Chapter Eight: Reflections and The Highest Mountain

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 4:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Shield, Draconic Claws

Beyond all hope, Otiorin found he had moved with the grace and guile of a sylvan shadow, through the roaring, snarling melee around him. Many times he had come close to a blow from one werewolf or another, but fate had placed another betwixt he and death. His hurried movements brought him, after what felt like an eternity, to the place where the fallen effigy lay. The tiny crystal bird was resting on the ground, the fine chain it was hung from coincidentally gathered in an empty spearman's gauntlet, as though the bearer had cast off both gauntlet and necklace. With hasty movements, the Half-elf snatched up the item and drew it close to his chest. Time slowed around him as he held it in his hands, the sounds of battle became slurred and drawn out, like a drunkard's daze. A flare of avarice burnt in Otiorin's chest as he caught a glimpse of the perfectly formed hawk, but it was snuffed as he glanced up to see a she-Elf borne down by one of her fellows, great bleeding rents in her furry hide, but still fighting furiously. This was his purpose here, this was why he had left Waterwind. Unheeding of the danger it presented, Otiorin rose to his feet amongst the scrambling fighters and raised the amulet high above his head.


"Corellon Larethian!", he called out in faultless Elven, "Creator of the Elves, First of the Seldarine, Protector of Life, hear me! I am but a lowly sinner, unworthy of your attention but I beseech you, turn your gaze unto these most egregiously cursed of your children. They, the Wild Elves, who are homeless, kinless and afflicted by the blight of wereform, deserve your devoted care, your boundless love, your infinite mercy! Hear my call and grant aid unto them, lest they obliterate themselves utterly!"

 

[Purr]

Wolf's Entangle spell causes the very roots to reach and grass to grasp at all of the Grugach, both friend and foe. The young and inexperienced werewolves stumble and snarl at the bothersome growth while those more experienced use their Elven-born grace to slip out of the spell's touch.


Bren charges to the fore with Powerpaw on his right and Mamapaw on his left, their weapons at the ready. As they reach the outside of the melee, they see Otiorin perform a dazzling escape from the violent, bloody throng. As he reaches unbloodied earth, he quickly snatches up the crystalline bird charm, speaks his prayer, and raises the charm toward the sky. Otiorin's actions happen more swiftly than Luna's though her support of her teammate is clear.


In but short moments, the Wayfaring Wanderers have reunited with Otiorin and, with Bren at their head. Bren and the Felane are between Otiorin and the Grugach, Otiorin stands in their middle, with Luna, Wolf, and Vardadraug close by. But there is no time to exchange greetings. Upon Otiorin's prayer, the crystalline bird charm suddenly springs from the half-elf's hand and launches into the sky above the clearing, trailing magical feathers of vibrant gold and blue.


High above the age-old battlefield, the bird soars free and fast until without warning there is a shining explosion of magical energies - and the charm is gone from your view. However, the silence it leaves behind save for the roaring melee below is not long vacant... Great trails of supernatural energy appear in the sky where the bird charm burst. About 100 feet from the party and melee, about 50 feet above the clearing and its time-haunted earth, dozens of tremendous lines of bright, enchanted fire flare and shoot through the air. Restlessly, yet not hastily, do they weave in and out from one another, creating a complicated and mind-boggling series of what could be called sigils in the morning air not far above your heads...


On a related note... arcanists across Sharseya are known for incredible magics that allow the transportation of whole groups across some distances in but moments (Dimension Door) or the awesome power to vanish from one spot in the world to reappear instantly, many long miles away from where they once were (Teleport), but, as Arcanist Luna Callen well knows, the most powerful arcane transportation spell of all time is known by a single ominous name:


Gate.





This most-elusive of spells, which is far out of Luna's reach and her father's, is knowable only by those incredible beings in the universe that have somehow achieved the pinnacle of mortal magic. According to arcane legend, it allows nigh-limitless travel across continents, across worlds, across the very planes of existence and to realms beyond the knowing of most mortal beings. Only a handful of great magisters living today and a small number of supernatural creatures can call upon this, the highest-level of magical power known by those who call themselves arcanists.

Spoiler

I leave it to you whether or not Otiorin was astute or lazy in regards to knowing what this spell is. It is a 9th level Wizard/Sorcerer spell.


The Grugach, in their madness, only now realize that their prey has eluded them. Both sides of the melee turn toward the Wayfaring Wanderers, all of them oblivious to the awesome forces weaving above you all, for the Grugach in this state seem only to answer the call of blood.


But... Luna well knows one thing when it comes to the Gate spell - no one casts such awe-inspiring magic heedlessly. And since nothing here has apparently cast it to leave from this place, that narrows all speculation down to one absolutely-logical conclusion...


Someone or something is coming through that Gate to you...

 

[Wolf Rawrrr]

Leonard Wolf - The Ranger

Shape: Human


1st lvl spell: Delay Poison


1st lvl spell: Entangle


2nd lvl spell: Wind Wall

"Luna?!" Wolf turned from the spectacle in the air to the sorceress, who was staring at things as if she knew them. He, on the other hand, was growing more confused by the second. As soon as the magic contained within the crystal began to unfurl, the ranger had eyed the frenzied elves carefully, hoping to see some sign that their curse would be undone. Temporarily, if not permanently. Instead, well...


Instead there was this.

 

[Sherwood]

Luna's eyes go wide as she feels the power of the spell working. "Great Boccob! That's a Gate, and I suspect that something will be coming out of it, and I just hope its friendly! Stand ready!" If there is enough time to do so before the Gate forms, she will cast one of her Shield spells.

Spoiler

Cantrips: Detect Magic, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Read Magic


1 - Shield, Magic Missile x2, Unseen Servant, Ear Piercing Scream


2 - Scorching Ray x3, Protection From Arrows


3 - Haste, Fireball, Displacement, Lightning Bolt


4 - Ball Lightning x2, Shout


Extended Mage Armor in effect until 1 am


Shield in effect for 8 rounds

 

[Purr]

Spoiler

"Fight Fire with Fire" by Metallica


"Fight fire with fire


Ending is near


Fight fire with fire


Bursting with fear


We all shall die.


Time is like a fuse


short and burning fast


Armageddon's here


like said in the past


Soon to fill our lungs


the hot winds of death


the gods are laughing


so take your last breath."


[media]

[/media]
There indeed is enough time for Luna to cast her Shield spell and raise its simple but effective barrier to bear.


The tremendous display of magic being born above you continues without pause as dozens of brightly-lit sigils link and circle into dozens more like rings in mail armor. To be sure, this is the legendary kind of magic that true spellcasters everywhere long to read about much less witness. Now that it is before you, it is more impressive than any tale told you and any book read to you - this is the reality-bending, creativity-charging stuff some of you were told as children. You knew it to be true then, and now, if there was any doubt, it is absolutely dashed by the incredible concerto of cosmic power playing not a stone's throw from your very eyes and ears.


The snake-like sigils sheathe shut. The air trembles with a thunderous rumble. The vibrant circle of fiery colors completes. Inside the enormous circle is a vast area large enough to hold an adult dragon. The area is black as night and appears to lit by the beautiful twinkling of dozens of star-like lights. Combined with the darkness the Grugach brought with them, none of you can tell now that it is daytime at all.


Below it all, those raging Grugach still able begin to take notice, looking up into the sky, some recoiling in sudden shock and wonder, others staring up as if awaiting some holy judgment from beyond. The melee slowly ceases. Twisted, bloodied, broken bodies disengage themselves from those that cannot, and for a moment, all eyes are upon the great mystic portal that looms above you like the unblinking eye of some forgotten god.


Suddenly, out of the portal, something comes. It falls, speeding. Its large limbs seem curled into a ball, its coal-black skin darker than the night. It takes only a scant moment for it to hit the ground. When it does, it strikes with all paws extended and jaws bared. Without warning, it bursts into a furious crimson conflagration like that of one of Luna's Fireballs. Accompanying this is such a loud and dreadful roar as to shake the souls of many a brave being.


"AAAAARROOOOOOOO!!"


No werewolf ever howled like this. It takes no ranger or druid with you to tell you that every sane creature in a mile's distance is now running like hell to safety. Every creature but those present, that is.


Out of the flames comes a snarling, bestial menace the size of Skaagenrackner.

Spoiler

These two pictures are as close as I can get to what lurks in my mind's eye, folks. This, but with coal-black skin wreathed in flames, burning eyes, no metal "headdress" but instead an aura of crimson fire. Also, make him a bit beefier and a tad more savage-looking and you have in Sharseya what they call a Vorgore.

(Image credit: www.gaiaonline.com)


(This is Final Fantasy 10's "Ifrit").

(Image credit: emersonlino2012.blogspot.com)


Neither the Wayfaring Wanderers nor the Grugach need it explained to them that for a second time in history, one of these creatures again walks this battlefield. It appears to be a "he" and he is glaring at the werewolves as if he wants nothing more than to dive straight into their fray... for the sheer hell of it.


Understandably, the Grugach recoil. They know that even were they fresh and together in intent, all twenty or so them could not take this single beast. And the beast seems to know it and revel in the fact. The Grugach growl and shout in alarm in Elven, but you do not hear the Voice of the Wood among them.






"Aie! That is not our beauteous Sage!"


"From which foul hell did the half-elf summon this horror?! He can twist even Elven charms!"


"Fly! Fly from here and live!"


"Nay! The Vorgore will destroy those we leave behind! We are their only salvation!"


The Grugach stand their ground.


"Gasshriiii!" The beast roars. "Gashri kannak iss cham charshaa..." He speaks slowly, deliberately at the Grugach in a language none of the Wayfaring Wanderers are fluent in.


The Grugach whimper and snarl, half-mad in fear and bloodlust. Many of them turn and find Otiorin, there behind the wall of his friends. Some point long claws his way.


It is enough for the grinning Vorgore to turn its attentions fully upon the Wayfaring Wanderers... He hardly glances at the rest of you, as if perhaps you are not worth bothering over - it is Otiorin who falls fully under his fiery gaze. It is clear to all that the beast is coming straight for him. Nor are his steps hurried. It is the confident four-pawed walk of a destroyer, ready for any that try to get between he and the focus of his desire.


"Holy face..." Awe-filled, Powerpaw grins and girds himself without the slightest hint of fear about him. "Guyz, dis is gonna be sumthin'!"


"This already is something, son!" Sabrefang gulps and like Powerpaw, she sets herself between the Vorgore and Otiorin, her shield and spear at the ready.


From Luna's shoulder, all of you hear Sparkle's voice in your minds, Indeed! It is called 'suicide!'


Vardadraug nudges Bren's leg and, tail and ears low, looks up at him uncertainly. The Daughters of Summertime remain invisible and hidden in his thick fur.


Meanwhile, Luna and Luna alone is filled with a different feeling; something inside the wizardess experiences what can only be described as a pull from within her very being toward the Vorgore. Of all the beautiful and terrible creatures you have met upon Sharseya thus far, not even the Craven was truly a creature born of fire. The Vorgore, Luna knows, is. There is such a stirring in the part of her that is the natural and born fire-caster, that for a moment, she cannot take her eyes off of him.


The effect, however, does not appear mutual as the Vorgore continues to stare and stroll toward Otiorin as if daring him to flee for his life.


What do your characters do?

 

[Kaerri]

Brendoran, human fighter/ranger

Standard AC: 27


Fort save: +12


Ref save: +8


Will save: +4


Current action points: 9


Current HP: 87/87


Status effects: none


Powerpaw's tower shield +1


(-2 to attack rolls)


Spell: Speak with Animals

Bren swallows hard. He hadn't known what to expect out of the Gate, but he certainly hadn't expected this apparition! In his shock, he speaks aloud without knowing it, "Saint's mace, I wish Shalin and Havoc were here..." After a moment, he realizes the Vorgore, directed by the grugach, is heading right for him, or rather for Otiorin beside him. Instinctively he braces himself and stands firm beside the half-elf, shield at the ready. "For what it's worth, my friend... I don't know how or why, but you did exactly as the Voice said, and so this must be as Corellon intended. Surely He knows your innocence, so there must be something deeper going on here. Though, if it comes to a fight... Sparkle is not far wrong."

Spoiler

Also, Bren wants to make a Monster Lore check. He knows something of these creatures from past experience (at least regarding one individual), but let's see what his book learnin' says.[dice]23742[/dice]

 

[Purr]

"Saint's mace, I wish Shalin and Havoc were here..."

"Uhhh, who?" Powerpaw says in his goofy voice without taking his eyes off of the supernatural destroyer.


Sparkle overhears Bren too. Her sharp reply is less than subtle. That is no Elven representative I have ever heard of! He is not looking at Otiorin as though he is innocent - he seems to be looking at him like he is the beast's next meal!


Again, the oncoming Vorgore glares and grins at Otiorin as if daring him to flee for his life.

Spoiler

"Only for yooooooooou..." Ha ha!


Half a year of non-adventuring have not dimmed Bren's memories or senses. They both tell him that this is Havoc (Bren would bet the Cratian Edge on it). Havoc, however, is apparently as single-minded as ever and his glance at Bren has shown no recognition; if that nasty bestial brawler has a weakness, it is "tunnel-vision."





"Book-learnin'" only has one thing to say (add Baltor's voice here) and it's "YOU CRAZY?! DAT'S A VORGORE! RUN FO' YO' MOTHAFUCKIN' LIFE!! AAAAAAHHH!"

 

[Wolf Rawrrr]

Leonard Wolf - The Ranger

Shape: Human


1st lvl spell: Delay Poison


1st lvl spell: Entangle


2nd lvl spell: Wind Wall

Wolf stared unresponsive at what was unfolding for a good while longer than he usually would. In his defense, however, he was not usually confronted with such things. It was giant. It was burning. It was otherworldly. It was coming right at them.


Right at Otiorin, actually. There was a hint of relief at that, even if only momentary. Even if wholly irrelevant, since Wolf was just as willing to stand with him as the two Felanes. As Bren. A moment later the ranger was looking down the sight of a nocked arrow at the encroaching Vorgore, holding fire in anticipation of some clue from Bren.


It was fascinating.

 

[Kaerri]

Brendoran, human fighter/ranger

Standard AC: 27


Fort save: +12


Ref save: +8


Will save: +4


Current action points: 9


Current HP: 87/87


Status effects: none


Powerpaw's tower shield +1


(-2 to attack rolls)


Spell: Speak with Animals

Bren's eyes narrow, then widen as he gets a better look at the incoming creature. "By all that's holy, they are here! At least one of them is..." He takes a step forward, placing himself squarely between Otiorin and the Vorgore. With their relative sizes, he knows the half-elf is more or less hidden from the Vorgore's view at this point (at least for now). He claps the side of his axe against his borrowed shield like an unwieldy gong and shouts, "Havoc, you great oaf! Can you not recognize friends when you see them?" He grins at the irony of that, for it had taken Bren an extra moment or three. His stance, while clearly somewhat relieved, is yet wary; after all, the Vorgore hasn't responded yet.

 

[Purr]

Spoiler

Location: Off the trail, about twenty minutes walking-time west from the The Road of Kings (5 days north of Summerset)


Travel time to Highwind: On day 5 of 14.


Sunday, September 21st, 1118. Time: 9:50 a.m.


Weather: The air is calm yet the forest is unusually dark and cold for this time of day.

"By all that's holy, they are here! At least one of them is..."

Powerpaw keeps his cudgel and shield close. To Bren, he says, "Who da face iz you talkins abouts? You mean dere is MOAR of dese guys? Oooh!"


Brendoran's clamor to attract Havoc does just that. At first, the nightmarish giant-sized destroyer looks toward the sound with a crashing snap of his jaws followed by a bright gout of flame that momentarily illuminates you all until recognition dawns upon those blazing, otherworldly eyes as they fasten upon Brendoran. The Vorgore pauses. And then he does something that appears quite uncharacteristic of such a terror...


He smiles at Brendoran.


This is not the free and friendly smile of a child, nor a wary grin between warriors, but instead the twisted, pleased expression of a being whose mind appeared to have cracked long ago.


"Brrrrrennn!" he rumbles. "Haiyaiyaiyaieeeeeee!" The pitch of his voice rises very high. With a wicked claw the size of a knight's lance, the Vorgore aims at Otiorin and growls something slowly and deliberately to Bren, but it is not in a language any of you are terribly familiar with.


"Gashri, Bren-sai? Gashri kannak. Chusath iss mathak, Bren?"


Seeing the confused faces on Powerpaw and Sabrefang, the Vorgore pauses again, this time in mild annoyance perhaps at himself.


"Ooop. Havoc shay wrong..." He sniffs and points a second time. Again, each word is slow, deliberate, and heavily bestial, but in the Common tongue. "Friend-Bren hash half-elf? Half-elf ish salve... Half-elf ish wif Bren? Or does Havoc kill it?!" The hot flames wreathed about his body seem to brighten a bit at the idea of this last.

 

[Sherwood]

Luna is torn between running in great fear or being overwhelmed by the power of the flame that calls to her. Almost without thinking, she feels her feet moving her ever closer to the great beast, a look of wonder on her face. "Sparkle, do you see it? The fire is so beautiful! I wish my own flames could be do spectacular!" Inside her mind, a tiny voice is screaming that this was a catastrophically stupid thing to be doing right now, but her eyes are locked on the Vorgore.

Spoiler

Cantrips: Detect Magic, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Read Magic


1 - Shield, Magic Missile x2, Unseen Servant, Ear Piercing Scream


2 - Scorching Ray x3, Protection From Arrows


3 - Haste, Fireball, Displacement, Lightning Bolt


4 - Ball Lightning x2, Shout


Extended Mage Armor in effect until 1 am


Shield in effect for 8 rounds

 

[Wolf Rawrrr]

Leonard Wolf - The Ranger

Shape: Human


1st lvl spell: Delay Poison


1st lvl spell: Entangle


2nd lvl spell: Wind Wall

The look on Wolf's face shifted from tense fascination to a disbelieving frown as he found himself half-consciously lowering his bow and arrow. The unlikeliness - no, impossibility - of the situation just doubled. But he had barely the time to contemplate that, because right next to him Luna seemed to have gone into some kind of... trance?


"Luna, no!" Wolf yelled, quickly putting away his equipment in order to lay his arms on her from behind. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, bent on restricting her further movement.

 

[Sherwood]

Shaking the fog from her head, Luna finally comes to her senses. She takes as much of a step back as she can, pressing herself up against Wolf's chest. "I-I don't know what came over me there. I feel fine now. Bren, you know him, and better yet, you are on good terms with him? Please let the Vorgore know that we are your friends, too, and not to kill us."

 

[Wolf Rawrrr]

Leonard Wolf - The Ranger

Shape: Human


1st lvl spell: Delay Poison


1st lvl spell: Entangle


2nd lvl spell: Wind Wall

If you're big and strong, and ram someone hard enough, you can easily knock the wind out of them. If you're Luna, however, and that someone is Wolf, even the gentlest of presses would suffice to knock out a whole bunch of equally, if not more, important things. Like whatever it was that he was about to say next. Or the entirety of his composure. Or his grip on a dire situation bearing possibly colossal consequences. That would explain why the ready-and-able ranger turned into a confused boy scout in the span of two seconds.


"Erm. T-That's... Yeah. Luna." Wolf mumbled, looking and feeling more than slightly stupefied at Luna pressing herself against him. "It's ok. Luna."


After all, what were any of those things when compared to one Luna Callen - and the sight and smell of her neck up close?

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 4:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Shield, Draconic Claws

Otiorin marvelled at the expanding mandala of arcane magic that projected itself in the sky above, his attention drifting from the aggressive Grugach around him as it apparently drew more and more mystical energy to itself. Then, like a bizarre flower bud, it blossomed out and his vision was filled with fire. From that hellish vista revealed beyond the portal, a monstrous beast thundered down to strike the flame-scarred ground. It was like a cross between a jackal, a wolf and a powerfully-muscled man. Its skin was jet black and seemed to draw in light while its head was surmounted by a raging conflagration that burned with the ferocity of an unfettered forest fire. It stood several yards taller than a giant and its torso was wider than even Skaagenrackner's.


Otiorin's heart quailed in his chest and he stumbled back in horror at the sight of it. His hands quaked and his knees grew weak, even as a cold sweat sprang from his brow. His eyes locked onto the mighty beast's and they shared a mutual moment of complete focus. Moonlit Edge's cool light shimmered and dimmed as she sensed the Half-elf's will draining away. The urge to flee, to turn tail and run headlong for as long as his body could sustain, was overwhelming, but he could not gather the strength to enact the strategy. So instead, he stood, eyes unblinking, body unmoved, as his destruction loomed over him.

 

[Kaerri]

Brendoran, human fighter/ranger

Standard AC: 27


Fort save: +12


Ref save: +8


Will save: +4


Current action points: 9


Current HP: 87/87


Status effects: none


Powerpaw's tower shield +1


(-2 to attack rolls)


Spell: Speak with Animals

Bren relaxes just a tiny bit in relief when recognition enters the Vorgore's eyes. "I'll explain all later, but in short: yes, I know him -- or rather, I know his, mm, companion, who isn't currently present but is one of my dearest friends." Stepping back and to one side, he lays a hand reassuringly on Otiorin's shoulder. "Havoc, the half-elf is indeed with me, and is my friend. So are the two humans and the two... cat people. Please, er, don't kill them." He nods in the direction of Luna and Wolf, and then to Powerpaw and Saberfang. Looking up at the still-open Gate floating over their heads, he asks, "Where is Shalin? Is he coming too, or just you?"


Throughout, however, he keeps an eye on the Grugach, for they surely aren't prepared for this any more than his party is, and have shown themselves prone to reacting suddenly and unpredictably.

 

[Purr]

The fiery Vorgore scratches his head in some confusion. For long moments, the destroyer does not speak but tries to apparently settle some argument inside his age-old mind. Finally, he nods eagerly, his mass of pointed teeth bobbing up and down as he smiles; at least you think it's a smile; that cracked and unbalanced gleam has not left his eyes.


"One ting... at a time..." Havoc says to no one in particular.


"First ting ish firsht." He turns to the Grugach, looming over them like some ancient totem of times long by. "Sage hash message for you. I try relay." Next comes one of the worst attempts at Elvish any creature ever made; a hobbit having drunken a keg of Highwind's finest ale could speak better Elven than this... Still, the Vorgore tries.

Spoiler

"Sage shay... 'I haf founded Royin human peepsies. I cannot leaf dem. I throw Havoc at you instead. He will she what I cannot. If you face foes, he will fully broil and serve them. If you haf founded half-elf, he will she in my stead. Trust Havoc. Comes for me with Havoc before sun takes her nap. Havoc knows which way.'"


Havoc nods wide-eyed and with eagerness. "You unna'stand? I good Elfie-talk, yesh? Heh heh!"


The Grugach listen to this horrible mangling of their native language and look doubtfully and warily toward one another. As this is happening, all of the Wayfaring Wanderers see the incredible - the wounds of the Grugach werewolves are healing at incredible speed. Before your eyes, you see bite-holes, claw-marks, and every sort of sharp and crushing injury among them close and make themselves whole as certainly as if Bria herself were among them. The Grugach take little note of this, nor does this revelation seem to bring them any pleasure. Instead, they whisper hurriedly amongst each other. Their whispers are, of course, in Elvish.






"So the half-elf did not summon this burning monstrosity?"


"It sounds like her words, however mangled. She did give word that she had a protector."


"The half-elf still stands!"


A graceful hand points toward Havoc. "Aye! But what of the Star-watcher?"


"Aie! Corellon!"


From under the furry, bloody pile of werewolf Grugach comes a heavy, tired, and familiar voice. It is the Voice of the Wood. In Elvish, he says...






"You mushroom-heads... If the Star-watcher wanted to slay us, do you think we would be exchanging words? Do as he asks."


The Grugach kneel down and try to comfort the Voice while their physical wounds heal on their own. Then, almost as one, they look back to Havoc. Havoc is fishing something out of his fur. "Ahhhh..." he grins. He fiddles with something rather small for someone his size. Then there is a clicking sound. A moment later, the Vorgore stomps forward toward the Wayfaring Wanderers, while holding a shining little something up to his eye. He peers down at Otiorin intently. His gaze burns hotter than the sun's own for a moment as Otiorin is illuminated in red and orange by the flames surrounding Havoc. The Grugach all take note and rise, those that can. All their eyes fall upon Otiorin and the Vorgore...


Havoc finally turns back to the Grugach. He shakes his head, tossing bits of orange flame back and forth. "Not him. He not salve."


The Grugach cry out and pound the earth in frustration and pain incarnate. Their blows kick up mounds of dirt. Some fall to their knees and begin to weep, others stare at Otiorin like souls lost. Most of the pack half-rise, half-drag their people out of the clearing and the Gate spell overhead and into what little succor the wood can provide. As they limp and gnash their fangs in terrible anguish, one amongst their number looks long at Otiorin. It is the Voice of the Wood. He is being carried by his brethren, one paw upon his gut which is rapidly-healing after having been gorily eviscerated. He looks gratefully into Otiorin's eyes. He grins. His expression seems to say, "My heart is glad that you are proven innocent..."


As the Wild Elves slowly and glumly retreat into the cover of the forest proper, Havoc turns back to all of you, Bren especially. "Ahhh... Evil half-elf ish still free. No good." Havoc's maw, ever-wide with mad joy, hangs open as he regards you.


"Ash for Shalin-sai, ahh... is story. You have time to hear?"

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 4:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Shield, Draconic Claws

The Vorgore loomed over Otiorin, close enough now that the scent of burning clogged his nose and seeped into his hair and clothes. He could see the individual scales on it's night-black flesh and could hear the bass rumbling of some internal inferno within the beast. Then it retrieved something from within the matted fur that clad parts of its body. It raised the object to it's massive incandescent eye and suddenly Otiorin had the overwhelming feeling that something was looking into his soul. The sensation was horrifying and enthralling all at the same time and was over quick enough that the Half-elf didn't feel overwhelmed.


Then 'Havoc' relented and gave the Grugach the news Otiorin had wanted to hear. He could see the disappointment in their faces, could feel the despair that came over them. He ran over to the Voice in the Woods and stood in front of him and his brethren as they retreated to the forest.


"I was earnest when I said I wanted to offer you aid, and I still want to help. I have some fair amount of gold coin coming to me, once my friends and I reach Highwind. I want you to have it, to purchase those things your people might need that the forest does not provide, be it grain and preserved meat to see you through the winter, or such tools and supplies you'd need to build yourselves shelter. Maybe you can buy livestock to provide for yourselves. I will leave all that I earn with someone trusted by Lord Sarabina and you need only speak my name to that person to be granted access to all that I possess."

 

[Purr]

Spoiler

Location: Off the trail, about twenty minutes walking-time west from the The Road of Kings (5 days north of Summerset)


Travel time to Highwind: On day 5 of 14.


Sunday, September 21st, 1118. Time: 10:15 a.m.


Weather: The air is calm yet the forest is unusually dark and cold for this time of day.


Havoc, not hearing a reply from Bren, murmurs, "Okie... Havoc save Shalin-sai shtory time for later."


Otiorin is met by wrathful howls and bloody fangs when he tries to approach the Voice of the Wood. Some of the Grugach snap and bare their claws at him. They allow Otiorin ahead only when the Voice of the Wood weakly beckons him closer. Otiorin can see the gut-wrenching wounds still closing upon the Voice's still body, but there in that heavy and tired expression, the wounds of soul are only deepening, yawning chasm-like in his Elven soul. Still, he listens to Otiorin's offer only to shake his head and gnash his teeth.


"You know nothing of my people," he repeats the statement, but this time with an amused chuckle. He looks to Otiorin; there is no insult in those aching green eyes. "Grugach hardly ever deal in the manner of civilized tribes. We deal instead in trade." He reaches forward with a bloody claw, grabbing Otiorin around his arm (unless Otiorin resists). He pulls the half-elf close and stares at him.


"There is only one thing you can do to help us, Otiorin True-heart - Kill the Betrayer! Free my people from this most-dreaded of all curses!"





"Do this... and I will fill your lap with more gold than you can rightly carry." A whimper escapes his lips. "I desire... only this. Naught else. For despite this awful hour, you have only seen a shade of what it has done to us..." He looks up to Havoc and the great glowing Gate to the beyond. "We will go with the Sage's protector when he is ready."


Then one white and gray-furred Grugach cannot stand Otiorin's near presence any longer. She stomps forward, towering over him, covered in the blood of her kin. In the Common tongue, she roars, "Now get away from him, half-man! Is seeing us ruined not enough for your like?!"


The Voice of the Wood begins to speak but despite his mountainous will, his strength is not quick in the coming. Another voice rises instead, this one from Otiorin's own party.


"Enough!" Sabrefang glares at the offending Grugach dangerously and with her own fangs bared. "Otiorin is proven innocent - innocent! - and still you rage at him! How do you fail to see he is just as cursed as you, only with a different 'affliction?'" Sabrefang spits into the earth before the offending Grugach while the other wild elves watch in silence. Sabrefang points. "You at least have the hope of a cure to be found! You can build a new home! What home does any half-elf call his own? And what can stop him from being anything besides what he was born? Worse still, does the cure exist that will free him of your unfair hatred and distrust of him? Speaking as a druidess of Beauteous Bastet and Marvelous Mielikki, your orcish manners sicken me to the core, 'elf!!'" A catty growl erupts from within her and a blaze of fiery motherly will shines brightly in her blood-red eyes.


Some of the Grugach shrink back from this sudden display of wrath. The Voice of the Wood stares in awe and grins proudly.


Powerpaw cannot keep his mouth shut. With a toothy grin, he nudges his nearby Wayfaring Wanderers and purrs with a raised fist. "Ain't it greats when Mom gets mad at somebody? Moar, Mom, moar!"





"Quiet, son."


The white and gray-furred Grugach pauses. "'Orcish manners?!' How dare you? Who among the sacred circle of druids are you to chastise us?"


"Who am I, you ask?" Sabrefang hears this challenge and stands tall in reply. Despite the towering Gate spell above you and the darkened woods, a soft beam of sunlight shines through upon her breast as she shouts in defiance. "I am Melshaef!! Melshaef of the Many Forms!"


"'Melshaef?!'" comes a sudden and surprised canine-like cry; many present look upwards, for its origin is Havoc. He looms over the Felane, jaw hanging open. "What?! You Melshaef?"


"I am!"


Havoc looks back up at the Gate and whines. He hangs his head low and appears as embarrassed as a supernatural powerhouse can.


"Uh ohhhh..." he glances about. "Bren-sai? Havoc tinksh we all goofed big time..."


"Wha?" Melshaef and Powerpaw exchanged confused looks before turning to each of you.

 

[Wolf Rawrrr]

Leonard Wolf - The Ranger

Shape: Human


1st lvl spell: Delay Poison


1st lvl spell: Entangle


2nd lvl spell: Wind Wall

Wolf stood uneasily suspended between two states; one of tension and readiness in anticipation of some sudden act of hostility from the Grugach or possibly even the Vorgore, and one of relative relaxation brought on by signs that the situation might actually resolve itself without further violence. In both cases he regarded the great flaming beast with the same raw, almost child-like fascination reserved only for things most wild and uncanny that he had the good fortune of meeting on his journeys.


But now he looked just as confused and unsure as anyone, looking at Melshaef with patient anticipation while at the same time not straying more than two steps from Luna's side.

 

[Sherwood]

Luna is confused. What could possibly be bad about that? But something was wrong, and she has the bad feeling that this was about to end in bloodshed. She flashes a quick smile over at Wolf, letting him know that his comforting presence has been noticed and is appreciated.

Spoiler

I am guessing that the Shield spell has run its course and is no longer in effect.


Cantrips: Detect Magic, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Read Magic


1 - Shield, Magic Missile x2, Unseen Servant, Ear Piercing Scream


2 - Scorching Ray x3, Protection From Arrows


3 - Haste, Fireball, Displacement, Lightning Bolt


4 - Ball Lightning x2, Shout


Extended Mage Armor in effect until 1 am

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 4:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Shield, Draconic Claws

"WHAT DO YOU HAVE?!?", Otiorin roared in defiance of the hulking Grugach, who dared intercede herself in what he had determined was a conversation between himself and The Voice in the Wood, "What do you have left to trade that is not urgently required by your own? I am giving you what I can, all that I have, so that you can provide for your people in your time of greatest need and you throw it back in my face? The friction between your kind and the Wood Elves would be assuaged with the aid of my gold to purchase that which you cannot afford to trade, but you would strike your own noses from your snouts to spite the Half-man? You would starve your children, weaken your elders and destroy all that remains of your heritage to protect your pride? You tell me to hunt and defeat the one who did this to you? You think that was not already my intent? You think me some fool who would run blithely through the lands as feckless as a whelp-child, unknowing and uncaring of the needs of others?"


He quaked with the ardency of his anger, uncaring of the returning anger of the cursed Wild Elves.


"Well, fine! Cast my charity aside! Stamp my good-will beneath your paws! Let it be known far and wide that the proud Wild Elves care not for the care others wish to impart upon them in their time of direst need. Let that be the final testament of your kind to be dictated to the annals of all sentient beings. For, ere long, it shall be all that remains of the Wild Elves. Aye, and it shall be a fate that you pulled upon yourselves!"


He tossed the crystal trinket back to the Wild Elf who had confronted him and turned his back on her, inviting her wrathful rebuke with his callous disregard of the threat she presented.


"I had hoped to make my peace with my kindred Elves, regardless of their feelings of me, but damn all obstinate and prideful True Elves and a poison curse on those who would turn away the goodwill of those who would see fallen and at-need brethren aided. I'm done with you."


With that he started to stride away, thrusting Moonlit Edge back into her scabbard and stomping across the flame-scarred ground with a resolve that even ancient Skaagenrackner would have had difficulty in curtailing.

 

[Kaerri]

Brendoran, human fighter/ranger

Standard AC: 27


Fort save: +12


Ref save: +8


Will save: +4


Current action points: 9


Current HP: 87/87


Status effects: none


Powerpaw's tower shield +1


(-2 to attack rolls)


Spell: Speak with Animals

Havoc, not hearing a reply from Bren, murmurs, "Okie... Havoc save Shalin-sai shtory time for later."

Bren shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Havoc. I do want to know, very much, but as you can see, we have a lot going on at present, and I think we should take care of that first. I hope I can catch up with you or him later and hear it all."

"Uh ohhhh..." he glances about. "Bren-sai? Havoc tinksh we all goofed big time..."
"Wha?" Melshaef and Powerpaw exchanged confused looks before turning to each of you.

Bren stares back at Havoc in equal confusion. "What? What do you mean?"
[QUOTE="Captain Hesperus]With that he started to stride away, thrusting Moonlit Edge back into her scabbard and stomping across the flame-scarred ground with a resolve that even ancient Skaagenrackner would have had difficulty in curtailing.

[/QUOTE]"Otiorin, wait." Bren holds out a hand but doesn't try to grab the half-elf, wishing he would stay but not truly wanting to force him if he was so adamantly against it.
"Something's amiss here, let's see what it is before splitting up."

 

[Purr]

Spoiler

Hope you have some popcorn and a drink ready, folks! This is not a short post. Just thought I'd "warn" you. =)


The white and brown-furred female Grugach takes on several changes as Melshaef and Otiorin speak. Her expressions shift from rage to startled disbelief to a shame that grows by the moment. By the time Otiorin has finished his say, the female elf is covering her face with her paws and shuddering. The Voice of the Woods looks up to her from his prone position. When she looks to him, she finds surprise and admonishment there. His expression seems to shout, "Who in the stars made you Voice of the Wood?"


She murmurs to him. "What... have I done?"


The Voice of the Wood's reply is even, but not calm. "Your thoughtless barking has just chased away one who would have been a true-hearted ally."


"I... only meant to..." she pauses. "I know not know what I meant. I used to care! Why is it so hard to care anymore?" She turns heavenward as if to howl in pain. "Where is the woman I once was?!"


The Voice sighs. "I know not. We are all changing, Sweetleaf, and none of us for the better. Foul enough we are killing each other in worse than orcish ways; now we push away those who would aid us for reasons we ourselves cannot understand." He watches her, his face pained. "I can sense myself slipping away too..."


A third elf, one who fought to protect Otiorin enters the conversation. He is in the form of his birth. His long brown hair is ragged and unkempt and he seems to like it that way. Piercing green eyes like emeralds in sunlight hold no mirth in his youthful eyes. "That we should fall like this, cursed to our last, without ally, without self, is beyond imagining. After all the greatness we have accomplished over all these millennia. The other races will place us in history as a race of self-serving madmen that died uselessly. And why not? We do not even know ourselves anymore! It is... as if the curse has affected our very souls."


Sweetleaf closes her eyes. "By the stars, why? Why are we acting this way? We are Grugach, not monsters!"


The third elf bites his lip as a fearful thought comes to mind. "Perhaps the Betrayer was correct after all - 'the last of us will die broken, homeless, friendless, and alone.'"


"No."


The sharp reply comes from seemingly nowhere. The Grugach look and sniff about as do the Felane, but not Havoc the Vorgore. He simply glances up to the Gate and back down to you.


The new voice is youthful, female, naturally musical, and with an Elven accent almost none of you can place. Otiorin, Luna, and Wolf have never before heard it.






When I hear this character speak, it is always crystal-clear, musical, and delightful to listen to. Ever know someone who just has one of those voices you could listen to all day long, just for the sound of it? It is like such a person does not have to sing - they unconsciously make music just by the act of talking. Her accent in my mind sounds French or perhaps Norwegian - one can clearly tell in-game that Common isn't her first language, though no other elf you've met, Gray or otherwise, carries her particular accent.


The unseen woman's voice is soothing and warm. "I will remember you. You will always have me as friend. Remember now what it is to be elf...." The voice from nowhere begins to sing. The song is short and simple; the kind of song that brings peace to any heart open to such desires.






(To Go Beyond (Part 1) by Enya)


[media]

[/media]
All of the Grugach pause and listen. Their snarling ceases along with their wound-licking as the song seems to take each of them, one by one, to another place, far from here, far from pain, and closer to once what was. Many of them look off into the distance. As their physical wounds heal, the pain in their eyes softens. The song provides a moment's respite from the ever-winding hell that seems to be the destination of their entire race.


When the song ends, there is the sound of whirling cloth. Suddenly, where there was nothing now stands a blonde-haired Elf, a stunning beauty even by Elvish standards. Illuminated by Havoc's glowing fire, she has just pulled the hood of her cloak back, causing her to become visible. Each of the Wayfaring Wanderers know the tales of Cloaks and Boots of Elvenkind that make their wearers so hard to find as to be like living ghosts.


But she is no ghost. Standing tall before you is a Gray Elf in the prime of her youth, strong-limbed and aglow with all of the power and vitality that time in life provides. From behind willful sky-blue eyes, she gazes upon the Grugach softly, with the hint of a sad frown upon her lips.

Spoiler

(With Elvish features instead of human. She is dressed in the outfit below with the addition of a soft brown cloak and matching boots.)

(Image credit: Guild Wars 2)


(In case her face is too dark to see...)

(Image credit: Guild Wars 2)


Seeing her, The Voice of the Wood finds the strength to stagger to his feet. "Sage! You have returned to us!" The Grugach make their way to her and she to them, arms wide. They embrace as elves.


"Apologies. I was delayed. I have to send the Havoc and have only now arrived to bring you news from Highwind. Do you mind I speak in Common so that Havoc understands too; his Elvish is terrible."


"Aiyaiyai!" comes Havoc's whine. He recoils as if stung by her words, but the Sage only returns him a look that seems to say, "You are just a big baby!" His reply is to stick out his lower lip at her and pout like one for a moment.


"What news?"


The Sage of the Forest takes a deep breath. When she speaks, she has the attention of every Grugach present. "We return from Highwind. We have learned the core of the curse the Betrayer has placed upon you all." She looks each of them in the eye. "Grugach everywhere are all becoming true werewolves - body and soul."


"But..." Sweetleaf stammers, "not, not... just the form but... but a werewolf's heart is as dark as a demons, bloody as a murderer's own! Their souls are evil to the last!"


The newcomer nods in agreement, but there is no joy in those eyes. "As you will be without the cure. From smallest infant to oldest crone - all of Grugach are becoming true werewolves. Right now. Corellon has spoken - only the death of the Betrayer can alter this!"


There is a long pause as each of this family of elves look toward one another. This news seems to answer many questions for them, but not one answer provides solace.


"Oscar say soul-change should have already begun. It will take you over like a madness. You have seen changes amongst yourselves, no?"


Shocked to wordlessness, all of the Grugach turn toward each other, each digesting the gut-wrenching news their own way. They look as lost and forlorn as ever. When they look at each other, it is the stare of someone looking upon someone else's grave. Someone dear.


About this time...

Bren stares back at Havoc in equal confusion. "What? What do you mean?"

Havoc stares down at the Sage of the Forest and then to Bren. Her eyes follow Havoc's own and then they take in the Wayfaring Wanderers as if for the first time. But before you can share proper greetings, Havoc points out Sabrefang. "She... She Melshaef."


"How can this be?" the Sage replies. It is then that her eyes fall upon Bren and Vardadraug. "Ah! It is Vardadraug and Bren!" Moving gracefully and effortlessly as a feather in the wind, she gives Bren a powerful hug and Vardadraug soon after.


Vardadraug licks her hand with a wagging tail. Far-traveled songstress, it has been too long since these ears enjoyed your melodies!





"My voice longs to share them with you, beautiful Exalted Wolf! You are like a furry knight!"


She turns to Bren as if caught between the emotions of surprise and great trouble. "Wow! So nice to see the Bren so soon!"






"So soon?" It has been over six months since you have last met. Just a reminder that time moves differently for elves. =)


The Sage gasps softly. "Now I see clearly. Bren, Poppa is in danger! Poppa could not find the Melshaef with his crystal ball, so Oscar tell him to look for her tree. Poppa found her tree. Thinking it safe with Melshaef and the refugees, he teleport to it. Alone... But when Havoc and I arrive here by Gate, Royin refugees say Melshaef's Tree was not with them! They have to leave Melshaef's Tree behind. With Formorian Giants! So horrible!"


Powerpaw scratches his head. "You knowz about 'em? Any idea how come dey leave dey home ta come all da way here?"


The Sage thinks hard. "Something... something about taking Melshaef's Tree to make their own land and prismalcum. Formorians think there is some here to take."


Forgetting her anger toward the female Grugach, Sabrefang steps forward. "A moment. The refugees from Royin! You found my people and they are safe?"


Melshaef's whiskers and tail rise in relief when the Sage points up to the Gate spell. "Aye!" the Sage says. "They are on the other side of this Gate. They are missing the Melshaef so much!"


"Worry not. We know of the Formorians; there are only a handful of them hereabouts."


"No," the Sage shakes her head and grimaces. "When Oscar told us to find Melshaef, he say to beware of Formorians. An entire tribe and their host left the Hunderhills bound for this forest and I think my Poppa just flew alone to where they are now!"

 

[Wolf Rawrrr]

Leonard Wolf - The Ranger

Shape: Human


1st lvl spell: Delay Poison


1st lvl spell: Entangle


2nd lvl spell: Wind Wall

Wolf was quite taken aback by Otiorin's surge of anger despite being somewhat used to the way that the half-elf usually displayed his emotions; earnestly and without holding back. In different circumstances he might have interjected. Bren was closer, both literally and figuratively, but even if Wolf had been in his place there would simply be no time. Much had started to transpire all at once. Too much to do anything but stand stoically at Luna's side and take it all in.


As the young (looking) elven sage elaborated on the nature of the curse, Wolf frowned. It was the kind of hard, dissatisfied frown that engulfs more than just one's brows and indicates thoughts as hard and dark as stone at the bottom of the ocean. The ranger drifted away for a spell, missing some of the talk until the part about the Formorians. The mention of the name, coupled with the alarm within the sage's tone of voice, brought Wolf quickly back to the here and now.


"I have seen these Formorians." the ranger broke the silence without moving. "Though not the number that you speak of, my lady. Just a couple scouts, trashing the forest as if they owned it. Gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, bur-" He checked his anger just before it got the better of him. A short but deep breath later, he continued. "I could not understand their foul tongue, but they did look like they were looking for something. The prismalcum, then? Makes sense. Damn if our troubles didn't triple ever since we picked it up."


Wolf glanced over the Wanderers with mild scrutiny, as if wondering whose idea that was in the first place, until his face suddenly brightened. As if he just got a great idea. He looked back at the elven sage with his head slightly angled and his eyes narrowed. "My lady, you would not chance to know one Little Cub... and Chomper?"