==== Summary 143: Blades and Bones (2015-11-30) ==== [[Giraine]] [[summaries-2015|Summaries]] ---- I neglected to mention in the last summary that the ghost struck Fraud Shaven mad, and he went off to find Giranois to kill for it, then Maugis chased after him throwing Calm spells. Fraud did not like this, turning on Maugis with frightening ire, who then finally Calmed him, leaving the Lord embarrassed and quickly turning to his Ebon Sanctuary to soothe himself. === Maugis, tired of these Giranois dealings and not looking forward to a visit to Skeleton Isle, headed back north to return to Fort Mudlark for his sorcery-schoolings. He brought four strong guards with him and ensured they were well-armed with fire in case demonic "difficulties" arose as before. Captain Ahappi piloted the Shadow to Skeleton Isle once again, wary of its unpredictable offshore currents, which he managed well. As you prepared to weigh anchor, though, something funny happened. Time slowed down around the Shadow, leaving the world to pass you by at apparently high speed. The nautiloid-thing surfaced near the Shadow as time slowed to a halt. An orifice opened in its shell and one by one, six metallic pods were expelled, arcing through the air toward you and expanding in mid-air into humanoid mechanisms that were mostly constituted of four giant iron blades for "arms" and "legs". These fearsome things landed around your ship's deck and rigging and swiftly proved their fearsomeness with deft, merciless blade-work. As time returned to quasi-normal, you were in melee! The Captain fought one atop the forecastle and soon knocked it down but it took many blows of his harpoon to its head to dispatch it. They were hardy things that also had some sort of time-magic on them that twisted time around to their advantage, reversing events to be more in their favour (i.e. like Luck points). Fraud Shaven, nearby, battled another, for a long stalemate, until he knocked it off the deck into the sea, not to be seen again. Boamund faced one of the blade-constructs near the mast and, like Ahappi, took some time to destroy it. Then one near him at mid-deck had decapitated a sailor and faced down poor Miguel, who did his best but soon found himself at the wrong end of battle-luck and barely escaped losing his head himself. Curly rushed to heal him, with great bravery, and became its third victim, likewise barely surviving but mortally wounded. By this time, your leaders and the crew had turned the tide of battle back in your favour, with Bobard's axe proving its mettle in combat on the bow. You surrounded the remaining things, including the dire foe that had taken three of you down, and smashed them apart. But the mid-deck was bathed in your blood and even Ahappi had suffered some wounds. You were lucky to have only lost two crew! (party luck points down to 2 now) As you regrouped and sailors began repairs (the mollusc-thing had submerged again), you eyed up the iron blades, but a whirlwind blew up around the ship and the remains of the blade-things were scoured into dust, as if the past had caught up to them and brought them the decay of centuries. No iron riches for your efforts; blast it! Ahappi healed Curly's nasty head wound, which would evermore leave a ragged scar across his face, and Miguel was put in bed to begin what would be a long recuperation from his more wicked injuries. And within a couple of hours, you returned to your purpose. Curly lowered the dinghy into the swirling seas and skilfully piloted you ashore to the crusty, bleak, arid isle, carrying the bones of the sorcerer-ghost along. Curly gathered stones for a bier and wood from the ship for a pyre while the leaders watched-- and wondered. What were those things, those assassins or war-machines, and why had that shelled mechanism released them, surely with the intent of slaying you? At least it was no longer ambiguous: they were your enemies, and deadly ones at that, whoever they were. Ahappi had started with a prayer to urge the spirit to find rest here, and Makan to watch over its respite, but this ritual seemed to draw out the angry, recuperated ghost from those bones again, and it manifested in a blast of chill air. It swiftly lashed out at Ahappi, staggering him with vengeful soul-withering as it screamed in old Seshnegi, cursing your betrayal and defying your intent to "imprison" it here. But you surrounded it, ensorcelled with Ahappi's weapon-enhancements, and one by one your weapons wore it down. Even Curly's one blessed crossbow bolt struck home. With a final slash of Fraud Shaven's joyous blade of Sir Menekeyil, it was returned to the spirit plane in a shriek, and the isle fell silent again, so you returned to your ceremony. Once the pyre was alight with the bones atop it, you saw a figure approaching across the landscape. It was no angelic visitor from Solace, but the Brithini called the Theophobe, the lone, mad resident of Skeleton Isle. Considering your prior dealings with him, his arrival was unwelcome. Indeed, he did not welcome your arrival. He disapproved of your pyre, scowling at Ahappi's frank explanation and countering that no spirits were welcome here; no gods either, or their blessings. He told you to begone, taking your fire with you onto your boat, with no care for the negative outcome of such things. Just as it seemed that there might be further violence or other trouble, Fraud Shaven spoke up and told him that you were honest folk who would be done with their work quickly and not trouble him or the isle at all. This led the Theophobe down a tortuous logical path of arguments that quickly became nonsensical to you, and purely of interest to him, as he wandered off arguing with himself, seeming to forget your presence. Relieved that you would not face whatever Brithini sorcery he could muster, you finished your ritual, donating mana to consecrate the burning and burial of the ashes here. In due time, you were back in the dinghy, feeling a quiet restfulness descend over you, with confidence that your job was finished and Makan was honoured by it. Curly, in turn, showed that he could maintain this state of meditative calm across the seas to the Shadow, finding a route that was as smooth as a maiden's hair. And by nightfall you were back in Aria's Well at last! A commotion met you ashore in town. Guards brought word that the Giranois had visited: the old lady(?) Vowka and her(?) son Verker, with other members from their tiny nomadic clan/family. You hurried into the swamps nearby to meet them, and heard an outcry that hastened you. Boamund conjured a Glow spell around you that shed light on the Giranois camp, where Verker, sobbing and yelling in anguish and fury, held Vowka's body, in whose back a dagger was deeply impaled. Who had done this cruel deed, would Vowka survive, and what would the fallout from it be in this time of Giranois unrest? Even some of your harder hearts were softened to see one of the few Giranois allies, earnest in her peculiar way in support of you for some time, mortally wounded. ----