft towels to hand and a bathrobe that was almost indecently fluffy.  She slid into it, winding one of the towels around her head.
Her gear was, no doubt, still among the horde at the monastery.  The only thing she really wanted back from that were her blades. They had been custom-made for her, a gift from an old friend in V'resh.  Her horse, poor beast, was long gone. Probably sold to a horse-trader or a butcher. It didn't bear thinking about as there was nothing to be done for the animal.
She made her way to her room from the bathing suite. The inn was small, but luxurious, obviously accustomed to dealing with individuals of wealth and taste. The floors were carpeted, spell-lights dispelled the darkness and there were tasteful paintings and tapestries hung on the walls. The rooms were comfortable, with thick, soft mattresses and there were bell-chords close to hand to summon a servant any time of the day or night.  Malora was fairly certain that, in a place like this, the maids and houseboys did more than turn down blankets and move luggage. If the price was right.
She entered her room and locked the door.  Her fingers brushed the globe on the bedside table and soft spell-lights blossomed from several small glass spheres suspended from the ceiling. Malora shook her head at the extravagance, then dug in her boots for the scroll-case. She opened the case and pulled out the scroll. Its wax seal was broken. Unfurling the paper, Malora scanned the contents again.
For all his faults, Brother Varre hadn't lied about the scroll. This was no letter between academics, but a request from the Regent of Fallen Baramir to one Isteban Mirelle, asking him to return to the city and take charge of its defense during the coming war.
The wording of the letter was terse and direct, much like the Regent himself. Malora got a sense that the Regent was not so much requesting this Mirelle person return to Fallen Baramir, but requiring him to do so. Which implied there were unpaid debts between either the Regent and this Mirelle character or the man and the city.
She was more curious about why she had been given the letter under false pretenses. If the Regent had wanted her to deliver the message, he could have hired her. Why go through all this pretense? Why go through Selne Venestar and the Adamantine Archive? Discretion was one thing, but this all smacked of secrecy, of politics.
And Brother Varre's words drifted through her memory. That his letter was no mere letter, but the spark to a powder keg that could blow the entire continent apart. Varre may have been a thief, but he would have had no reason to lie to her about this once he knew she didn't recognize the name.
I need information, thought Malora. I can't just ride into the dark. I need to see where I'm going and who I'm going to meet.
She returned the scroll to its case and dressed.  It was after noon and the sun was high and bright in the sky. Not her favorite time of the day to go out, but she needed answers.
The woman seated behind the reception desk probably could have told her where to go, but Malora wasn't certain she trusted her discretion. Malora nodded at the woman as she drew her hood up and stepped onto the street.
The great tree towered overhead, its broad branches and massive leaves filtering some of the sun. This afternoon, the streets of Treeport were busy with activity. She noted that several shops were doing a thriving business. Curiously, she stepped into one or two and was surprised at their contents. One shop was a dress boutique, catering to an upscale clientele, with wooden mannequins adorned in expensive silks, satins and laces. Another was the jeweler's shop she had seen her first day in Treeport. Malora had expected to find a few simple wares, brought from cash-strapped travelers. Instead, she'd found herself in a room of glass cases filled with glittering necklaces, strands of fine silver and gold adorned with precious and semiprecious stones.
Her curiosity sparked, Malora started to truly study Treeport's people. They were an eclectic mix. Humans were the majority.  There were olive-skinned men from the Palatine Peninsula, fair-skinned blondes from the northeast dressed in elvish style and even, to her surprise, solidly-built men with raven-black hair displaying sigils and coat-of-arms from V'resh. There were elves from Moonhome and a trio of aasimar from Pax. A water genasi man in a sailor's cap strutted past her smelling of brine. Ahead of her, a dark-skinned tiefling crone tottered out of an apothecary's shop, her skin adorned with ritualistic scars, chattering at the large black man who held her arm in a language Malora had never heard.
These were people Malora would have expected to encounter at a port city, not a large town in the middle of the countryside.  There was obviously more to Treeport than she had suspected, but she put those questions aside and refocused on her own task.
Eventually, Malora found a small, pleasant cafe run by a gnome family. A young gnome woman showed her to a table and brought her tea and pastries. The fare was excellent and Malora complimented the establishment.  When she had finished her tea and was paying, Malora asked, as casually as she could, for what she sought.
"Go two blocks ahead to Lark Street, then take a left onto Ryonteen, miss. You can't miss it."
Malora thanked the girl, left a generous tip and continued on her way.
She found the building easily thanks to the directions. It stood on a quiet street, a simple three-story structure of wood and stone. The building was not ostentatious. There was nothing to indicate what it housed at a casual glance. You had to look to notice the apple tree carved with care and artistry into the heavy wooden door, and you had to know what that apple tree signified.
Malora pulled and the door opened on well-oiled hinges without so much as a whisper. Beyond the door was an antechamber, that led into the sanctuary. In the antechamber, sitting on a wooden stool, reading a thick book, was a thin, half-orc woman.  She raised her head and Malora saw that she wore spectacles.
"Well met, traveler," said the half-orc. "Welcome to the Temple of Amhog. Do you seek knowledge?"
"Yes," said Malora.
She lowered her hood and studied the woman's reaction. The half-orc's eyes widened behind her glasses, more in surprise than consternation, then her expression smoothed itself out.
"What sort of knowledge do you seek?"
"Information on a man," said Malora.
"Living or dead?"
"Living," said Malora. "In Moontree."
The half-orc's eyes narrowed. "Why do you seek this knowledge, traveler?"
"I was sent to deliver a message to this man under false pretenses. I want to know who he is so that I might know why I was lied to."
"What is this man's name?"
"Isteban Mirelle."
The half-orc flinched. She drew a hitched breath and carefully shut her book, marking her place with a paper strip. Holding the book to her chest, almost like a shield, the woman stood. For a half-orc, she was tall and skinny.
"You should talk to Learned Brother Ostren. Follow me."
Without another word, the half-orc turned on her heel and walked into the sanctuary. Malora followed her.

Lux Tenebris: Brother Varre

BROTHER VARRE, L14 Human Criminal (L8 Rogue/L6 Cleric of Ryat)
STR     12 (+1)DEX    15 (+2)                                                            CON   15 (+2)INT      12 (+1)WIS     16 (+3)CHA    15 (+2)HP       101AC       13 (Leather armor)
TraitsLanguages: Common, Dwarvish, Thieve's cant
Proficiencies: +5Armor: Light, Medium, ShieldsWeapons: Simple, Hand x-bows, Longswords, Rapiers, ShortswordsTools:   Gaming set, Thieves' toolsSaves: Dexterity +7, Intelligence +6Skills:   Acrobatics +7, Deception +12, Insight +13, Intimidation +7, Persuasion +12, Stealth +12
FeatsCriminal contacts* * *Expertise (Deception, Insight, Persuasion, Stealth)Sneak AttackCunning ActionRoguish Archetype: Thief- Fast Hands- Second Story WorkUncanny DodgeEvasion* * *Divine SpellcastingDivine Domain: Trickery- Blessing of the TricksterChannel Divinity: Turn Undead/Invoke Duplicity/Cloak of Shadows (2x)Destroy Undead (CR 1/2)
Divine SpellcastingSpells Known: 09Spell DC: 16Atk Mod: +8At-Will (04): Guidance, Resistance, Sacred Flame, ThaumaturgyL1(4): Charm person, Disguise self, Bane, Detect magic, Guiding bolt, Protection from Evil/GoodL2(3): Mirror image, Pass without Trace, Find traps, Hold person, SilenceL3(3): Blink, Dispel magic, Feign death, Speak with the dead, Tongues
EquipmentShortsword. Melee. +7 to hit; deals 1d6 +2 piercing; Finesse, Light.Rapier. Melee. +7 to hit; deals 1d8 +2 piercing; FinesseDaggers(2). Melee. +7 to hit; 1d4 +2 piercing; Finesse, Light, Thrown (20/60 ft).Leather armor. Defense. AC 11 + DexA burglar's pack, a set of thieves' tools, a crowbar, a set of dark common clothes including a hood, a belt pouch w/15g.
Brother Varre is a rather short human with a ginger beard and his hair cut into a monk's tonsure. He is best known as the leader of the Monks of Threadwood Abbey, a group of bandits who operated from an abandoned abbey near the community of Treeport.  It has lately been revealed that the bandits may actually be some kind of religious order, serving Ryat, the God of Thieves. Varre seems to be especially favored by Ryat, as he demonstrated various clerical magics during the recent raid upon the abbey by the Sheriff of Treeport and representatives from the Temple of Abasha.  Although Varre escaped, it is doubtful that Treeport and the surrounding region have seen the last of him, or his followers.

Lux Tenebris: The Monks of Threadwood Abbey - Part 6

            The raid did not go like anyone expected.
            Threadwood Abbey was a large, rambling stone structure that, at some point in its existence, had been used as a fortress.  Time had not been kind to the structure and, by the moon's dim light, Mallora saw that one of the abbey wings had collapsed into rubble. Ivy had crept over the remainder of the building, obscuring windows and probably helping the building blend into the countryside.  A poorly maintained dirt tract led from the main road toward the abbey. There were no lights visible in the abbey, no telltale hints of smoke rising from the building. No sign, at all, that the place was a bandit's den.            The rest of the party was gathered at the treeline, where the dirt tract started. Mallora saw a trio of darkly dressed figures lying on the cold earth, horse blankets thrown over two of them. The third seemed to be alive, bound hand and foot and gagged to boot.  Mallora recognized him as the halfling she had met with the group. His eyes were wide open, moving about, seeking any sign of escape.            She turned her back on him and watched as Elkedren and Brother Elloren bent their heads together and exchanged whispers. When they parted the Abashite paladin was smiling, grimly. He gestured at his accolytes and they stepped out of the treeline, onto the dirt track. They advanced upon the abbey. Brother Elloren's silver chainmail glowed like molten silver in the moon's dim light.            Elkedren's people had faded into the shadows, as stealthy as any rogue Mallora had ever seen. She glanced at Fericille, saw the sorceress double-checking her crossbow with a professional detachment that seemed oddly out of character for her.  Mallora's fingers brushed the hilt of her new shortsword and waited.            She didn't have to wait long.  The Abashites reached the entry to the abbey. Brother Elloren called out something.  Golden light flared, briefly illuminating the small group of figures. The sudden light made Mallora hiss and turn away.             "Forward!" shouted Elkedren, and the party surged forward to catch up with the Abashites.            If the Sheriff of Treeport had been expecting the bandit-monks to battle them face-to-face, he was disappointed. The bandits vanished and what had started out as a raid soon turned into a dangerous game of hide-and-seek.             Threadwood Abbey's stout stone walls were riddled with secret passageways. The bandits popped out of them, to fire a crossbow or throw vials of acid or oil. Elkedren's woodsmen may have been great marksman but in the abbey's interior they were at a distinct disadvantage.              Brother Elloren and his accolytes weren't fairing much better. It was no good being a skirmish fighter if your enemy wouldn't stand and fight. The monks were thieves, not fighters, and they exploited that fact, relying on stealth and their knowledge of the abbey to ambush their attackers.            Of course, being rogues, they had boobytrapped the place. Nauseating gases filled rooms. Poisoned darts sprang from concealed traps.  In one room, the floor slid open, dumping a hapless Abashite into a pit filled with poisonous vipers.            "Demon teeth!" snarled Elkedren, wiping blood from his brow. A barbed arrow had grazed his forhead only minutes before. "This is like hunting rats in a barn!"            "I should have brought more men," muttered Brother Elloren.  He'd pulled the unfortunate Abashite out of the snake-pit, but there was nothing he could do for her.            "Perhaps we should burn the place down," suggested Fericille.            "Can you burn stone walls?" asked Mallora.            "No," admitted the sorceress. "But the roof tiles are made of wood. Aren't they?"            "Slate probably," said Elloren.             Fericille scowled and seemed to shrink, irrate, into her heavy cloak.            "How many monks have we taken?" asked Mallora.            "Five," growled Elkedren.            "And how many are left, do you suppose?"            "Not many," said the Sheriff. "Between the three we already had in custody and the five we've taken, there's probably about another five or six running free. Including Varre."            "How many men have we lost?"            Elkedren sucked his teeth. "Too many."            "The bandits have too many bolt-holes," growled Brother Elloren. "By now, the remaining ones have fled if they've any sense."            "Probably," agreed Elkedren. He offered a grim smile. "But I'll bet they had to leave their booty behind."            "Nothing hurts a thief more than having to leave his spoils behind him," said Fericille. "And the bandits have been using the abbey for a while. I imagine their treasure-room is very well stocked."            "Fine," said Elkedren. "Time to change tactics. We hunt for their gold."            "Perhaps one of the prisoners will talk," suggested Mallora.            "Doubtful," said Brother Elloren. "They're unusually loyal for a band of thieves."            "Could you charm the answers out of them, Fericille?" asked Mallora.            The sorceress shook her head. "No. My spells are physical. Fire. Ice. That sort of thing."            "I have no interest in their gold," said Brother Elloren. "My people will continue to hunt for the monks."            "Happy hunting," said Elkedren. "Fericille, what say you?"            "As much as a treasure hunt through a booby-trapped monastery sounds like fun, I'd rather not. Besides, someone should take the prisoners back to Treeport."            "I'll assign some men to go with you."
            "No need," said Fericille. "I can whip up a teleportation circle that'll do the job. I'll drop 'em right in the middle of the Lawhouse."            Elkedren grunted and began to shout orders. His woodsmen gladly regrouped at the entry to the abbey. There, they watched as Fericille sketched out a complicated teleportation circle on the stone floor using colored chalks.  When she was done, the living prisoners were shoved into the circle. The sorceress joined them and, with a dip of her head and a jaunty wave, vanished with the prisoners.             Their departure triggered a burst of thunder, as air rushed in to fill the space they had vacated. Elkedren carefully obscured the teleportation circle, then began to issue new orders to his woodsmen.             The Abashites were still in the depths of the abbey, hunting for any lingering monk-bandits. Mallora felt compelled to join them.  She said as much to Elkedren, who nodded and waved her away without a second glance.            Alone, Mallora moved quickly down the stone corridors, toward the direction of Brother Elloren's party. She had just turned a corner, when a voice called out to her.            "Lady."            Mallora turned and saw a familiar figure, standing in an open doorway. Her blade was in her hand, before she even realized.            "Peace, lady," said Brother Varre.            He was still wearing his black habit. His face, so amiable during their first encounter, held a serious expression now.  Mallora saw specks of blood on his cheek.            "Are you surrendering?" asked Mallora.            "No," said Brother Varre. "There's no. . . ."            She rushed him, blade low and fast. It plunged into the man's black robes and met no resistance.  Instantly, Mallora spun on her heels and threw herself to the side.            Brother Varre stood behind her, hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his habit.            "Now that we've got that out of the way, perhaps we can discuss terms."            "What terms?" demanded Mallora. She eyed the duplicate warily, not trusting that it was entirely illusional.            "The terms of the agreement where you help me get out of the abbey."            "Why would I do that?"            Varre drew a hand out of his sleeve and showed her the leather tube that had held the Chief Archivist's letter.            "Because of this."            "A letter from the Chief Archivist to some academic?" asked Mallora, chuckling.            The bandit-monk frowned.  He studied her face for a moment and snorted.            "You don't know. Do you?"            "Know what?" demanded Mallora. "What are you talking about, thief?"            Varre tossed her the letter. "You should read that. It's no simple academic's letter. It's from the Regent of Fallen Baramir."            "Nonsense," said Mallora. She made no effort to catch the letter, suspecting a feint, an attempt to get her to lower her guard.            "Truth, lady. He's asking Isteban Mirelle to return to Fallen Baramir."            "I have no idea who that is."            "You should," said Varre. "That's no mere letter you're muling to Moontree, lady. It's the spark to a powderkeg that could blow the entire continent apart."            "Why should I trust you?" demanded Mallora.            "You probably shouldn't," said Varre. He tilted his head, frowning. "But now, if you'll excuse me, I need to leave. Those bastard Abashites are coming and I've no desire to wind up in their heavy hands.  Fare thee well, lady. I suspect we'll meet again some day."            With that, Brother Varre stepped toward the wall.  It swung open at his approach and before Mallora could react the man was gone and the wall was sealed behind him. Swearing, she hunted for a trigger but found nothing.            A moment later, Brother Elloren and one of his accolytes appeared around the corner.            "Lady?"            "Varre was here," snapped Mallora. She kicked the wall. "He vanished through there. Some kind of secret passage."            "Damn! Well, we'll hunt him down. For now, though, I think we need to find Elkedren. Show him what we've discovered."            "What?" asked Mallora. She knelt and picked up the scroll tube, tucked it into her belt.            "Better you should see."            Frowning, Mallora followed Elloren, while his acolyte rushed off to find the Sheriff.            Grim-faced, the paladin led Mallora along the stone corridors to a doorway. Two of his people stood guard, weapons drawn, their eyes glittering with something like fear.            "Look through the doorway, but don't cross the threshold," said Elloren.            Curiously, Mallora eased forward and peered through the doorway.  In the room, candles burned in dozens of small recesses. Their light illuminated a fantastic treasure horde.  Precious gems, gold coins, silver jewelry and more was piled high around a circular altar in the middle of the room.  Standing on that altar was a dwarfish figure, apparently cast in solid gold, with glittering emerald eyes, a large sack thrown over his shoulder.            "What am I looking at?" asked Mallora.            "It seems our bandits may have been actual monks," said Brother Elloren. He nodded at the figure on the altar. "That is Ryat, God of Thieves."            "Are you saying this place is his temple?"            "I believe so."            "In my experience, gods dislike having their temples despoiled."            "Yes," said Brother Elloren, grimly. "I imagine there's going to be hell to pay for what's happened here tonight."            Mallora touched the scroll-tube and suspected that the paladin was right.

Lux Tenebris: The Monks of Threadwood Abbey - Part 5

Of course, Brother Elloren agreed to help. He insisted actually, even offering to provide additional men for the raid on the abbey.  Elkedren accepted, but only after reiterating that he wanted to capture as many of the brigands alive, as possible."We can hang them after their trail," said the Sheriff.Malora wasn't certain he was joking.The rest of the day was spent preparing for the raid. Elkedren admitted that he had been planning this operation for some time, in the back of his mind."So your sword was sharp, you just needed to polish it," said Mallora.Elkedren nodded and flashed her one of his cutting smiles.While the Sheriff and the paladin gathered their men, Fericille took it upon herself to see to Mallora's equipage. The sorceress took Mallora by the arm, squiring her about Treeport's various shops and tradehalls.  She seemed to know everyone on a friendly basis. Mallora might have found Fericille's chattering behavior quite irritating, if the sorceress hadn't been paying. "Don't worry about the money," said Fericille, amiabley. "It's from the discretionary fund that Eamor gives me."After that, Mallora didn't worry about spending too much gold.  By the end of the day, they were ready. Elkedren had gathered about a dozen men. They had the weatherbeaten countenances of folk who lived in the sun and rain. Most were armed with bows, but some had blades. All seemed experienced fighters to Mallora's eye.Brother Elloren had brought six Abashites with him. They were a mixed group of men and women, of various ages and races. They wore light armor and were armed with short swords and hammers. The paladin wore silver chainmail and moved in it as if it weighed nothing as all.  His greatsword took on a golden glow as he bowed his head, leading the group in a short prayer.Well, thought Mallora. If nothing else, we've got a god on our side."We'll head out now," said Elkedren. "We should reach the abbey around midnight.""They'll have sentries posted," said Fericille. "Getting this lot through the woods, at night, without being spotted won't be easy.""My men are experienced woodsmen," said Elkedren. "They'll go first, scout the way and take out any sentries they come across."  He nodded at Elloren. "Your party will bring up the rear, until we reach the abbey. Then, brother, you can lead our assault.""Will you give them a chance to surrender?" asked Mallora."No," said Elkedren.They set out on horseback as the sun began to drop behind the horizon. Elkedren and his woodsmen rode out first, followed by the Abashites. Fericille and Mallora brought up the rear.The sorceress had doffed her ragged cap and cloak for more practical garb and was armed with a light crossbow."You know how to shoot that thing?" Mallora asked.Fericille chuckled. "Oh yes. I've done this sort of thing before. Quite a bit, actually, before I met Eamor.""You were an adventurer.""Does that surprise you?""No," said Mallora. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her new shortsword. "Nothing really surprises me any more."Fericille tossed her head and laughed. "You are far too young to say anything like that, my dear."Mallora snorted.They made good time. By the time the moon had risen their party had turned off the main road, onto a dirt track that snaked through light forests."There's an actual road to the abbey?" asked Mallora."Oh yes," said Fericille. "Threadwood Abbey was fairly prosperous in its day.""And now a band of thieves use it as a headquarters. How did that happen?""There was a plague," said Fericille. "Most of the monks died.""Some didn't stay dead though," added Brother Elloren.  He had dropped back toward the two women. Mallora wished he would pull his cloak over his armor. The silver chainmail gleamed in the dim moonlight."There were undead here?" Fericille sounded unhappy. "I didn't know that.""It's not something the monks wanted getting out," said the paladin. "They took care of the problem. There aren't any undead now.""Are you sure of that?" asked Mallora."Yes," said Brother Elloren.Their pace slowed as they moved deeper into the forest. After a little while, they came to a stop. Elkedren and two of his men were blocking the road."We go on foot from here," said the Sheriff. "Through the woods.""Have you encountered any sentries, sheriff?" asked Mallora."A few. They've been dealt with.""Is it a bad thing that I hope they know we're here?" asked Brother Elloren. He unsheathed his greatsword and smiled. "That they know that justice is coming for them at last?""We haven't caught them yet, Sir Paladin," said Elkedren. "Leave your horses. Remi will look after them."They dismounted and followed the Sheriff into the dark wood.

Lux Tenebris: The Monks of Threadwood Abbey - Part Five

Of course, Brother Elloren agreed to help. He insisted actually, even offering to provide additional men for the raid on the abbey.  Elkedren accepted, but only after reiterating that he wanted to capture as many of the brigands alive, as possible."We can hang them after their trail," said the Sheriff.Malora wasn't certain he was joking.The rest of the day was spent preparing for the raid. Elkedren admitted that he had been planning this operation for some time, in the back of his mind."So your sword was sharp, you just needed to polish it," said Mallora.Elkedren nodded and flashed her one of his cutting smiles.While the Sheriff and the paladin gathered their men, Fericille took it upon herself to see to Mallora's equipage. The sorceress took Mallora by the arm, squiring her about Treeport's various shops and tradehalls.  She seemed to know everyone on a friendly basis. Mallora might have found Fericille's chattering behavior quite irritating, if the sorceress hadn't been paying. "Don't worry about the money," said Fericille, amiabley. "It's from the discretionary fund that Eamor gives me."After that, Mallora didn't worry about spending too much gold.  By the end of the day, they were ready. Elkedren had gathered about a dozen men. They had the weatherbeaten countenances of folk who lived in the sun and rain. Most were armed with bows, but some had blades. All seemed experienced fighters to Mallora's eye.Brother Elloren had brought six Abashites with him. They were a mixed group of men and women, of various ages and races. They wore light armor and were armed with short swords and hammers. The paladin wore silver chainmail and moved in it as if it weighed nothing as all.  His greatsword took on a golden glow as he bowed his head, leading the group in a short prayer.Well, thought Mallora. If nothing else, we've got a god on our side."We'll head out now," said Elkedren. "We should reach the abbey around midnight.""They'll have sentries posted," said Fericille. "Getting this lot through the woods, at night, without being spotted won't be easy.""My men are experienced woodsmen," said Elkedren. "They'll go first, scout the way and take out any sentries they come across."  He nodded at Elloren. "Your party will bring up the rear, until we reach the abbey. Then, brother, you can lead our assault.""Will you give them a chance to surrender?" asked Mallora."No," said Elkedren.They set out on horseback as the sun began to drop behind the horizon. Elkedren and his woodsmen rode out first, followed by the Abashites. Fericille and Mallora brought up the rear.The sorceress had doffed her ragged cap and cloak for more practical garb and was armed with a light crossbow."You know how to shoot that thing?" Mallora asked.Fericille chuckled. "Oh yes. I've done this sort of thing before. Quite a bit, actually, before I met Eamor.""You were an adventurer.""Does that surprise you?""No," said Mallora. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her new shortsword. "Nothing really surprises me any more."Fericille tossed her head and laughed. "You are far too young to say anything like that, my dear."Mallora snorted.They made good time. By the time the moon had risen their party had turned off the main road, onto a dirt track that snaked through light forests."There's an actual road to the abbey?" asked Mallora."Oh yes," said Fericille. "Threadwood Abbey was fairly prosperous in its day.""And now a band of thieves use it as a headquarters. How did that happen?""There was a plague," said Fericille. "Most of the monks died.""Some didn't stay dead though," added Brother Elloren.  He had dropped back toward the two women. Mallora wished he would pull his cloak over his armor. The silver chainmail gleamed in the dim moonlight."There were undead here?" Fericille sounded unhappy. "I didn't know that.""It's not something the monks wanted getting out," said the paladin. "They took care of the problem. There aren't any undead now.""Are you sure of that?" asked Mallora."Yes," said Brother Elloren.Their pace slowed as they moved deeper into the forest. After a little while, they came to a stop. Elkedren and two of his men were blocking the road."We go on foot from here," said the Sheriff. "Through the woods.""Have you encountered any sentries, sheriff?" asked Mallora."A few. They've been dealt with.""Is it a bad thing that I hope they know we're here?" asked Brother Elloren. He unsheathed his greatsword and smiled. "That they know that justice is coming for them at last?""We haven't caught them yet, Sir Paladin," said Elkedren. "Leave your horses. Remi will look after them."They dismounted and followed the Sheriff into the dark wood.

Statues

I just like this picture.

Here is a lovely tree for you. Enjoy!

Hello, gentle readers!

I'll be taking a break from the blog for the first two weeks in July.

I hope everyone has a very good time!

I'll see y'all when I get back!

Seven Sisters

Seven sisters in the sea,
singing songs to you and me,
singing songs of loss and love,
singing to the stars above.

The first and last, loved the same.
The sixth and second, loved in vain.
The third and fifth saw their loves wane,
and the fourth was never loved at all.

Seven sisters in the sea,
singing songs to you and me,
singing songs of loss and love,
singing to the stars above.

Lux Tenebris: Fericille Icefire

FERICILLE ICEFIRE, L10 Human Sorceress
STR     08 (-1)DEX    14 (+2)CON   12 (+1)INT     10 (+0)WIS     10 (+0)CHA   20 (+5)HP       52AC      15 (Mage Armor)
Languages: Common, Primordial
Proficiencies: +4Armor: NoneWeapons: Daggers, Darts, Slings, Quarterstaffs, Light x-bowsTools: Disguise kit, Thieves' toolsSaves: Constitution +5, Charisma +9Skills: Intimidation +9, Persuasion +9, Sleight of Hand +7, Stealth +7
Feats:City Secrets* * *Sorcerous Origin: Storm Sorcery- Wind Speaker- Tempestuous Magic- Heart of the Storm- Storm GuideFont of Magic- Sorcery Points (10)Metamagic: Distant spell, Empowered spell, Subtle spell

Equipment:Daggers(3); Melee; +6 to hit; 1d4 +2 piercing; Finesse, Light, Thrown (20/60 ft).Light x-bow; Ranged; +6 to hit; 1d8 +2 piercing; Ammo (80/320 ft), Loading, 2-HandedQuarterstaff; Melee; +3 to hit; 1d6 -1 bludgeoning; Versatile (1d8).An arcane focus, A disguise kit, thieves' tools, an explorer's pack, a set of common clothes, a set of fine clothes, a set of traveler's clothes, a much-patched rag doll with black button eyes, and a pouch with 75g.
Spellcasting:Spells Known: 11Spell DC: 17Attack Modifier: +9At-Will(6): Acid splash, Chill touch, Fire bolt, Light, Ray of Frost, Shocking graspL1(4): Chromatic orb, Feather fall, Mage armorL2(3): Darkvision, Enlarge/ReduceL3(3): Dispell magic, HasteL4(3): Greater invisibility, Wall of FireL5(2): Cone of Cold, Teleportation circle
Fericille Icefire hails from the Far North, beyond even the remote Scrimshore Coast, from a desolate city called Zolzerr. She doesn't speak much of her past, except to admit that she grew up on the streets as an orphan. When she was old enough, she signed on with a trade ship and left Zolzerr for the warm southern lands of Nur. While serving on the ship, she discovered her sorcerous abilities and employed them as an adventurer.  A few years ago she met Eamor Terret and the two hit it off. Fericille became his official mistress and now resides in Treeport, where she functions as Terret's eyes and ears on the streets of the city.Fericille can be impulsive but she has a good heart and most of Lord Terret's subjects like her. She and Lady Terret are very good friends, and both are fiercely protective of their lord.  Her ragged cloak and odd cap make her easily identifiable, but she won't part with them willingly, as they are reminders of the past that she has happily escaped.Fericille dislikes priests, particularly Abashites, and cold weather.

Lux Tenebris: The Monks of Threadwood Abbey - Part 4

Fericille swept up the winding stairway of High House, Elkedren and Malora carried along in her wake. As they ascended, Fericille kept up a constant flow of chatter that made Malora think of babbling brooks.They emerged through a green door into a large hallway illuminated by glowing glass lamps. In their soft, steady light Malora observed a uniformed servant emerge from a door at the end of the hall.  Fericille headed straight for him."Is Lord Terret in his study, Squire?""He is, lady," said the man. He glanced past her, at Elkedren and Malora, and sighed. "Shall I announce you?""No. Thank you."Fericille stepped past the servant and Elkedren and Malora had no choice but to follow. Malora saw Elkedren share a knowing grimace with the servant. At the end of the corridor, Fericille knocked twice on a green wooden door before pushing it open and stepping inside, calling, "Eamor, there are some people here to see you."Lord Terret's study was a spacious room, the walls lined with living wood shelves. Those shelves were jammed with books of every size and description. A massive woven rug covered most of the floor, its surface decorated by a complex design of black and gold loops. A stuffed crocodile hung from the ceiling and Malora thought she saw one dead eye roll in their direction. It could have been her imagination, but she'd learned never to dismiss anything in a wizard's sanctum.Lord Terret sat behind a slender desk of pale wood, in a high backed chair. He looked younger than Malora had expected. Slim and pale, he wore glass spectacles over hazel eyes. The right side of his head was shaved, but the left sported long auburn locks. The blue-veined flesh of his scalp was scarred as was the right side of his face. His right arm, she noted, was sheathed in fine leather and his hand was gloved. A golden circlet embraced his brow, and jeweled rings glittered on the fingers of his left hand.His slim auburn brows arched as Fericille approached the desk, and his hazel eyes flashed from her to Elkedren to Malora. He pushed the book he had been studying away from him. It closed with a snap, rose from the desk and filed itself on a shelf."Well met, Sheriff. Squire just told me you were waiting.""They're here to talk with you about those beastly monks, Eamor," said Fericille. "They've gone too far this time. You simply must let El take action!""Must I?" A smile flirted with Lord Terret's lips, as he levelled his gaze on Elkedren. "Very well, Sheriff. Tell me what's happened?"Elkedren nodded and recounted Malora's tale to Lord Terret. His lordship sat in his high-backed chair and listened. He stroked his beardless chin with his left hand.When Elkedren had finished, Lord Terret turned to Malora. "Is my sheriff's account accurate, lady?""It is, Lord Terret.""Well, then, the monks have crossed the line and must be punished."So saying, Lord Terret stood. Fericille appeared at his side, offering a wooden crutch that he accepted with a nod of thanks. Shoving it beneath his left arm, he regarded Elkedren."Sheriff, I am formally charging you with the arrest of the Black Monks of Threadwood Abbey. Take them alive if you can, but dead if you have to."Elkedren's answering smile was like a knife. "Yes, my lord.""You are authorized to use what resources and personnel you think you will need," continued Lord Terret."Ooh! Ooh! I want to help!" Fericille was practically bouncing in place.Elkedren blanched. "Mistress Fericille, I....""A fine idea," interjected Lord Terret. "A spellcaster of Fericille's caliber could be useful.""As you say, my lord." Elkedren's tone was polite, but Malora thought he looked less enthusiastic about the matter now."As a matter of fact," continued Lord Terret, a thoughtful tone in his voice. "It might be a good idea to involve Brother Elloren, as well.""Elloren!" Fericille and Elkedren both said, looking genuinely surprised."Do you have a problem with the Abashites, Elkedren?" Terret asked."No, lord," the sheriff said, tight-mouthed."Good," said Lord Terret. "Keep me appraised of the situation."Leaning on his crutch, Terret hobbled out from behind the desk. He was missing his right leg below the knee. His trouser's leg was pinned up, in no attempt to conceal the loss."Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with my wife."He nodded and swept out of the room.As soon as the door was shut behind him, Elkedren swore."What?" asked Malora."Brother Elloren," explained Fericille. "He's the head of the Abashite temple." She made a face. "We don't get along."Malora sighed. "Priest or palladin?""Paladin," said Elkedren."You know," said Fericille, "Eamor didn't explicitly say that you had to ask him along, Sheriff.""He mentioned him by name, Fericille. Lord Terret expects me to ask him. And he'll say yes. You know he will. This sort of thing is the sort of thing Abashites pray for, the chance to bring justice down on the heads of a bunch of evil-doers.""Maybe he'll say no," suggested Fericille, weakly.Malora, remembering her own upbringing in the Temple of Abasha, somehow doubted that would happen.