Boamund and Maugis bravely faced off against the menace that came toward them in the night. Boamund's keen senses once again served him well- he knew which direction it came from: the badlands upslope from the camp, down a lonely barren trail. It unleashed what was meant to be a fearsome howl as it approached them, but the howl was choked in its two throats and only a whimpering rasp escaped.
It was an undead horse; only the front half of it, clip-clopping along on two rotting legs. It bore a sinister rider: a once-human with grey skin wrapped tightly about its dead frame, and bearing well-kept ancient armour of a Seshnelan soldier, couching a nasty spear under its arm as it charged.
Maugis prepared a Palsy spell that struck the horror as it closed with Boamund, and that spell sent the rider reeling back in his saddle, helpless and almost unhorsed. The horse-thing did not falter, though; it spun as Boamund struck at it, colliding with him to knock him to the ground, and spinning around as it did, preparing to trampled him under its maggot-ridden hooves. But Boamund gracefully rolled aside, blocked a slobbering bite with his great shield and then striking it a grievous impaling wound to the side of its head, made worse when he pulled his spear free. It pressed the attack, ignoring his blows and dealing savage kicks with its front hooves.
Maugis stood aside, praying that Boamund would save him and the two bodies of their friends from this terror. And his prayers were answered- the beast's hell-bent assault left it open to his blows, and soon he pierced its jaw and palate, leaving its head a bloody ruin and its half-body soon cold on the ground. The helpless rider, trapped under his beast and palsied, was easily dispatched. You dragged the corpses away from camp, rested in an ill state of mind, then burned them in the morning and Boamund, grumbling, fashioned a litter from brush and branches and began to drag the load downhill toward the nearest trail to the southwest and “civilization”, cursing this forsaken land and his labour.
Soon you encountered Giranois following you, and Boamund called them out while Maugis kept out of the way. It turned out to be Vowka, the mysterious elder Giranois and mother(? If she was truly a she? Gender was not very evident in this Giranois) of Verker, who was nowhere to be seen. Vowka had lengthy words with Boamund, being uncommonly verbose for one of the frog-people. Maugis warily eyed up these beings, re-evaluating rumours he'd heard about them. They were not truly frogs, but showed Pithdaran ancestry in their dark scraggly hair, but pale and shiny of skin and with an eerie crouch to their stance and uncouth wide, almost lipless mouths. The rumours were right on one thing though: they were unpleasant to behold, and he questioned whether they could even be Malkioni- especially once they spoke of “The Old Gods.”
You learned that the Giranois, too, had suffered from the undead things that came out of the earthquake– you had seen the bodies but the ever-gloomier spirits of these Giranois drove home the human impact. Maugis had smelled and felt your friends' deaths; not realizing until later that the Captain was indeed barely alive; and spoke some portentuous words, like:
“There are no accidents on Giraine, no happenstance, only what Granno and the Old Gods have planned, and what the world of enemies conspires against it. Your friends' pain and demise are no accidents. You are part of the great plan, worms in the great overmind of Makan. From the looks of you, your plan is not to feed your friends to your bellies, to the depths or to your fires, but to take the hero's path from the gates of dusk to dawn and chase down their souls, yes?”
-and, now drawing uncomfortably close to Boamund and whispering so Maugis could not hear:
“It can be done, and there is no better land to do it in. When you find and open dusk's gates, cast this into it and Granno's might will be with you. But turn your heads and look not inside the darkness there when you do cast it, until you have taken *five deep breaths*, or your friends will forever be lost, and evil will come forth in their stead.” (she closed Boamund's hand around something small and gnarled; he deftly pocketed it)
She advised, continuing to forebid him from leaving her yet, “Such a quest is not for the lone, wandering fool. Find strength in family; you will need that strength to find and wrench open the gates.” And then, amidst a discussion of your group and their bring of a new peace to the Giranois and wall-men, she seemed to be trying to explain something broader: “Our land struggles with itself and with our struggles. Within it and within us are the struggles between and within ages old and new. You may think you serve the modern age and modern wall-men, but you truly serve the time of the Shattering. But what Vowka does not know is, in the struggle of the old times, do you work for the Girainois or for our enemies? Yes, for now you help hold the evil at bay, and some of the Giranois give you the honour of the name “Thralls of Granno,” but when the slumbering truly awaken and the wakeful truly sleep, to whom will you truly lend your swords?”
Vowka seemed convinced, or at least hopeful, that you would “serve” with Granno, but Boamund's answer was firm that he served those who dealt fairly and peacefully with his family and people; this left her with some discontent, but she still offered to have her people help carry the bodies, and Boamund agreed. The remaining Giranois, who had been timidly watching from cover, came and fashioned two travois from swamp tree branches, and hitched them to two stout goats that they coaxed out of hiding. You rode with them for a day, during which time Vowka spotted the Captain stirring and whispered with him:
“Like your friends, you are an invader that can defend Giraine's shores from worse invaders while the Old Gods shrug off the Third Age. But doom comes to those that follow in your wake, and a storm rages inside you that may rip you asunder. If you find peace, it will be in death or in utter devotion to one of the powers that seeks your fealty. But is peace something you even crave?” He answered that he sought an ending, and she offered to help him find that; neither answered this further but there seemed to be a new, unspoken understanding between the two, or at least Vowka hinted at understanding Ahappi more.
A day later, with Boamund beginning to regain his strength, the Giranois melted into the swamps and badlands around the trail with little warning. Perhaps they knew something, because within a half hour there were hoofbeats closing with you from behind… after a tense moment, Boamund realized they were colonists, and greeted them with some caution. The leader was Sabillia de Vriesst of Pasos, who had moved here this year and was exploring the land and making new trade connections with the villages between New Arvonesse (which she'd just departed) and St Thosos (to which they headed). Boamund queried her carefully, and she earned his trust, which grew over their 2 days' ride together, back to the edge of the manor grounds. He learned that (around the time you'd been there) New Arvonesse had a ship burned and sunk by Ouori, who were now sought by the colonists for their unprovoked attack on what Sabillia heard was an innocent merchant vessel. Boamund had other things weighing heavily on his mind and did not ponder this much further, and Maugis was deep in prayer, watching the bodies of his two fallen allies so that the disturbingly thick swarms of mercilessly biting flies would not infect them with too many maggots. It was not a pleasant journey, but Sabillia made it bearable.
Finally you returned to your home and rushed to meet Cyroosta, speaking little of what had happened. She handled it well, lamenting the loss of both sons but soon hinting at an idea for “fixing” the problem with the Baronet. She tended the Captain's wounds while he lay comatose from the arduous ride's painful joltings and jostlings, and soon he awakened… remembering little of what had happened since you entered that ancient ruin, but with Vowka's face looming in his mind when visions of terror and doom did not haunt him. He mumbled in delirium, lapsing between wakefulness and slumber.
As you spoke over the latest news, one of Boamund's/Baronet's trusted soldiers rapped on the door and spoke privately with Boamund- a ghost had been seen in the tower lately! Was it the Baronet? You waited for night to come and investigated, bringing the grumbling Captain along with Cyroosta, Boamund and Maugis. The glimmering, vague figure kneeled at the top of the tower stairs, hands clasped in prayer and unresponsive to your presence or words. Whispering sounds came from it but you could not discern them. The Captain came with the others around its back to face it, and suddenly, startling the others, he spoke loudly- “St Thosos!?!”— it turned and looked at him with a skeletal face as the recognition dawned on him- a year ago he'd been here and taken the Tear of St Tutrys from its grasp in this same spot (upside-down, almost underwater!) In awe, he placed a spear in the spirit's clasped hands– and it stood up swiftly, mouth open wide in laughter, shaking the weapon and then dropping it as it vanished in a puff of spiritual essence! You wondered when you'd see Ciddar next– he was due back with the Shadow around now, and had the saint's weapon. Later, the spirit was seen strolling the stairs of the tower, not as its top where it had been seen before. (In due time, you learned that a peasant had first seen the ghost a few weeks ago, corresponding roughly to the anniversary of your first venture into the tower— the coincidence with the Baronet's death was a hopeful mistake)
The next day, Boamund and Maugis came with the Captain to St Thosos and were rushed by Ron's messenger to the keep, where Big Ron greeted them with unusual joy and warmth. Why he'd regained some of his youthful vigour was not clear- was it that the Baroness was visibly absent? You did not inquire, having urgent matters to discuss. The Baron agreed that treating the Captain with the magical healing powers of Bishop Umrovide was the best, fastest option, and his men carried off the mumbling, rambling sailor. By the next morning, the Captain was healed and could stand on crutches that Umrovide's manservant Bordrinn had fashioned… along with a carved peg-leg ending in a horse hoof! The idiotic servant earned barely a whit of the Captain's appreciation for it, but that was enough for him. Bishop Umrovide, standing in a beam of morning light cast through the rickety stained glass windows of his hut, spoke with Ahappi. He claimed that Arvonesse would rise from the waters this year (but hadn't he said that every year?) and asked simply if Ahappi would aim him when it did; that it would save Giraine and the Captain, too, if he did. The Captain was unimpressed but said he'd help kill any sea trolls that came up with it; the Bishop seemed just as unimpressed with tales of them, but that seemed to satisfy him, and they parted.
Meanwhile, Maugis sat and listened while Boamund and the Baron caught up on many matters. Evakranem the house's wizard rudely agreed to use a Preserve spell on the Baronet's body if it would be brought to him. Ron was saddened, and seemed to slip backwards into despair, by this news of the Baronet's death, but gradually came around to the idea of resurrecting him, after first opposing it as madness. He suggested that the gates to the Underworld in New Arv were the closest place to enter Hell, but reminded Boamund that…. there were horses down there. Mean ones. He wasn't sure if he could help you get past them, but could get you permission with a sealed letter to Captain Gulos. However, he gave you important news that New Arv could not simply be reached by navigating the reefs well. He said there was a water entity that guarded its access, and that he was no Lord to it, so you'd need to deal with it yourselves. He didn't know much about it; the New Arv leaders had made some deal with it and there was no time to find out what that deal was.
Baron Ronalio cautioned, again and again, that New Arvonesse and especially Captain Gulos were strong and valued allies, and you MUST not upset them or damage that alliance. He then launched into a long litany of lists of friends and allies that he had accumulated, mixing in apology for not telling you (he wanted you innocent and protected) and for their criminal nature at times (he mumbled something about a family trait), and how the Dark Duke of Pithdaros had helped him access even darker allies… all following a prophecy he'd related to Boamund long ago– and the Captain and Baronet when they first arrived here last year– that he needed a “dark ally” to succeed in ruling Giraine. He was sure that this dark ally was native to the island, so it was either spider (not likely?) or Giranois (which, what?) in nature, unless there was something else. Ron complained about the other darkness that consumed him, rubbing the Heretic rune scar on his forehead, and showing that his torment was far from over.
In a characteristic showing of his humanity, Ron related that “A true leader should suffer.”– unlike the Rokari or King, who grew rich and corrupt and debauched, heaping suffering on the common people. At that moment, Boamund was reminded of how he loved his lord dearly, and felt both overjoyed to be close to him again and very sad to see how the Church had brought him so low.
Ron brought this discussion back to the Rokari Church and “pudding loving” King Guilmarn of Seshnela, then wove in news of skirmishes and armies massing on the Seshnela-Nolos border– war would come this year, he was sure, but also the Church would be pushing against him hardr here on Giraine, too, and he needed all these allies to defeat them, by any means necessary! The Golden Poppy business was just the beginning (but Boamund could sense some lapses of confidence in handling even this), and Baron Ron vowed to crush it (showing some true spirit, and desperation too, in proclaiming this).
The two men drank and ate a fine lunch, catching up on lost time. Finally, there was some interesting news– “Yet I hope to have good news for you soon. I have been doing some talking with allies in Nolos; powerful allies, indeed. And Evakranem has been poring over old documents with great enthusiasm, following a trail of words like an ant to a honeypot. We may have a mission that is precisely suited to you; indeed only you could do it. I expect that this heroic effort will happen by the next season; Fire Season is an auspicious time, yes… So don't wander too far. But first, return to your homes and families- one cannot rule well in absentia!” Boamund liked the idea of Fire Season, when his saint's powers were strongest. But there was much to do before then, and was there even enough time?
You returned to the Manor and spoke with Cyroosta. She had a plan. A quest, which she'd been preparing anyway to help heal Inyana of her lost fertility, could be adapted to save her son. She was short on details, but was devoted to this plan, and you saw no other option. But your hackles were raised when she finished with an offhand statement that “And perhaps I'll come back with two sons.” No, no…. that probably would be a very, very bad thing to bring back Lynistor Shaven, if he even could be brought back. But the quest seemed to be already beginning; it was time to join in or step aside, lest its mythic power crush you.
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The mythic quest you're going to undertake rocks! I've had a lot of fun planning this out, already. Indeed, I think I'll be OK to play this coming Friday- can anyone not make it? I'd like as many people there as possible. The prior heroquests you've done have just danced on the edge of myth and recent history; this one plunges in, and the myth is fully known rather than a mystery or fragment. Here is a sneak peek at the introduction/background of the myth:
King Froalar led one of several colonies of Brithini who lived on the western coast of Genertela before the Dawn. He had left Brithos to avoid a fight with his brother. After settling, he led the defense against the Pendali (a tribe of lion people), who were believed to have summoned the Great Darkness and its denizens, bringing chaos into the land. Early fatalities and desperation caused the people to adopt divine worship in concert with Malkionism (the heresy today called Henotheism, or Stygianism if connected to dark gods), and they sacrificed to Seshna, Worlath, and others; even corrupt gods like Mallia that later brought them misery.
Froalar's family suffered greatly in their struggles against wicked, devious enemies in their new homeland. The losses were sometimes so dear that the family even dared to try to wrench back their loved ones from the Underworld, at dreadful costs.
In one battle against sinister demons from the Underworld, brave King Froalar was carried off into hell, mortally wounded with magic scars that Xemela could not heal. So his household had to chase him down before his soul was trapped there forever in torment, led by ever-faithful Queen Xemela and aided by Froalar's most trusted knight and champion, Sir Karskritar Firewalker.
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