Giraine Summaries

The struggle with the emerging Hag’s Baby begins. It and Nazaliuma are suspended between worlds, wrestling to be born or to not die. Golbig the shaman soon gets knocked aside by a tendril; rendered unconscious before he can cast new magic and ending his ritual. His ancestor-spirit-newt Sholg faces the Baby in the Spirit World to help distract it. Then the other spirits drawn by the coming of the Baby startpulling people into the Spirit World: your three newtling friends and Fatbutt leave their bodies, and soon Boamund allows himself to go to (from a safe position on shore), while Fraud and Shrett cross the water to the pool where the Baby is breeching. Shrett realises as he approaches the Baby that it is endowed with 12 wicked tendrils and two mockeries of horse-hooved limbs (and a giant eye and sucking, biting mouth), so he keeps clear of it. Soon a spirit draws him into the Spirit Plane but he fights it off and escapes back to his body, ending a dangerous essence-bleed. Bog refuses to enter the water but the spirits surrounding him flail impotently and soon none of them can influence anyone in attendance (they’re limited to the area close to the Baby; they cannot go into the village after newtlings). So Bog ensures that Boamund’s body is safely laid down in order to not fall into the water and drown, and Bog cheers on Nazaliuma. Boamund strikes his spirit a powerful blow of his will, then another that leaves it quickly weakening, and by the battle’s end it is destroyed, so he returns to his body.

Boamund had faced a Madness Blight disease spirit that would have caused frequent hallucinations and personality swings; Shrett had faced 1 of 2 Drowning Curse spirits that made swimming harder if they possessed someone

Fraud and then Shrett time their move carefully. Fraud hits the Baby with two Darkstrikes, the first of which freezes off a tendril, but the second has marvellous results: it hits the globular body and then spreads forth, freezing off all 12 delicate tendrils! (they only had 1 HP each so that was easy, with the right spell like this!) Thus it becomes much less dangerous. And so Shrett and Fraud rush the monster as it threatens to rip itself out of Nazalium to her doom. It is all over quickly. Shrett cripples a hoofed leg with a skilful blow, then Fraud slashes it twice with incredible sword-wounds; the first sorely wounds it and it is helpless, then the second carves a huge slash in it and the waters stain with its cancerous black ichor. In response, burbling and screaming on Boatspeech (it was calling to Mother in vain), it tears itself free of Nazaliuma too soon. She suffers some spiritual wounding but far less than it could have been. It, however, rips itself in half and dies!

The spirits retreat and their victim newtlings return to their bodies. Shrett heals Golbig, bringing him back to his feet in a daze, and Nazaliuma looks on in pain but gradually increasing calm. You have won, and soon the newtlings realise this and celebrate!

Nazaliuma and Golbig speak and the newtlings translate. (Meanwhile, Fatbutt is so thrilled that you won, that he composes a clever song in your honour) In thanks for your saving the village from the Hag/vough, her brolllachan children and the Baby, they gift you with the River Horse’s magics (1-use from right-ankle aquamarine tattoos); you take some Summon River Horse spells and a Summon or Dismiss Undine spell. Bog initially turns down the reward on the basis that he didn’t help defeat the Baby, but the newtlings convince him that he did help with the Hag, and his presence here at least held off some spirits. You feel greatly appreciated, thanked many many times by the newtlings, but Fatbutt makes you aware that you should not linger. Before you go, the trader Gulbug offers you a contact, a trusted Trader Prince guide (named Yorge) who can take you beyond the New Fens, and he could meet you at the swamp’s edge to the west. You accept this helpful offer.

It’s hot but not humid. Bog is suffering from it all. Shrett et al. reflect on how different the New Fens are from the Gunge swamps of Giraine, but at least the frogs here aren’t as impressive as Giraine’s. It is, however, a much more “intact ecosystem” – not just frogs, beetles, and pterodactyls. This place had the Flood of the Fools Curse, but it persevered, whereas the Shattering broke not only Giraine’s land but also its natural life.

A short while past the newtling village, Narak tells you that she must meet her people off on a forested island to the south of here, and you’re invited to meet them too. You go; Fatbutt stays to watch the coracles.

You are led to a scraggly pine forest on a dry hillock, where within there stands an imposing old stone statue (maybe Entra, the Mraloti ancestor?), where naked Mraloti frolick in reverence. There is a crowd of Mraloti there; all with the look of the savage Pure folk. You’re now familiar with how they differ from the Fallen like Narak. They are not fond of clothing or other trappings of civilization. The Mraloti watch warily and Narak holds you back from a distance, talking of her people.

“Now it is a time to bring the Fallen and Pure together in Harmony. In the wars of the past, the Mraloti, savage wood boars, had beaten the gentle Elk Folk and scattered them through the lands. The Mraloti were not immune to Chaos and Darkness, but their fate was better thanks to the powers of Entru, a leader so famous that the Mraloti became civilized and took his name for their own, the Entruli. Entra was his counterpart for our women; both of them children of Grandmother Mralota. The Entruli are my folk; the Fallen; and distant ancestors of many Wenelians, too. Now I understand why the Pure have disdained us. They are forbidden to use tools on the Earth and always wander, hunting their boars, whereas we dig the Earth with tools to grow our crops and found our homes, and few Fallen know how to hunt the boars anymore. One has come who can do the healing. Long has she been foretold amongst the Fallen, and the Pure awaited her. You are blessed to witness her from afar. Look.”

The crowd moves around and many heavily-armed and magicked warriors and shamans and boars come surrounding a teenage girl; somewhat pretty and without the fierce, tusky, savage, unkempt look of the Pure Mraloti (and clothed, too!) who smiles beautifully, glancing your way as she looks around the whole group. She emanates calm; you relax at the sight of her. The group stops near the shrine. The guards surrounding the girl are braced for action; most staring you down with fierce expressions.

She speaks sweetly to the host of Mraloti, with Narak translating: “Greetings, gathered offspring of the Earth. You have heard right. You will be delivered from oppression, and find Harmony again, for the Pure, Fallen and nature, tended by the Oak Spirit. I am Truffle-Child. I will be here for you.” She speaks more to her people and Narak doesn’t translate; just watching overcome with silent awe, overcome with emotions that you’ve never seen in her. Clearly this moment has very, very deep meaning to Narak. It is a dream come true; a major prophecy fulfilled.

Truffle-Child then speaks again and Narak translates. “Strangers are here and I bid them welcome. My many dreams have included them, and the forests have spoken of them as they come, and I know each face. I will tell them of the Elfchild. Another was born who is blessed of the beast-blood. They are no sibling to me, but we share Harmony with nature. The Elfchild is nowhere near here. Maybe these strangers will find the Elfchild beyond Mraloti lands. My dreams do not hint of her fate. I am Truffle-Child, not Elfchild. I simply feel her.”

Narak makes it gruffly clear that she will not enable a conversation or convey messages. She explains, tersely, that this Truffle-Child is so holy to the Mraloti that others watching would be offended by such things. This Truffle-Child has no look of the “beast-blood” in her, and Narak says that she is “of the Earth”; of the Oak Spirit, but one of the Mraloti nonetheless; but well beyond them too. Elfchild, though? That’s a strange name. Shrett and others are sure it is some sort of Aldryami reference but how could that connect to the beast blood too? Mraloti seem to have a relationship with the forests they frequent but they’re not at all elf-kind. Pralori are said to be closer with the elves. Perhaps a clue is with them? Or in Caratan with the mysterious Aulorings? Or…….?

You wonder about this as thundering, crashing sounds of some beast approach through the forest. The Mraloti don’t increase their wariness but everyone seems to be aware of the new presence. A great boar stomps forward through the forest, its snout ploughing deep furrows in the soil as it tosses its head energetically. It makes a big show of its appearance. It is mostly in this world but also has an otherworldliness about it that betrays its spiritual nature too.

Narak says: “You’re honoured to see a Mraloting follower of the Truffle-Child. It has a playfulness to it; confident in its great power. If you dare, one of you may challenge to wrestle it by muscle or soul power. This is a game it enjoys. It probably would not kill you; not here and now; so it might be a safe game to try.” The Mraloti host watches but is quiet as Boamund steps forth, presenting himself as a challenger. Truffle-Child just calmly smiles.

A match of spiritual strength ensues as the Mraloting takes on a more translucent form. Boamund holds his own very well and the feisty boar is repelled for a short while; they push each other back and forth. But it then tosses Boamund to the ground, rending his soul and knocking him unconscious, stripping him of energy. It stomps its hooves in victory and squeals loudly in triumph. There’s a pause and discussion, then it nudges Boamund with its snout and wakes him with a small return of his lost soul-energy, and in appreciation for a good game it bestows him with a 1-use blessing of the “Might” folk magic spell that lasts 1 day when invoked. It happily trots back into the woods.

The Truffle-Child nods, turns away and leaves with her guards.

Narak sighs and looks to you: “You’ve been a great friend to my Sounder for what feels like a much longer time than it has been. Giraine was a good home to my Sounder and that was because of you. Entra helped me to smell a secret on Giraine, and the secret was that your land could teach me how to reconnect with my people, forging Harmony through Disorder. Soon my Sounder can come join me here. I have a lifetime’s worth of tales from this to tell them. Before we part so that I can spend that lifetime, I prepared a sacred gift for you from the Mraloti.”

She holds out a small brown truffle. “This might seem but a trifle of a truffle, but it has grown since the Godtime. It is hard to do enough honour to our friendship, but this is a symbol. He who enjoys it as repast will be connected with the nature-spirits until it is digested to rejoin Grandmother Earth. Save it for when it is needed.” She gently hands it over and Boamund takes it.

And she looks back to her people, starts to turn to them, looks to you, and stands stiff and awkward. Narak’s no good with goodbyes. She’s no hugger, but you exchange some kind words of appreciation for your journeys together and your hopes to meet again. She now heads to help her people in the Mraloti Hills to free themselves and Ramalia of the cruel overlords.

You return to Fatbutt and paddle along, then later that day find a spot to camp along the northern shore. You rest a bit, as Fatbutt entertains you with his hyperactive antics. Boamund just tries to regain his spiritual strength, feeling very fatigued. You catch and cook some nice fish. Night falls and Fraud takes the watch. Everything falls quiet, then a deafening sound erupts as giant blue crickets the length of a man’s forearm climb up into the heights of vegetation and begin stridulating. The New Fens seems to listen to the music of the giant fen crickets. Fatbutt doesn’t seem too bothered, and explains that this may take all night. You cannot sleep or even really talk, but at least you can lie down to rest your spirits, and it’s not too hard to catch these crickets, and you find that they’re a hearty meal when cooked. Bog tries a raw one but decides it would be better if cooked right. Indeed the cricket-cacophony goes on until dawn. Then it suddenly stops. The Fens remains silent for a while, then returns to normal. You pack up and leave, feeling refreshed in magical terms and not too bad off physically, although you’ll want a proper night’s sleep tonight.

That morning (day 4 of your New Fens/river trip), Fatbutt points out strange travellers across the Fens. You see a band of eight dragonewts—three (a “tailed priest” and two “beaked dragonewt” warriors) are mounted on demi-birds and the rest (all green “crested dragonewts”) are on foot. The dragonewts make no effort to be hidden. They are on the north bank headed toward it, and you’re headed west toward them but you’re in the middle of the river so you’re not close to them even though they’ll cross your path (up to the shore) if you continue. Bog recommends that you stop and pull up alongside the shore, as he feels that this is some sort of an important procession led by that noble or priest or other authority figure, and it would be a bad idea to insult them by ignoring them and passing by. You’re a bit curious, as none of you have seen dragonewts before and they sure do look incredible.

[The dragonewt land of Ryzel is not that far away to the northeast, so some of you would guess they most likely came from there]

The dragonewts stop a little more than 20 meters away as you reach the shore. Fatbutt cowers behind the coracles. The two warrior dragonewts are alert and poised. The tailed priest looks off into the distance, occasionally shifting its gaze elsewhere, and now and then changes how it poses its hands; possibly making magical gestures.

One of the crested dragonewts comes forth with its head near the ground. The dragonewt’s jaws and tongue are hideously deformed; why, you do not know. You come onto the shore and, at Bog’s urging, go to one knee. It greets you with the plea, in a tortured voice deprived of the hissing of the other dragonewts (it lacks a forked tongue and can only hear, not speak, Auld Wyrmish!), “I Slave to Lies beg to speak with you for my master”, very rapidly in several different languages, one of them Tradetalk.

It then says: “I become voice of Sarna Ya’qal, who in its excellent splendour emanates its voice to the creatures in its presence. There shall be constructing.”

It, and the four other crested dragonewts, go to a muddy patch of ground and begin digging into the brown clay with their clawed hands, scooping up handfuls which they plaster onto a mound that begins to take shape. As you watch, Bog ponders this and figures that you’re either expected, or allowed, to participate. Boamund and Fraud urge Shrett and Bog to join in, and so they do.

It’s hard manual labour over 2 hours, as the mud forms into a 1m wide, 4m tall column, whose sides get smoothed after the dragonewts climb up to the top with their clawed hands, finishing its height.

Everyone moves back from the muddy column and beholds it. The tailed priest interweaves its fingers, and the crested dragonewts hurry back to the other three. You retreat a bit. The tailed priest claps loudly, and the column turns to stone. Wow! That was impressive! You watch, wondering what will happen next. The tailed priest slaps its tail against its mounts rump, and the column collapses into dust. Huh?

Bog gets a new draconic insight: ahh. This must be some sort of burial ceremony for a plinth. Not this new plinth, but one that was here and was not properly “deconsecrated” (or however dragonewts would call it). Hence they have done Right Action at last.

Fatbutt gets an inspiration from Bog and tries to explain in Tradetalk- “Have heard. Before flood, this was here.” Probably he means that he’d heard stories of these plinths in Slontos; not this exact one. He fumbles with words, not being aware of architectural terms, so he uses descriptive words that he knows, like penis. Fraud says that “knob” is a good word for it, so Fatbutt composes a song of the rise and fall of the magic knob. The dragonewts soon ride off back northwards. You can’t help but watch, perplexed and amazed. Then it’s time to row those coracles again.

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