You hiked up to Fort Mudlark and came in to seek healing with the Nuns of Saint Xemela at their little Hospital, although Ciddar was unwelcome (something about trouble he'd stirred up with local girls while you were away) and sent to Baronet Mudlark's house to drink Snaps with the already-in-his-cups lord of the fort. Ahappi was quickly healed, but you were gently cautioned not to return there anytime soon, as the merciful Nun hinted she knew she was not really supposed to be expending her energies on you.
Baronet Mudlark was too inebriated to notice you on your arrival for the night, but was perky at the cock's crowing the next morning, cursing Ciddar for daring to come back to his fort but then quickly forgetting the whole matter once he saw the others slumbering across the manor hall. It took some convincing to get him to accept that your news of a truce with the Giranois was not a joke. Then his mood turned more morose as he questioned what he'd do with his men and fort, although by the time you left he was more upbeat again, planning how he'd prepare his men and “other resources” (ahem) for the inevitable time when the truce failed. He helped you get the best local armour you could find- Sir Boamund was even graced with a very generous gift of a fine suit of chainmail from a local soldier who was a fan of the brave lord.
You had almost left when the wizard Wendel heard of your coming and raced down from his tower, huffing and puffing as he arrived but quick to barrage you with questions about your journeys amongst the Giranois. He was regaled with your Cjed/Sharde heroquest tale by the Captain, and took what notes he could. He speculated that the Mud Hags were particular to each big clan of Giranois, and key to their mythical questing capabilities- “psychopomps,” he called them, to Ahappi's bemusement. He paid you a nice little sum for your information and you left for the south, hoping to bring news of the truce swiftly to Big Ron.
Events, however, began to intervene. First, you met a small family of Giranois, the Rukgh, led by a man named Rulk who had heard of your chaos-killing and justice-bringing ways from his kind. He told a sad tale of how he'd been out hunting and a patrol of men from New Arvonesse had come to his drywalled house and razed that along with his new cabbage patches. In the process, his wife, baby and old father had fled for their lives in abject terror. He demanded justice, in the form of the death of the tall pale man that led them. You made haste to New Arv, hoping to find this leader and investigate how to prevent this little spark from razing the new peace you'd won.
Captain Gulos was easier to convince of the truce, clearly seeing some advantage (business, and more?) in it, and so he soon found the man responsible for the deed. Sergeant-At-Arms Lesoncurre was explained to just be doing his job, keeping Giranois from settling too close (2 hrs walk) to the village, and was stoic about it, coldly professing his hatred for the “frog-fuckers.” But Ahappi's eloquent arguments for peace, aided by Gulos's support, converted his stubborn denial to an ashamed, brooding silence. Gulos judged that the solution was to rebuild the house as Ahappi asked, but to do so further into the swamps, away from the town. You brought this deal to Rulk and he resisted, disappointed not to have blood shed to appease his anger and the anguish his family bore from their flight away from the Sergeant and his men, but again Ahappi's well versed arguments carried the day– indeed, the Giranois confessed that he was a man of logic like other Malkioni and the Captain's offer was a just and logical one. So peace was protected for the first, but surely not the last, time. And you headed on your way, as a cold fog set in and changed to a miserable rain. Dark Season was drawing to a close, and the monsoons of Storm Season would soon beset you.
You hurried away from the Giranois before camping on a nice dry patch Boamund found, then had a quiet if muddy and rainy day of travel southward. Outside Humbertsville, you passed a half dozen cloaked travellers who suddenly turned on you as they passed close and drew swords, calling on you to drop your weapons and hand over your riches! Ahappi stared them down and warned them of their impending doom at your famous hands, then their leader ordered the attack! It was a quick and almost one-sided fight: you were outnumbered but they were under-skilled and unlucky. However, the leader knocked out the Baronet with a nasty magicked shortsword-slash to the forehead. He then began to strangle you with a sorcery spell until you surrounded and intimidated him into a suddenly cowardly surrender.
You took the leader's two swords and then realized three of the men were dead, and your Mud Hag geas required you to dispose of them properly. So you bandaged the two other surviving thugs, who were impressively well equipped, and ordered them to carry their comrades' bodies with you, as you set course back to the northeast in hopes that Burnt Priests' Hill would be a proper place to destroy the bodies. As you travelled, you interrogated the leader and he offered to spill the beans in return for his freedom with his two men. You agreed, and learned that these assassins from Ralios had been sent, at no small cost (>4200 silvers), from the mainland on a contract through various intermediaries to kill all of you. They had learned of your appearance from visions sent in dreams and from written descriptions they'd committed to memory, and had no trouble tracking you down from St Thosos to here, as you were so well known on the island. His name was Vemnikal of the Squandered Swords, a band of religious (but non-Rokari) killers from a secret cult in Ralios, and his men bore marks of an ear shedding a bloody tear.
This information, along with some fresh Seshnelan gold crowns they had concealed in their clothes, was enough information for you to deduce that it must have been the Rokari Church (perhaps even with the Kingdom's approval?) that had sent these assassins to deal with you. The vengeance of the Inquisition had finally come, but it was no match for you! You kept the leader's seemingly magical shortswords and let them loose; they pledged they would not be seeing you again and would have to flee for far-off lands to hide their shame of a failed contract and rebuild their little band. So off they went (first, to reclaim their discarded armour and weapons back where you'd cast them aside), and off you went carrying three smelly, wet corpses to the Giranois holy ground.
However, the island threw a challenge at you as the rain grew worse and the ground turned from badlands to muddy slopes and streams. Boamund shouted a warning as thunder seemed to sound nearby, and then you saw the seething brown torrent of the flash flood descending from uphill. Everyone but the sluggish Baronet reached high ground in time, scrambling up rocks and trees, but the lord had to swim against treacherous currents and endure buffeting debris before you could pull him up to safety. Thankful for Boamund's wilderness skills yet again, you continued the slog toward the Hill, and soon saw it emerging from the thick winter fog, dark and silent, with no signs of Giranois, much as you'd first seen it. Shivering, dripping, and sloshing through ash-grey ooze, you approached…
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