Nathan, Phil, Bjorn, Lammermore (once the Archon passes into the fortress again, the illusion fades), Alec, and Liandral manage to find a quiet pocket in the keep -- medics practically tackling Lammermore to tend to his wounds. The arrows stuck in him, Breke's body, and Phil managed to vanish somehow when crossing the remnants of the seal, leaving empty wounds that bled even faster.
Medics tend to all of the wounded as quickly and efficiently as possible. Phil is quickly healed, and declared fit, but Lammermore is going to require more rest, and nothing can be done for Breke at this point.
Lammermore gets hauled off at about the same time as the adrenaline decides to let go of your combat-mode minds.
Ginrai descends from his towertop a bit later, and stands at the edge of the group, not sure what to say. Durant is nowhere in sight.
Rez gives everyone a distracted nod.
"Alec, Liandral, could you give me a hand? I want to go and find out what kind of casualties we took today."
Farwell approaches before either can reply. "Well, we made it," he says, somewhat sourly. "I've already learned that, cousin," he says, nodding at Dracos. "A good thousand storm-riders fell ... and we've lost nearly a hundred wives, and twice that in young ones." He stares at the cobblestones of the courtyard at his feet. "But we're here."
"A vicious toll, but....not nearly as bad as could be feared. I am glad you made it through alright, cousin. Let's get everyone into the keep. We can talk more then....We have made the keep and warm food certainly awaits us tonight."
Dracos
The doors slam shut, as the last of the storm-riders finish bringing in their dead. One of the keep guards escorts them (and the bodies) to some point inside the keep -- presumably a masoleum, or the like.
"And done," Farwell says tiredly. "A warm fire, some food, and safety. We should get something to eat, and better, drink, all of us."
"Yes. Eh... " Dracos rubs his head. "I won't be trying that again. Damn that ogre had a hell of a skull on 'im." Dracos leads the way towards the food areas, presuming he's not cut off by Lord Kevin or someone else.
Dracos
Rez looks at his still glowing sword, then sheaths it. "I'll join you later, I think . . ." he glances at Drac, "Unless there's anything you need me for right now?"
"Well, no...not specifically, Nathan. Anything up though?" Dracos raises an eyebrow, slightly concerned.
Dracos
Nathan's scabbard holds the sword for about a half-second before it breaks into debris, and the blade plunges itself a quarter of its length into the flagstones just outside the keep entrance.
The guards jump back and stare at it like they aren't certain what to make of such a thing.
"Somehow, I'm not the least bit surprised by this development. I'll speak to you all later." Rez unceremoniously pulls his sword out of the flagstones before it can do any more damage, then nods to the group and turns to walk off.
Well, I suppose now I know why that spider had no armour.
Rez has no particular destination in mind, but unless he spies something or someone interesting, he'll make his way to the practice yard and get some practice at his swording and arrowing skills.
Not like there's much to do around here except hit things, anyway.
Before Nathan can reach the practice yard, Ginrai catches up to him.
"Rez! Are you free at this moment?"
Rez pauses and looks over his shoulder at Ginrai.
"Nothing particularly pressing, why?"
"I was wondering what happened to you guys the past few days. Also there were a few things you might want to know about the Pax Arcana."
Rez glances around.
"Fighting, killing orcs, scaring orcs, killing more orcs, running around in the snowfields, and as to Pax Arcana . . . Liandral's better equipped to tell you about that game than me, I think, I'm a mere amateur. We're probably better catching up over dinner or drinks later, though . . . You can tag along with me to as I walk the keep, if you like, or you can go and get dinner with Drac."
Rez glances at his brightly glowing sword, which - apart from lighting the keep up like a beacon - is drawing a fair bit of attention from various peoples.
Ginrai notices it as well and decides to walk along with Rez for a bit. "Ah, so you already found out about him?"
"Yes . . ." Rez starts walking roughly . . . away from most people, travelling a roundabout path towards the practice field.
He continues the conversation quietly - not whispering, but a quiet conversational tone that makes it difficult for someone they pass by to hear more than a few words.
"Bjorn managed to pull something from his old bag of tricks, and I managed to get back in practice with my archery. You might be surprised, if you concentrate on it. Wiser to leave it until you're in private, though."
"Really? Hmm... I'm going to have to try that out later. Oh, and I take it you were able to find out who on the Storm-riders I noticed in my vision before you guys left?"
"Oh yes. Turns out it was the younger brother of Markham . . . and after Markham's insistence on holding to the preferred course of a known traitor, well . . . Lord Bloom challenged him for leadership, and is now the King of the Stormriders once more."
Rez hums.
"Apart from that, we've been hammering their supply lines, fighting some running battles, and emptying the temples. We rescued Eske and picked up all the priestesses and vassals left in the wastes, as far as we know, and now we're back. That's the condensed version, anyway. What's been happening this side of the wall?"
Dracos apparently heads without further interruption to the halls to eat with his cousin and Bjorn if he is willing to follow, hopefully he'll encounter some of the leadership of the place there instead of having to hunt them down to talk.
Dracos
Nathan and Ginrai now leave this thread to go to Memory (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=36135#36135).
Once you enter the hall, the tide of merriment and joy (most of which comes in the form of loud noise) washes over you. The hall is very full, even with no actual defenders of the keep in it (at a glance -- everyone else is dressed as a civillian). Currently, Durant is on the stage, re-telling the story of the original war against the evil gods. His voice catches when he spots Bjorn, but he quickly looks away and continues.
There are empty seats scattered across the room, and you could get a table entirely to yourselves further away from the stage where Durant is performing.
Dracos hmms and goes and sits there, briefly glancing over who chose to join him and how they seem to be faring in all this bloodshed.
Dracos
You're being followed by Bjorn, Farwell, and Liandral, though he looks like he's about ready to run off and look for his friends.
Dracos decides to give him the leave to get away. "Liandril, if you aren't hungry, feel free to go converse with your friend, I forget his name, the other elf here. You've done more than enough for now."
Dracos glances at the others, "Well...we're here. That's one impossible feat for the day, passing three thousand thousand thousand...and many thousand more?"
Dracos
"Enough," Liandral says, nodding. "You should be safe in the keep." With that, he turns around and jogs away, vanishing from sight shortly.
Bjorn, who has been grimly silent this whole time, looks after Liandral as he runs off. "Should follow him," he murmurs, his face still bearing the serene impassiveness it's worn since the battle ended.
Dracos eyes Bjorn and slightly over at Farwell. "He'll be well enough for now. Let's eat... You look like you could use a few moments not carrying everything on your shoulders."
Dracos gestured for some food. "Who was the fine swordsman who played the part of the dead hero today?"
Dracos
Bjorn turns his gaze to Philip, a slightly raised eyebrow his only expression. "His name was Sir Breke," Bjorn says gently. "He was a soldier, not an actor." His eyebrow lowers, and he regards Philip evenly. "If you plan to lead men who would follow you, it would be good to remember that the one deserves considerably more respect for the latter."
He rises from the table. "I'm afraid I have some questions for Master Liandral that shouldn't really wait. If you'll pardon me, Sir Bloom, Sir Farwell."
Farwell nods blankly, looking -- more than anything else -- exhausted. "I'm going to get some rest," he finally says. "We've been pressing ourselves too hard, and the opportunity to rest comes rarely, at times such as these."
Rising, he nods, and ambles off towards the exit to the great hall.
"Rest well then, Cousin." Dracos eyes Bjorn and follows him, waiting for a bit until they are alone. "I'm curious. What do you intend to ask him?"
Dracos
Bjorn stops, and turns slightly, twisting his head around to face Philip. "I am going to see who he talks to," he says. "The questions to ask will probably become obvious at that point."
Dracos nodded. "I was trying to wait until Farwell was gone before getting any further into that, but since we're alone for the second, now's as good a time as any. I'll come with you. Safety in numbers."
Dracos
The adventure is cut short, however, as a trio of guards enter the hall and beeline towards Bjorn.
"Sir!" one of them backs, disrupting the song that Durant is playing on a harp for everyone in the room. He breaks off with a discordant twang, and stares at Bjorn and Phil pointedly.
"Yes?" Bjorn says, rising an eyebrow in polite confusion -- and making a quiet mental note of Durant's reaction. "What is it?"
"You've been summoned to Lord Kevin's chambers," the guard says apologetically. "I'm-- It would be best so speak with him." His eyes flicker to Phil, and he adds, "You there -- find the leader of the Storm-riders, if you can. Lord Kevin has a need to adress him, as well."
"I am the leader of the storm-riders." Dracos frowns, resisting highly a prolonged commentary on guard's observational skills in favor of actually wanting to have a chat with lord kevin himself. "Where is Lord Kevin?"
Dracos
The lead guard is jolted, realizing what a mistake he's just made, and bows. "My apologies," he says. "I was told your torc bore Caribou, Lord Markham. Please follow me to Lord Kevin." He rises, and looks at you expectantly.
Dracos rolls his eyes. "Markham is no longer lord of anything, except where his cowardly hide may take him in the wilderness. His clan is now ruled by another, and the storm-riders by me. I am Lord Bloom. Now let us go." Dracos gestures to lead the way, following the guard.
The guard flinches again, and can't quite meet your eyes. "This way, please," he says quietly, marching out of the hall. The other two guards wait, until they can walk behind you.
Bjorn follows, saying nothing -- but watching the guards carefully, studying how they watch him, and what they're doing. He finds this entire arrangement unpleasantly reminiscent of his time in the Workshop.
The guards behind you are spending a lot more time looking behind themselves then at you. Even with your highly trained (and how honed) combat senses, they seem to really be more concerned with what might be following them.
They lead you to a library, which you'd not seen before. It's currently deserted, except for a single table. Lord Kevin, Radagast, and two other lorekeepers you've never seen before are there, talking quietly and poring over a map of the wastes.
Lord Kevin breaks off his conversation when he sees you, and gestures you to the table, which is some twenty meters away, in this library. It's a single room, at least a hundred meters by a hundred meters, and two stories high. There is a raised section that covers at least three thirds of the room, with stairways on either side of the door leading in. As you're standing in the doorway, Ekim looms out of the darkened passageway behind you, followed by a trio of guards.
Dracos: You recognize Radagast, Lord Kevin, Eske, and Mattias standing around the table and speaking to one another. When he arrives you also remember Ekim, though he wasn't this brooding last time you saw him.
Bjorn bows. "My Lords. How may I be of service?"
"We're no lords," Radagast says, chuckling.
Kevin grunts, starting when he sees Phil, and then nodding. "Well met, Lord Bloom. I see that you are-- bah. No time for formalities." He scowls, and glares at the table, slamming a fist against it hard enough to make the pair of candlebras wobble unsteadily. Mattias (A man who looks to be in his forties, with very short salt-and-pepper hair) reaches a hand out to steady one. "Sir Breke's remains were taken to the hall of heroes by the Interers. Only minutes after he was lain upon a stone, someone broke into the tomb, killed four Interers, and then left." He glances at the swords Bjorn is carrying, and relaxes slightly. "I'm guessing that he sought those," he adds, pointing at the blades.
"Very likely, my Lord," Bjorn says, gravely.
Dracos stared, shocked by the news. "How were they killed? By magic? By blade? How far has this news traveled?"
Dracos
"Knive wounds -- very precise. The first two died like they didn't even know they were being attacked. A single thrust through the heart. The other two at least appear to try to have defended themselves -- cuts on their hands, and then their throats slit. No evidence of whoever did this," Kevin says. Blinking he adds, "Oh, this is Gatemaster Eske, and Wardmaster Mattias."
Mattias is the relatively young looking salt-and-pepper-haired gentleman, and Eske looks a fair bit older, with long white hair, but a clean-shaven face. He's leaning on a gnarled wooden staff wearily. Both nod when introduced.
"Glad to see you two made it through alright. An assassin this far in the keep though... We can't let this get out among the troops. There'd be a panic if they had to worry about watching their backs here on top of the dreadmarch out there."
Dracos
Bjorn's brow furrows. "An assassin," he says thoughtfully. "I wonder. Obviously, their goal was these swords -- and they thought them important enough to reveal that they had such capable killers. Yet they didn't use those killers to eliminate any of the commanders. Why not?"
"No, I can't think an assasin would freely slaughter the troops," Kevin says, frowning. "Too much risk of getting caught, or seen. They'd go for strategic targets. Breke's swords, though...." He sighs.
Ekim rumbles thoughtfully, and says, "It is an ill thing, I think, to have ones own turn on them ... but it is a problem I have, too. Is this why guards followed me from the forge?"
"Er, for protection," Kevin says, somewhat lamely.
Ekim nods doubtfully. "Of course."
Bjorn hesitates, and then speaks. "Sir Breke's swords are a strategic target," he says, quietly. "They were gifts to him of Hamar Himself. As formidable as Sir Breke was in his own right, the swords made him greater yet."
"The question then is what targets next? And what type of knives? If we can figure out if it's straight blades or something fancier... it might help for keeping an eye out for anyone with a fancy blade."
Dracos
"How would we know?" Kevin asks, furrowing his brow. "And, anyway, you'll be hard pressed to find a single grown man who doesn't carry at least one knife."
"True that. And by the cuts. But I guess that's not that important. Hmm. Was anything left? Any clues?"
Dracos
"Nothing. And no witnesses, of course," Kevin sighs. "They must have been disguised as an Interer to avoid notice. But it was done." He grimaces again, like a man who's had enough bad news for a while. "An assasin is dangerous ... I've ordered all the kitchen guard doubled, as well as the food stores. But Lammermore is ordered to rest, and won't be well again until tomorrow -- though I'm carrying the Sword of Seven Shadows myself." Kevin rubs his chin, clenching his other hand into a fist in front of him. "An ill thing," he says quietly.
"But not unexpected," Bjorn says, quietly. "This was the logical progression of what we already knew -- that the enemy is among us."
Tilting his head as if to study the ceiling, Bjorn ponders out loud. "There wouldn't have been much time to arrange this. If they disguised themselves as Interers, then they likely must have planned in advance to use such a ruse upon Sir Breke's death. And given the conditions of the deaths, then that seems the most likely alternative. Not a crime of opportunity, this. As always, their efforts were bent on eliminating our best. Once Sir Breke fell, then they needed to make sure none would take up his swords again.
"And they did their best to make sure he did fall," Bjorn adds, his gaze dropping. "All of us fighting the general were struck by arrows -- arrows, I note, which disappeared by the time we returned to the keep." He shakes his head. "The arrow that pierced Sir Lammermore's leg, at least, was no Dreadmarch weapon. It was well-made, with a silvered tip. Nor were they random shots. They hit us, and never came near the General." He sighs. "It would take height, I think, to be able to survey the battlefield and aim so well. Height that the Keep provides, and the Dreadmarch would not have had."
Radagast frowns at this. "We might have a traitor among the Lorekeepers, and now the archers, as well? Hmm. Very well. How to find out more?"
"We can interrogate the archers," Kevin suggests, one hand going to the sword at his side. He blinks, and scowls. "Damned thing should be locked away when not in use," he mutters. "No, no," he adds, before anyone else can speak. "That would only let them know we suspected a traitor in their midst, which would cause panic we don't need."
"Hmm...So there's been an event of treachery by magic, by dagger, and by archery?"
Dracos
"The arrows were almost certainly magic," Bjorn points out, temporarily ignoring Philip's statement. "They pierced the shield, which was still strong enough to hold all else at bay, and disappeared later. Is there any way to detect if any still possess such arrows?"
Kevin drums his fingers across the tabletop thoughtfully. "Possibly. It could also simply be a single skilled traitor -- many of the Lorekeepers position themselves in the tower top, and an Interer's costume could be concealed beneath their robes. Moreover, who would expect a Lorekeeper to rely on a simple, anonymous weapon, instead of their much more ... tracable abilities?"
Radagast looks upset by this idea, but nods slowly. Eske and Mattias look thunderstruck.
Recovering himself slightly, Mattias says, "I can ... look. There is a problem, though. I can search for such weapons, but Stormwall keep is a small bastion of powers and energies -- certain places, like Radgast's tower, and the wall, and some of the areas beneath the keep ... they resonate so strongly, it's like searching for a bird against the sun. Something so subtle and small can't be seen in such a place.
"I can find them, but only if our assasin and traitor doesn't know to hide them ... if they are left still. I will begin searching, but it will take me an hour, at least."
"Then time is of the essence. Additionally, hmmm... Radagast, where were each of the lorekeepers and loremasters during the whole affair? Certainly we know you, Eske, and Mattias are clearly innocent, so if it is a loremaster it must be one of the remaining ones here....unless of course, someone snuck in and has been masquerading as something else?" Dracos glances at Lord Kevin. "That too could be a possibility. No one would suspect a loremaster would pretend to be one of the peasantry or a soldier? Would we be able to detect that if they were?" Dracos turns to Radagast.
Dracos
"I'm not certain," Radagast says. "But the other lorekeepers would most likely notice this if someone dressed the part of a soldier. I can't think of how to search with ... magic, though."
"There's no way to detect your own? Hmm..." Dracos pondered for a moment silently, letting the other lords say something if they had something to say.
Dracos
Radagast just shrugs.
Kevin drums his fingertips on the table thoughtfully, and Ekim sits down -- none of the chairs will accomodate him, so he just lowers himself to the floor, and rubs one chin. The bristled steel-wool of his beard makes subdued metalic pinging noises as the strands are moved about.
"I believe Master Parthipan is already investigating the possibility of traitors within the Lorekeepers," Bjorn points out. "I think we can trust him, and he can likely pursue that avenue with more ease than myself, for example."
He chews the tip of his tongue thoughtfully for a second, and then looks back at Lord Kevin. "If you'll pardon me, my Lord, it seems to me that as bad as this news is, you have something else on your mind as well. At the least, Lord Ekim's presence," he nods at the dwarf, "certainly suggests another matter. Am I mistaken?"
Kevin shakes himself slightly. "Oh. Yes. I'd wanted to ask Lord Ekim to hold on to this for me," he says, unbuckling the sword scabbard from his belt and passing it over -- with visible reluctance -- to Ekim. The dwarf accepts the sword, which looks like a long dagger in his hands. "It's not good to be carried around casually."
Ekim nods slowly.
"Perhaps," Bjorn says, "we might be able to use this to set a trap. May I ask how many people know that you were holding this sword, my Lord?"
Kevin blinks slowly. "Well, the Interers would know, as it's normally held in the tombs down there. It was being sent back when we found of the murders. I don't know anyone else who would know." He furrows his brow, looking much calmer now that he's not bearing the sword. "How will you make a trap of this?'
Bjorn drums his fingers briefly across his thigh, half-lost in thought. "Sir Breke was killed, and immediately a move was made to remove his weapons. Sir Lammermore is also incapacitated, and it stands to reason that if a similar opportunity presents, they would try the same. So, if we provide what seems an opportunity...." he trails off, suggestively.
"What will you need to make this plan work?" Kevin asks, while the Loremasters look on impassively.
"How is the sword normally stored, and how broadly are the arrangements known?" Bjorn asks.
"I imagine they're not well known outside of the Interers," Kevin says slowly. "There's a tomb ... in the hall where Breke was to be left -- the Hall of Heroes. But one remains for those whos legends have faded, and only their weapons remain. There is no record of who this sword belonged to before it came here, so it's kept in the very back of that hall. There is always at least one Interer there at all times, and the tomb entrances are sealed with great stone doors. Most only know that weapons such as that," he says, gesturing to the sword Ekim is still holding, "are kept beneath the keep."
Bjorn nods slowly. "There has been no move to take the sword earlier," he says, "which suggests that either the enemy did not know for certain where it was kept, or they were unable to reach it. So, we will provide them with the solution to both possible problems."
He scratches his chin briefly. "I would suggest that arrangements be made for a room in one of the towers to be guarded... by two men, I think. Someone trustworthy should be seen carrying a sword, wrapped in cloth, into the room, and the door locked behind them." He frowns. "I am not sure if it could be done, but if this bait sword could be warded with some sort of trap, then it would be ideal. Otherwise -- or perhaps regardless -- there will need to be additional guards concealed within the room itself."
He shrugs again, somewhat embarassed. "It is likely a long-shot, I'm afraid, my Lord. If it was too easy to go for the sword, it would obviously be a trap, and if it's too hard, then they will not take the risk. But there is a chance it can work, and so, I think, worth the effort."
Mattias nods, and turns to Eske. Eske concentrates for a moment, and produces a bolt of cloth from a hole in reality that makes your eyes tear up to look at -- it closes quickly enough, thankfully. It's a simple white sheet, a little too small for a blanket, but large enough to bundle up a sword the size of the one Ekim is holding.
Eske hands it over, and Mattias marks it with ink in a few odd patterns that somehow almost seem familiar. After a while, Mattias's runes fade into what now looks like a slightly-better than rag quality cloth.
"Any who touch this cloth, aside from us, will have their hands stained by the ink. And more importantly, I shall know when it happens. I can ensure whatever guards we use will be proof of this, though," Mattias says, laying on the table, half-covering the map. Kevin's eyebrows rise at this.
Bjorn nods. "Then we need only a sword to match the one that Lord Ekim holds," he says.
"Or one that looks enough like it," Ekim says, glancing between the sword he's holding, and the one Phil is wearing.
"Hmm...We may have to use the real thing if it's another loremaster. Additionally there's the risk that they could detect such magic, no? I don't know much though of such things, but I would be loath to just rely on magic when we know the enemy is capable of such as well. No offense to your skills, Loremaster Mattias."
Dracos
Mattias looks slightly offended, but says nothing. "Well," Eske says, glancing between Mattias and Phil, "I'm sure the plan never was to rely entirely on ... magic and instead to use that should our quarry prove more ellusive than we had suspected."
"Anyway," Kevin says, "tell me everything you would need -- the quicker we can put this in motion, the better."
"I recommend against using the true sword, Lord Bloom," Bjorn says quietly. "We must consider the possibility that our trap might fail. If the enemy has such resources as to stop and defeat the Wardmaster's work, and detect whether the blade is the correct one without seeing it, then he might very well spirit it away even in the presence of human guards. It would be best not to present him with such an opportunity, and the sword is much safer in the hands of Lord Ekim, I believe.
"The problem with additional human guards is secrecy," he continues. "As it stands, only those of us in this room know of the trap we plan. Guards hidden within the room would need to know that it is a trap as well, even not knowing the details. What's more, we would need to conceal that the guards had ever been placed in the room -- a difficult task to be sure of. If we had no other alternatives, or if we could be certain that no news would spread, it would be an excellent idea -- except for the risk to their lives." He grimaces. "If I saw my way clear, I would not even suggest guards at the door. Unfortunately, they are an unavoidable requirement."
"Hmm...What about gating in? Having Eske gate some select private guards into the room, so no one sees them enter. Though that might leave a trail just as well."
Dracos
"Whether this will be undetectable is a question that only the Gatemaster can answer." Bjorn shrugs. "A plausible premise will need to be invented for the missing guards, of course, but as long as they are trustworthy, I see no problems. Though, in all honesty, my Lord, if our foe can defeat the Wardmaster's craft, I doubt that mere soldiers will provide much challenge.
"Beyond that... I think at this point the only outstanding need is a substitute sword. Choose a room in which to place it, appoint guards to watch the room, and the plan is complete."
Kevin nods, and says, "I pronounce you acting warden of Stormwall Keep until such time as Lammermore recovers. Do whatever you feel is neccessary and justified to deal with this threat, unless you think it will hurt our cause."
Bjorn blinks, and then bows deeply. "If this is your command, my Lord."
"It is," he says, nodding. "Your grasp of these matters is better than my own, I feel."
Ekim grunts. "What is the plan?" he asks, looping the sword through the belt of his smithing apron.
Bjorn studies the sword hanging at Ekim's belt. "Gatemaster, can you produce a sword in the same manner as you produced that cloth?"
"I don't happen to have one in my study," he says apologetically, shaking off some of his shock. Mattias looks pretty stunned, too. Radagast seems mostly unshaken, just a bit concerned. "Ahm.... I could make a door to move soldiers into a room, certaintly. I doubt that anyone would be able to detect it, but I cannot guarantee it."
Bjorn grunts. "I think, perhaps, if it could be arranged, we would be better served by arranging that a gate into the room would be created if anyone touches the cloth." He looks inquisitively at Mattias and Eske.
"I can open a gate when told, but we can't chain our efforts together so neatly ... not in the time we have," Eske says. Mattias shrugs helplessly.
Bjorn shrugs. "Then we will place the guards to begin with." He frowns. "Lord Bloom, do you think you might be able to spare some storm-riders to serve that role? Storm-riders are perhaps more trustworthy under the conditions, and it is unlikely that any in the Keep would easily be able to keep track of them."
"I'd go myself gladly. No one should really notice at this point. IF you think it's too risky though, I'll gladly pick a few of my more trusted warriors for the trap."
Dracos
Bjorn eyes Philip expressionlessly, and then bows. "I can think of no better warrior for the task, my Lord, if you think you can spare yourself." Straightening, he turns back to Kevin. "A room in the tower of the Lorekeepers might be best, perhaps. Do you have a suggestion, my Lord?"
"None are allowed in the lorekeepers' chambers at present," Radagast says slowly, "save lorekeepers themselves. But then, I suppose any thief willing to brave the tombs wouldn't be slowed much by that."
Kevin frowns. "Either that or my personal chambers. With Lammermore wounded, I'm certain our chain of command at least looks vulnerable," he suggests.
Bjorn grimaces. "Let us not put you at any more risk than you already are, my Lord," he says delicately. "And I had forgotten that the Lorekeeper's tower was off-guard." He makes another face. "There is too much on my mind. Regardless, it's not a good option." He ponders for a second. "Perhaps the chambers used by Sir Breke? A logical choice, and easily guessed by a spy."
Kevin nods, rubbing his chin. "That would serve," he agrees, nodding.
Bjorn nods. "Then all we need is a substitute sword," he says, "and the rest can be easily taken care of." He considers. "The armoury should have something of the appropriate dimensions," he suggests. "Gatemaster, can you procure one from there?"
Eske nods, and gets a sword of the proper size and shape from another eye-rending gash in reality. It's not quite as bad this time, but still unsettling. "Will this do?" he asks.
"Perfect," Bjorn says, approvingly. "Wardmaster Mattias, if you would arrange the trap so that neither myself nor Lord Bloom will trigger it, I will take care of placing it in Sir Breke's chambers. Lord Bloom," Bjorn nods, "can arrange what he must among his own men, and then meet with the Gatemaster to be gated into the room in, perhaps, half an hour?"
"Very well," Lord Kevin says, standing. "We shall meet here again in one hour, then?" Eske and Mattias nod agreeably, but look to Bjorn for confirmation.
Bjorn nods. "As you say, my Lord." He looks over at Ekim. "If you do not mind me saying so, my Lord, it might be best if you could conceal the blade. Perhaps the Gatemaster can provide another cloth?" He makes an apologetic face. "I can also provide you with the remains of the blade you forged for me, to provide an explanation for the burden you carry."
Dracos nodded. "If there is nothing else, I'll go gather a half dozen now."
Dracos turned to leave, heading back to his men if he's not stopped.
Dracos
Ekim winces at that. "Aye, a blade crafted by a smith such as myself should not break so easily. T'were a joy to craft, though." Ekim places the sword Lammermore wielded on the table, and removes his smith's apron. Beneath it he's wearing finely crafted, shiny polished steel plate, at odds with his rusted beard. He gestures towards the sword, after he places it on his apron. "Lay the pieces there, and I'll take them back. The work of another night to reforge your blade as it should be," he adds, flashing granite teeth at you in a somewhat unnerving grin.
Phil is met in the hall by Lord Roger, who looks reasonably content at being where he is, and says, (loudly enough to be heard in the library), "An' there 'e is! Lord Bloom, come, we've assembled a council of the Storm-riders to discuss what's become of us, and what's to come. We're waiting on you, of course."
"Ah...hum... Sorry, to keep you waiting. Hmm...Where's Nathan? Is he there as well?" Dracos talks as he gestures for Lord Roger to lead the way, walking with him.
Dracos
Kevin raises an eyebrow at this, but says nothing until the Library doors close again, apparently also providing a barrier against sound. "Well, we'll hope that he can spare someone else then," Lord Kevin sighs. "If not, we've soldiers."
Dracos now goes to Memories (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=36250#36250).
"Perhaps Sir Shuker," Bjorn offers. "I've heard rumours that he has done very well on the battlefield, and there are no questions about his loyalty."
As he's speaking, he pulls out the various bits of katana that he could collect, laying them out on Ekim's apron. "It was fine piece of work," he reassures the smith. "But used a bit uncautiously against..."
His voice trails off, and he frowns. "Did anyone collect the axe of this last General?"
There's a collective blink at that. "Oh," Kevin mutters. "Lovely. I'll have some men search the field for it at once. With Breke fallen, and Lammermore so wounded, I imagine it wasn't a high priority, but still...."
Ragast makes a face. "Here's to hoping someone retrieved it," he says. "Nearly every single Storm-rider that came in through the gates walked over it."
"It's a bit important." Bjorn purses his lips. "The general seemed to use that axe to create the shield. I don't think ogres are known for such abilities." He makes a face. "My fault, I'm afraid. I should have taken greater care, but I was... distracted."
He sighs, placing the last piece of the broken katana on Ekim's apron, and then looks at Mattias. "Is it safe for me to handle the warded cloth now, Wardmaster?"
Kevin rubs at his temples. "Understandably," he says.
Mattias coughs, and nods. "It's safe, yes."
Bjorn nods. "Thank you." Taking the substitute blade, he places it in the cloth and wraps it carefully, making sure to conceal it entirely. Taking it in his arms, he bows. "Then I will make arrangements to have this guarded. I will return in an hour, my Lord."
Kevin nods at you like he expected nothing less. Mattias and Eske look a bit bewildered, but move to follow you; Radagast looks perfectly content to stay where he is.
Sighing, Ekim wraps the sword of Seven Shadows in his apron, along with the shards of your katana.
"If it would be convenient, Lord Ekim," Bjorn says, pausing on his way out the door, "might I speak with you once I've finished with the arrangments? In, perhaps, half an hour or so?"
Ekim nods. "I will be in the forge," he replies, the bundled sword-and-fragments seeming tiny in his hands. "As always."
"Thank you, my Lord."
With that, Bjorn steps out of the room, pausing temporarily to wait for Eske and Mattias. When they've caught up with him, he nods to them. "You look a bit confused. It must be rather difficult to suddenly be caught up in the thick of things. Are you both doing well?"
"Imprisonment was less than kind," Eske says slowly. "I was ... between places, and in no place, if this makes any sense. I...." He trails off, eyes becoming slightly absent, and then shakes his head. "I am unsettled. But well enough for this. There will be time to rest when the Dreadmarch is stopped."
Mattias looks at Eske doubtfully. "It was trying, in the wastes. I imagine that it was more trying here, in the sieges, though," he says.
"Don't push yourself too hard, Gatemaster," Bjorn says with a note of gentleness. "Your aid is invaluable -- but that only makes it more important that you take care of yourself."
He sighs. "Things have been busy, and if you'll excuse me, there are things I must take care of. If I can be of any assistance to either of you, please let me know." He grins wryly. "It seems that I'm usually easy to find."
Mattias nods at you. "We shall rest, to recover what strength we have before you begin," he says. "If you require us, we will remain in the library."
With a return nod, Bjorn sets off to look for the Captain of the Guard, making sure, in passing, that three of the guards remain with Eske and Mattias.
The most highly decorated guard you saw is standing with the other five in front of the library, actually. The one that said everything wrong possible to Phil. He still looks a bit nervous about it. If he's not actually the Captain of the Guard, he'd probably know where to find him.
"Ah, pardon me," Bjorn says politely to the decorated guard. "I'm not as familiar as I could be with the garrison. Might I ask your name?"
"I'm Eron," he manages, standing stiffly at attention. "Eron Stuarts. Is there anything I can help you with, Sir?"
Bjorn nods. "Are you the Captain of the Guard, Master Stuarts?"
"Yes, Sir," he says, relaxing very slightly, and nodding. Mattias and Eske wander in through the doors, and vanish into the library, where Radagast and Kevin are still speaking, though quietly.
"Excellent," Bjorn says, nodding back. "We will need to make arrangements to have Sir Breke's room guarded." He studies the guards before him. "The ideal choices for guards would be from among you. Is that acceptable?"
"I can arrange for more guards -- but I'd rather not take more guards from Lord Kevin," Eron says warily. "I'd like to call in some reinforcements, and then move ... how many guards do you need?"
"Two at all times," Bjorn says.
Eron nods. "I'll go fetch some more, and go to watch Sir Breke's chambers myself," he says, turning to dash down the corridor.
Bjorn watches him dash off, slightly bemused. "If Master Stuarts returns directly, let him know I will be waiting at Sir Breke's chambers," he instructs the remaining guards, before walking off, bundle in hand, to those self-same chambers.
You're met at the door to Sir Breke's room by Eron and two other guards, both of them clutching the hilts to their swords breathlessly. "Sir," Eron says. "Is there anything else?"
"Do not enter the room," Bjorn instructs, "nor allow anyone else to enter, unless you are personally instructed otherwise by myself or Lord Kevin." He regards the guards levelly. "But above all else, gentlemen, don't try and be heroes. If you find yourself overmatched, get out and get back-up. Understood?"
They look at you oddly, and turn to Eron for guidance. Eron says, (after a moment of contemplation), "We cannot allow that sword to fall into the hands of an enemy ... but none should know of its whereabouts. I believe I speak for all when I say we shall do out utmost to protect it, regardless." The other two guards nod in agreement.
"If you're dead," Bjorn says bluntly, "you can't keep an enemy's hands off it. If we know somebody is taking it, we can lock down this section of the Keep and catch both thief and sword." He eyes them, making sure they get his point, and then nods. "Hammar will watch over you, and I have faith in you."
With that, Bjorn steps inside the chambers, studying the room. After a moment of contemplation, he carefully sets the blade down on the dining table, centered squarely in the carved circle. Stepping back for a second, he regards the bundle carefully for a second, an unreadable expression on his face, before stepping out of the room and carefully closing the door behind him.
The sword is a bit larger than the circle, as it's a long blade. Breke never had much life to him, but his room has lost what little cheer it once held, with him gone. As you turn to the door, your wrist bumps against the hilt of one of the new swords you have belted to your waist -- the black blade, with the white hilt.
Bjorn pauses a second, lost in contemplation as he absently caresses the hilt. Taken by a sudden urge, he draws the blade, studying it carefully.
It's slightly curved, sharp only on one side, and balanced for a single hand to hold. The metal of the blade is pitch black, and has no markings or runes on it -- only a very subtle blood channel just behind the edge, and some rudimentry shapings on the hanguards to keep blood from flowing onto the wielder's hands.
Each of the hilts is marked on the bottom -- like a stamp -- with the symbol of Hammar, but the crossguard bears the sign you recognize (vaguely) from the trap-room beneath the pass you crossed through to get to Stormwall Keep. The symbol of Aestock.
Bjorn sheaths the sword after another careful glance. Must see Ekim next, I think. Stepping outside the room, he carefully closes the door behind him, and then turns to the guards. "Is there anything else?"
"Sir?" Eron asks cautiously. "We should be fine; who would know that ... what was in here to be found?"
"That's an excellent question," Bjorn says. "Perhaps no one. But at the same time, anyone looking for it will notice that there is a guard on a room which should now be empty. Nor did I try to conceal the burden I was carrying, and I won't try to hide the fact that I no longer have it." He shrugs slightly. "And if you were, perhaps, to be a bit incautious in discussing your assignment...."
All three guards look uncomfortable at this. "We will do our best," Eron finally says.
Bjorn nods. "I know you will," he says simply, and then turns to leave, heading towards Ekim's forge.
It doesn't take you long to get there -- you're starting to learn your way around the keep. In short order, you reach the courtyard where Ekim's forge is located. Five guards are standing casually around the area, probably to protect Ekim, though you're not sure what exactly they would be able to do if something able of hurting Ekim actually came around.
Either way, the sound of metal-on-metal rings from the force, as it almost always does when Ekim is there.
Nodding to the guards, Bjorn makes his way over to the forge, where he stands in the doorway and waits for Ekim to notice him.
When you look into the forge, Ekim is working on reforging your katana. He glances up when you enter, and nods at you, but continues working at it. The sword Lammermore wielded is nowhere in sight.
"Lord Ekim," Bjorn says, by way of lead-in, "I have some questions that I hoped you might be able to answer."
He grunts, setting the still-glowing katana in the coals of the forge before turning around to give you his full attention. "What would you like to know?" he asks in his grating, rumbling voice.
"To start with, I find myself carrying Sir Breke's blades," Bjorn says slowly. "But beyond the fact that they were gift to him by Hammar, I know little of them." Taking them from his belt, he holds them out. "I wondered if, perhaps, you could tell me more."
Ekim obligingly takes the blades into his hands, and studies them closely. "No metal, this," he says after a moment, appraisingly. "The legends say ... the legends you should recall ... that the swords are made from woven light and shadow. No grain, no seam, only the will of Aestock, and the fury of Hammar." He nods at them, and hands them back. "They will, I think, serve you better than my own. But it intrigues me, so I will craft that one anew for you anyway."
At about this point, Ekim looks up at a noise in the courtyard. The five lounging guards have all managed to wander before the forge in what could be considered a loosely protective formation, ready to repel invaders trying to break through their line. Beyond them, you can see a group of Storm-riders led by Nathan.
"Well, there have been some changes since I was last here," Rez blinks in surprise, then waves to Ekim, "Ho, Master Ekim!"
Ekim's face splits into a wide grin, showing off his teeth to full effect. The guards waver, and lower their weapons. "Friend Shuker!" Ekim calls, his rumbling voice resonating through the ground beneath your feet. "Your ancestors must smile upon the care you show their work," he adds, bowing formally.
"Thank you, Friend Ekim - and your craftsmanship, might I say, is truly unparallelled in all I have seen," Nathan returns Ekim's bow as he says this, then bows to Bjorn, "And it is good to see you still well, Bjorn."
"And you as well, Sir Shuker," Bjorn says, with a slight bow, putting away the swords of Hammar.
Rez blinks in mild surprise.
"New swords?"
"So to speak," he replies, quietly. "I had some questions for Lord Ekim, but if you need his help, I can easily come back later."
"Very briefly, but . . ." Rez trails off and blinks as something occurs to him, "Alex, can you show your new axe to Bjorn?"
The minute Bjorn sees the axe, he frowns. "That looks like the axe the General was using," he says slowly. "If it is -- you picked it up off the battlefield? -- then it's part of the second question I was going to ask, Lord Ekim. The general used the axe to create the barrier that sealed off the area around him. Ogres aren't generally known for such powers, and I was wondering how much of that ability might have come from the axe itself."
"Really? Very interesting," Rez looks to Ekim to see what he has to say.
Ekim grunts, and reaches towards Alec. Alec, to his credit, stands his ground, then seems to realize what Ekim wants. "Oh, right," he says, handing over the axe somewhat reluctantly.
Ekim takes it in his hands -- at its scale, even this weapon seems small for him -- and studies it closely.
"These markings were made by no dwarf," he says slowly. "Or, perhaps, by a dwarf at the instruction of another. I do not recognize them -- that would be the domain of your lorekeepers, I think."
Rez nods, consideringly.
"Alec? You should probably avoid using the axe until you've had the chance to speak to Loremaster Radagast, or possibly Lorekeeper Parthipan. The general was always going to fall, so they may have worked something in there as a trap to anyone on our side who might take it up. It should be checked, anyway, and you'll have the chance before tomorrow's battle."
Alec looks dissapointed. "I was so looking forward to giving it back to the Dreadmarch," he sighs. "Can I leave it here until someone can check it for me, then?"
Ekim nods, placing it to one side of the forge, leaning against the wall. "I can watch over a weapon," he says. "I've hidden yesterday's away. Radagast said it was fine."
"You'll get your shot," Nathan nods emphatically, "we'll ask Lord Kevin to have some lorekeepers examine it, so if all goes well we'll pick it up when we're done. Hm."
There's a pause, and Rez looks back at Ekim.
"Oh. Ahm . . . I was wondering . . ." Rez looks quite sheepish at this, "I made the mistake of sheathing my sword while it was still, er, wanting to break things . . . so I was wondering if you had any spare scabbards of about the right size, or if the keep's armory is likely to have any."
Ekim's face splits into a wide grin. "She's a bloodthirsty one," he agrees, eyeing your sword with the proud beaming joy of an uncle. "I'll craft a new one ... but you must promise to care for it. The sword must be calmed before it will rest."
"Oh yes," Rez nods, "And she's very, very good at what she does. I'll be more careful next time . . . I wasn't thinking when I did that."
Edward smirks, but says nothing. Arthur looks confused, and Alec and Eric nod to themselves, as though it were to be expected.
Bjorn raises an eyebrow at this discussion, but says nothing. "I have only a quick question left, Lord Ekim, if you can spare the time?"
"Well, we must be going . . . we apparently have things to do," Rez raises a questioning eyebrow at Bjorn at this, "you and I must speak to each other later, Bjorn, when we both have more time."
He turns back to Ekim, "My thanks, friend Ekim . . . I wish we could stay longer, but duty calls." He bows, then makes to leave.
If there's nothing else, to Lord Kevin's They Shall Go!
"Certainly," Ekim replies. "What question do you have?"
Bjorn pauses for a long second, trying to think how best to phrase this question. "There are legends," he says finally, "that anything struck by a Dwarf's hammer, be it metal or man, becomes stronger than it was before. Is that true?"
Ekim stands up straight (as much as he can in the small forge), and turns his head skyward. "It is true," he says after a moment, in a deep, rumbling voice. "And this is why I do not fight, for I am not willing to craft better foes than we already face in this battle."
Rez pauses a second on hearing this and turns back to Bjorn . . .
Oh, he is not . . .
"And if used on allies?" Bjorn persists, as politely as he can. "Could Estin Stonewright do more than make weapons for the Dreadmarch?"
Ekim ponders this for a long while, the flame in his eyes dimming to a faint spark for so long that you wonder if the dwarf has fallen asleep. After a while, as the storm-riders begin to look impatient and uncomfortable, Ekim raises his head, and studies the moon. "It is possible," he says slowly, "but a true master of the craft cannot turn to such a cause and maintain all of his skill. The true mastery of smithing is more than just a physical construction. It is an act of will and ... purity. There is a very severe logic to the mastery of dwarven steel. It is a requirement that we cast chaos in all forms from our tools.
"That is what our pursuit is. It is for THAT that we eliminate chaos from that which we strike, and may temper on accident that which we seek to destroy. One who no longer respects that purity ... one who works willingly with corruption ... I cannot think they would retain such an ability. It would fade ... their works could be just as strong as any other dwarf's, but the stain and scar on their spirit would mark them ... forever." Ekim lowers his eyes then, the flames in them brightening enough to threaten to drown out the light of the forge fire.
"And so, it is not something that we knowingly, or willingly, would do," he warns. "Even dark and corrupted, we put a part of ourselves into what we forge. We have no wish to make something else that lives a piece of us. To mingle ourselves is to lose that focus and purity ... to make us ... something else."
Nathan grimaces, his eyes staring blankly as he replays the scene once more in his mind, then snapping back to focus on Ekim as he starts to speak.
"The dwarf, the jotun, and the archon were just standing out there - having a merry little chat in the front of the army . . . but I can't possibly see what any dwarf - or any archon, for that matter - could possibly stand to gain from this . . . madness," Nathan spits the last word with pure disgust.
Bjorn shrugs, and pitches his voice low, keeping it for the ears of Nathan and Ekim alone. "The archon is self-evident, I think. We've seen that the Archonae are all obsessed with maintaining their power and security, and have been worrying about the prophecy that would spell the end of the rule. The Dreadmarch Archon likely decided -- or was convinced -- that since 'betrayal' by humanity was an inevitability, he would do best to try and make his peace with his former masters.
"As for Estin... I don't know him, or even Dwarves, begging your pardon, well enough. I can think of perhaps half a dozen possible motives off the top of my head. Knowledge -- this axe was forged in a manner different from tradition, yes? The offer of some new smith-crafting knowledge might have tempted him. The chance to match his best work against the best weapons of the defenders of Stormwall Keep. In that same line, perhaps he did not feel that his proper talents were being recognized, or some other slight he felt the need to avenge? Or perhaps he desired power, pure and simple."
Bjorn shrugs again, a tiny expressive motion that suggests he's very sorry to have brought up all this unpleasant discussion, and perhaps you'd be better not to think about what he said too much. "As I said, though, I understand little of the mindset of Dwarves, and never having met Estin, I know nothing of him at all. These are ideas, but ideas alone. The matter is complicated by the fact that this is the first time that the Dreadmarch has gone to such efforts to recruit." He grimaces. "Either they feel they have something new to offer, or they have a skilled strategist working for them this time. They may have offered him anything beneath the sun -- and just as likely been lying as telling the truth."
Rez just looks at the ground during Bjorn's speech.
"Well . . . if they stand with the orcs, then Gods help me they'll die with the orcs," he looks up to meet Bjorn's eyes, and he looks absolutely furious, "Makes no difference to me."
He bows wordlessly to Ekim and Bjorn once more, turns on his heel, nodding to the four stormriders with him, and set out to find Lord Kevin.
Ekim grunts. "All will come to light," he says. "In time."
Bjorn nods. "As you say, Lord Ekim. We do what we must. What we cannot know, we must not worry about." He sighs. "Thank you for your time, my Lord. Unless there is something I can do for you, I think I should speak again with Sir Shuker." He waits for a sign of acknolwedgement from Ekim, and then, assuming Ekim doesn't show any signs of wanting to talk more, he moves quickly to catch up with Nathan.
Ekim nods at you as you leave, but otherwise goes back to reforging the katana.
You catch up with Nathan quickly.
Rez slows down until Bjorn catches up, then keeps walking. "Been having fun while I was gone?"
Bjorn snorts softly. "What fun there is to be had, yes. Where are you off to?"
"Lord Kevin apparently wants some stormriders for something, so Drac asked me to take care of it. I didn't get told any specifics."
Bjorn grunts. "Ah. That'd be for my idea, then." He glances over at the storm-riders. "There's either too many or not enough of you, but it'll do. All right. Let's find the library. With any luck, Radagast and Eske will be there."
"The . . . library? What, is it time to accuse Miss Scarlet?"
Bjorn looks around, reflexively checking to see if the other storm-riders are within ear shot, and then raises an eyebrow. "Miss... Scarlett? I'm afraid I don't know the person. Do you know something that you need to share?"
"A joke Durant once told me. Never mind."
Rez falls silent, until they either get to the library or Bjorn says something else.
"Ah," Bjorn says, "Master Durant." That, he seems to say without word or change in expression, is really all that needs to be said about that for the moment.
"To answer your question," he continues, "the last I saw them, both Master Radagast and Lord Kevin were in the library."
"Ah, I see."
They continue walking.
"You sound somewhat . . . annoyed, perhaps . . . with Master Durant?"
Bjorn hesitates. "Master Durant and I had a disagreement about some of the stories he was telling, and who he was telling them to. He was telling... the story of the five who came to walk in dreams."
Rez manages for once to not outwardly react.
"Disrespectful, to say the least."
"Somewhat, yes. It's an interesting story, of course, but one must be sure of the audience before telling it. While I'm hardly a bard, I would say with certainty that the wrong sort of person heard his telling."
"Hm."
Rez nods.
"So, what of note has been happening around the keep that I should be aware of?"
Bjorn sighs. "That might be a conversation best left until we are with Lord Kevin," he says, delicately.
Rez raises an eyebrow, but continues. "You beat the first general - how, and how many men did you lose? What's morale like, overall?"
"We lost, as best as I know, no-one with the first general. That was largely luck -- a fortiuitious lightning bolt revealed the general, and we were able to dispatch him with comparative ease. Morale..." Bjorn shrugs. "Morale, as best as I can tell, is as high as one could hope for among the troops."
Rez nods, and they continue walking to the library.
When you reach the library, about ten guards are standing in front, though they let you in when they see Bjorn.
Inside the library, still around the table, are Kevin, Radagast, Eske, and Mattias. They look up from the large map when Bjorn and Nathan enter.
"Ah, excelent," Lord Kevin says, eyeing the storm-riders. He frowns suddenly. "Where did Lord Bloom go?"
"Several of the Stormrider lords decided to hold a council, Lord Kevin, and so as our King his presence was required. He sent me in his stead."
"I see," Lord Kevin says slowly. "Does this change the plan?" he asks, looking at Bjorn curiously.
"Not significantly, my Lord," Bjorn says. "Sir Shuker can fill the role just as easily -- and I can assist, if need be."
Rez nods. "Lord Bloom told me you needed five trustworthy men for some sensitive work. I'd be more than pleased to work with Bjorn again, if need be."
"Very well," Lord Kevin says. "Stay together for the time being."
Bjorn nods, and then cuts himself off, remembering. "This warrior," he says, indicating, "recovered the general's axe from last night. It's with Lord Ekim now, who says the axe is not entirely dwarven-craft. Might I ask that, if you have the opportunity, you visit the forge and examine it?"
Rez interjects.
"If I may ask, it would be greatly appreciatedif you could examine it before the next day of siege, for having one of our warriors wield it - assuming it's safe to wield - could only help."
"I can look at it," Radagast says, pausing to consider things. "Wardmaster Mattias will be more able than I to discern its function; the key is to be sure that whatever it is, it does not fall into the wrong hands. Lord Ekim should be able to protect it well enough for the moment."
Bjorn nods. "Thank you. Gatemaster, if you will open the gate?"
"Wait, what gate? What exactly are we supposed to be doing?"
"To clarify," Eske says, looking a bit like he's just woken up, "you want me to place you in Breke's quarters?"
"Yes, please, Gatemaster.," Bjorn explains, and then, addressing himself to Nathan, "We'lll be standing guard. More can be explained once we're there."
Eske nods to himself, and opens a tear in space with his staff. The edges still hurt to look at, but the portal itself shows a mostly empty room, with a cloth-wrapped bundle set on the table inside.
Without hesitating, Bjorn steps through. As he does so, he studies the bundle, trying to make certain it has been undisturbed.
It looks -- to your eyes -- undisturbed.
The room is small, roughly square, and has three doors. One leads to a small ante-chamber with two long couch-like pieces of furniture. A second leads to a privy, and the third leads to what amounts to a glorified closet with a matress in it. There's a footlocker at the foot of the bed, currently closed.
The privy and the bedchamber each have a single sheet of some thin material that allows a tiny bit of light to bleed through an opening. Not a real window by any stretch of the imagination. The majority of the light in this room comes from a group of candles on the table, which have nearly burnt out, and the fireplace, which is in the corner between the bedchamber and the ante-chamber.
The table has four chairs, and there is another before what looks like an unused writing desk.
Rez steps through the gate, followed by the rest of the stormriders.
"So what exactly is going on? I was told we'd be briefed once we got here."
The rest of the storm-riders step through -- Bjorn experiences some diziness, but the storm-riders have adjusted to it, after going through portals with Nathan so often. Once everyone is through, the portal vanishes.
"That," Bjorn says, pointing at the bundle, "is the sword wielded by Sir Lammermore -- or, at least, we hope to convince everyone it is. Please don't touch the cloth -- it's been trapped by Wardmaster Mattias."
He turns to face the storm-riders directly. "Earlier today, immediately after the siege, someone stole into the catacombs, killing four Interers while trying to find Sir Breke's body. We believe that whoever it was was searching for his weapons. This," he points at the bundle again, "is an attempt to provide them with another opportunity. As such, we are going to hide ourselves, and watch for an attempt to take it."
"Ahh. I suppose that makes sense. So if he comes in here, we wait for him to get to the sword, then jump him?"
"Ideally. The wards placed on the sword will make it easier to track him if he gets away. But the first goal is to capture him."
Bjorn studies the layout of the room, and then nods. "I'll wait in the bedchamber." He eyes the storm-riders appraisingly. "Perhaps one other of you can fit in there with me. The rest should hide in the antechamber -- unless one of you is willing to take privy duty. I don't know that I'll ask that of anyone, however."
As he speaks, he makes his way over to the writing desk, looking for fresh candles.
"Well, anyone who comes into here should have to go through the antechamber first," Nathan reasons. "Arthur, Edward, you stick with me -- that room has the most space to manuever anyway. Eric, you stick with Bjorn; the bedroom is the only spot where you'd have a chance at lining up a bowshot. Alec, sorry to do this to you, but can you watch the privy? If someone climbs in through the window, you've got the best close-quarters weapon."
The storm-riders all nod, and vanish in the directions indicated. Except for Eric, who's sitting on the bed's headboard, his feet resting on the matress, all of the storm-riders seem to have vanished entirely.
There are spare candles in the writing desk, as well.
Now. We need to see what's going on. Bjorn takes candles from the writing desk and uses them to replace the candles on the table, lighting them with the almost-extinguished stubs. He also takes a second to stoke the fireplace, keeping a good, if not blazing fire going.
Then he takes another candle, lighting it, and moves into the bedroom, sitting himself on the floor and leaning against the wall beside the door, out of sight of the room behind him. Putting the candle down on the side away from the door (and checking to make sure it does not overly illuminate Erik), Bjorn pulls out Durant's book and begins to read it again, going over it carefully.
The storm-riders are all silent, apparently settled in and ready to wait out whatever comes next. By the light of the candle, you can review what you'd glanced through before. The first half or so of the book is recorded songs, poems, and stories. Some of it's old news, though you glance at a few stories you haven't heard about; there's a story about the dwarven city, deep beneath the earth, and a human smith who went there to study. You don't read the entire thing, though you do glance over it, looking for notes in the margins.
After that point, you find a few journal entries. "Left for Kith today." "Sipoor hostile. Guards keep city locked." "Fletcher wants money to get through walls." Then there are a few more stories -- these you've not heard anything of at all before.
Something about a kingdom of bamboo grasses (they call this country "Kith"), and how their king descended from the skies, created by the will of those who had faith that he would exist.
There are some notes after this story: "Ask priest. Emperor is true god-king? Kithans created Emperor instead of gods during the war?"
Then there's a story of the Emperor of Kith fighting against the elder gods, in the ages of the wars.
Then some more notes: "Emperor alive? Possible to meet?" The next page is stained in spots with what looks like drops of blood. "Bad idea. Fletcher lied. No way into palace. Heading back to Sipoor."
After that, there's some poems (they go on about beams of sunlight, and the terrible pain that is being invalid). The final poem is about freedom, and escaping. "Back on feet again. Three years lost. Begin planning now. Must get into Fletcher's good graces again."
Followed by another poem ... this one about a clever soldier who pretends loyalty to a moronic officer. In each stanza, the clever soldier does exactly what the officer says to ... but in such a way that the officer gets the worst end of the deal. The final stanza ends with the officer being killed.
An entirely different pen (but the same hand) has scrawled "Stormwall keep" into the margin next to this last stanza.
Bjorn frowns, and continues reading.
After this point, our noble hero has (reading between the lines) started heading north. There's some passages about the rolling plains, the forboding mountains, and the might of Stormwall keep ("Almost as impressive as Gwerril or Fodun,").
After the note about Storm-wall keep is where you find the notes you had only glanced at earlier. Then commentary about how boring the ice and snow is, and a map of a temple. The observations here seem to label this church a church of Aestock. Then more snow, some comments about storm-riders being too stupid to appreciate fine art. Then another temple -- this one Hammar.
There's a pause between the first sketch of what you imagine the temple of Hammar would be, and an expedition to see some place called "the Dark Citadel". There's a drawing of that, and it looks pretty huge, assuming it's not made up.
After the sketch of the exterior, there's another poem about a dance with two people. Neither can read the other, and neither knows what's going to happen next, but to everyone who watches, it's amazing.
Then, a return to the temple, followed by a few hastily scribbled notes: "Saw Fletcher. Plan will work." "Snow-madness explained absence. Hammarites think I'm not dangerous enough to pay attention to." "Last needle -- won't be able to darn socks for a long time."
Then there's a eulogy for a priestess, and a journal entry. The writer of this journal was asked to attend the funeral of the priestess, and gave a speech. The page has small discolored circles on it, like someone dripped water across it.
"My work here is done," is the next note, followed by "Further assigments? Can't kill me yet." "Still have a chance. Stormwall."
There's a whole page with nothing written on it except (in painfully small characters) "My sin can never be forgiven. But I can take him into hell with me."
Bjorn ponders, trying to absorb what he's just read. After a few seconds, he makes a mental note to return to the beginning of the journal, this time focussing specifically on the nature of this Fletcher person -- looking for hints as to who or what he was, how the journal-writer met him, what he did, what he looks like.
Then he continues reading.
The next thing is a prayer to Hammar (you think you remember this from your own book), which was copied into the journal. The gist of the prayer is, "I promise that even though I'll die, I'll do it fighting, and I'll make each instant of life count."
After that, a large number of blank pages, and then notes for constructing another story. Now that you've read through the other stories, you get the idea that this one is meant to be the author's legacy. Every other story has been copied from someone else, but now he's actually trying to create one on his own.
It pretty much retells what you saw in the book; as a young man, after learning some stories, some songs, and leaving his master's hall, the bard wandered the world. He stole into Kith, which was a sealed city, and made a deal with a man named Fletcher to get out of the city, and learn more stories.
He did this, and eventually, decided he wanted more. He sought a way to meet the Emperor of Kith, and his friend Fletcher said there was a way to make it happen....
...but things didn't work out, and the bard managed to get to the sealed city before he was cut down by the guards and thrown into the sea. By luck, he was saved by a passing merchant's ship, and he'd already thought to protect his journal by sealing its pouch with wax.
After that, the wounds and infections took three years to heal. The story ends right there, with some notes on how to continue. The notes make a reference to the temple of Hammar, and are then heavily crossed out (but still legible).
Bjorn concentrates, and reads the notes on how to continue.
The notes say: "Journeyed north, to Stormwall for vengeance" heavily-crossed out and then, "some noble cause?" is written in. It's like when he got this far, he just gave up on finishing the story.
Bjorn grunts, and then goes back to the beginning, paying close attention to 'Fletcher,' and any references to people who might be him, trying to see if he can get any more information regarding his questions about him.
There's nothing more recorded about Fletcher other than the name, and that's almost certainly an alias.
Bjorn closes the book, carefully tucking it away, and then extinguishes the candle, settling in to watch the bundle while thinking about what he's read.
You watch the sword. Eric glances at you, but says nothing, his own attention focused there, as well.
Now that you're not reading, time seems to drag.
More time passes. Eventually, something does happen, and Eric stiffens, nocking an arrow and drawing it, prepared to fire quickly. In the room, between the table and the 'windows', a large, jagged tear in reality has opened up. Lord Kevin's voice drifts out: "The next day of the siege is upon us!"
Bjorn shows no sign of disappointment. This plan had long odds, at best -- but when working at a disadvantage, every chance must be seized on.
Standing, he steps out to the main room, and raises his voice. "Come, Sir Shuker. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."
Nathan's eyes flick open, no expression on his face, and he steps around into the main chamber, shrugging - and looks through the gate.
Once he sees the storm-riders moving, Bjorn steps through the gate himself, orienting himself upon arrival.
Bjorn and Nathan now move to Zero Hour (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=36560#36560).