HLoM: The Firebird, Chapter 2

[The Whistler]

"I'm not entirely hungry yet, so I think I'll step outside to look about some more. Anyone care to join me?"

“Yes.” Avram exhaled for the first time in minutes. It wasn’t entirely the abrupt change of scenery, either — what does a servant SAY to a group of long-dead soldiers running through some sort of predetermined playback? He’d thought Nuray’s “self-awareness” comment had been just fine, but still.

<Wait a moment, Lena! We mustn't separate! Another shift might leave some of us behind.>

Avram nodded rather emphatically in Vasili’s direction — and just as emphatically inclined his head sideways, away from Duncan and toward the doors. “Indeed, Freyin —“ he said, only nominally to Lena, and quietly enough that the ghosts wouldn’t pay undue attention to it. “—I find that sometimes, a brief moment of solitude whets the appetite like nothing else.”

Translation: Let’s get outside, where we won’t be observed! It may be our only good chance to regroup, and to explore unopposed!

[NeoTiamat]

Lena's eyes went flat and hard at Vasili's hiss, and one might suspect that in her mind, being separated by time shifts was more in the way of a feature than a bug. Even so, there was nothing but sweetness in her voice when she said.

"Yes, Freiherr Boritsi, which is why I just asked if anyone wants to join me. You are supposed to answer yes." Lena's voice whispered through the messaging spell. She turned to beam at Avram. Clearly one of the locals was being met with approval.

[Nathan of the FoS]

"I'd like to see to the horses before we settle in," Renhalt says, with a significant look at Vasili.

Duncan jerks a thumb at the doors in the southern wall (you entered from the east). "Quickest way out is through there," he notes. He and Ross exchange looks, and then he sighs and gets to his feet. "Here, I'll show ye."

He leads you through the door and into a long low passageway with doors at either end, dimly light by lanterns and with an elaborate ceiling mural of a visored knight trambling a banner emblazoned with a rampant stag. "Stables're this way," he notes, leading you to the west exit. Ducking his head out the door, he whistles. "Bad night," he mutters. "Glad we'll have this over soon. Stables're right there," he says, pointing to a long wooden building on the west wall of the courtyard. "Ye can come back in through here when ye've seen to 'em."

Lightning flashes overhead, and thunder seems to shake the castle itself, another mild tremor coinciding with the burst of sound. You can see the tombs to your left for one moment, pale and distinct in the flicker of the lightning, and then darkness falls again.

You could cross to the stables without much trouble, since you can see a light there, but you'll want a light source (or low-light vision) for going over to the tombs.

[NeoTiamat]

"Much appreciated, Sir Duncan." Lena said, watching the night-time scene. She glanced over at where in 'modern' Forlorn, there was an enormous tree. A mild curiosity on her part, but something that nagged at the back of her head. She waited until Duncan had went back inside, then hummed a tone and made a small gesture with her hand.

Three glowing spheres of light appeared above her hand in a triangular formation. They looked like will-o-wisps, really, and gave a good amount of light.

"Shall we?" Lena asked, with a meaningful glance at Tara Kolyana. Please lead us to the Shield of Ezra so we can get out of this haunted castle.

Dancing Lights

[Nathan of the FoS]

A curious malaise settles over you as you cross the courtyard--a physical sensation like vertigo or nausea, the sense that right angle are slightly askew and that the two towers overlooking the courtyard are leaning over you, peering down at you with lighted windows like eyes; the bare branches of the oak seem, at times, to reach down after you. The darkness seems full of eyes; the sound of the rain against the pavement seems to obscure whisperings which might otherwise be audible.

"I hope no-one looks out here," Tara mutters. Marcel nods; they exchange a look and then he shrugs and moves to the rightmost of the tombs. Just as he is about to raise his hand to the door someone behind you saids, calmly and clearly, "Stop, trespasser."

Tara turns and goes pale; Renhalt curses, and he and Rojan both make the sign of the Spear and Coils. The speaker is, from mid-torso up, a young man in his late teens, with loose, long brown hair, bare-chested and well-muscled, with a claymore in his hands. From his navel down his intestines spill out, dangling in grotesque ropes to where his knees should be; his legs are only a thin tendril of translucent mist.

"I'll challenge any of ye to single combat," he says, his gaze roving over the group and pausing briefly on Richard and Rojan. "Or if ye be cowards as well as sneaks, I'll fight ye all at once."

Aura of Despair, Will save vs. DC 23 or take a -3 morale penalty to all skill checks, attack rolls and saves.

[Kaitou Kage]

Altan had been sipping from his flask in silence for most of the night. It was not the most interesting courtyard despite the ghosts, and as the darkness set in, Altan took comfort in his drink to keep warm.

Then the dead man with the claymore appeared. With something Altan desperately sought.

The young Mulani belched quietly, then tucked his flask into his belt. A sly smile crawled across his face as he slipped out of his robe, handing it off to whoever was closest. Clad only in loose fitting pants and a tapestry of swirling tattoos, Altan stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. The tattoos, once depicting dark feline shapes, shifted to become fiendish devil motifs. Horns manifested on his forehead and he rolled his shoulders. The unnerving fear that Altan felt rolled off his mind and body as he stepped up.

"I am the Pit Fiend," he called in a clear voice. "And I accept your challenge of single combat."

This was going to be fun.

Altan has 2 drunken ki and 8 regular ki.

Altan assumes Displacer Beast Stance and Dragon Stance and gets ready to fight.

[Isabella]

Richard tightened his mouth at the challenge, but too late now, it had been met - and not by one the undead warrior was hoping for. Unaffected by the dreadful aura that had settled around the courtyard, Richard took a few paces to form a sidelines, insomuch as he could form one by himself. He folded his arms and nodded to Altan.

Made my save with a 31, trying to stand within 10 feet of Altan so as to grant him a +4 to saves on any fear effects he might run into fighting this thing.

GM Query: Do we think putting Protection from Evil on Altan violates the whole single combat thing?

[NeoTiamat]

Somehow, Lena had gotten used to the other ghosts by now (one really can get used to anything). Sure, Colin and Avard and the Laird ApBlanc were odd, but they weren't outright threatening, and the boy had been rather cute in his way. This brute, however, was much more like the popular image of a dread ghost, and Lena closed her eyes. Yes, they were in Tristenoira, and no, things were not going to go well.

Well, if Altan... who was apparently now calling himself a Pit Fiend, which was also a poor sign... cared to fight the specter, the least Lena could do was shove a bit of help his way.

"The naked earth is warm with spring,
And with green grass and bursting trees
Leans to the sun's gaze glorying,
And quivers in the loving breeze;
And life is Colour and Warmth and Light,
And a striving evermore for these;
And he is dead who will not fight;
And who dies fighting has increase."

Stealth-Casting Heroism on Altan, DC 28 Perception/Sense Motive to spot it.

[Nathan of the FoS]

The ghost smiles grimly at Altan's response to his challenge; he looks slightly nonplussed as it becomes apparent that Altan is going to fight unarmed, but shrugs slightly.

"Morholt ApBlanc," the ghost replies, indicating himself. "For thee, Triple Goddess, Morrigan of the Blades, I fight," he intones formally. "Ready, outlander?"

He slides forward even as he speaks and launches a cut at Altan, who dodges easily and ripostes with a fierce blow to the ghost's chest. Shaking himself in an oddly human way, the ghost steps back--uncannily and horribly, his head and torso perfectly mimic the motions of someone moving on two legs, despite his appearance--and edges around, obviously with a new respect for his foe. Shortening his grip on the claymore, he lunges forward and makes a quick double blow--so quickly that it seems to many of the onlookers that he must have missed. Richard, from his vantage, can see that both blows went home, and Altan ought to be bleeding--but he is not.

Another pass, another blow from the claymore, and now everyone can see the blade pass through Altan's arm as if one or the other were thin air. Altan seems to be getting the worst of it; the ghostly ApBlanc is pressing him back, and another blow from the ghostly claymore goes home, leaving Altan white-faced and bright-eyed. The claymore draws no blood, but it does do harm, it seems.

Hissing a curse, Altan shifts, and his form because oddly blurred and indistinct. Fighting more defensively now, Altan begins to adapt himself to the flow of the combat. His foe's claymore may be insubstantial, but the ghost still wields it as if it were five pounds of steel. Soon Altan is moving in and out in a curious weaving pattern, letting the ghost lash out and leaping in to strike in carefully weighted counterattacks.

After several such blows the ghost breaks away, chest heaving, and bows his head. "Forgive me, Morrigan," he mutters. "Well fought, stranger…"

As he speaks he dissipates into mist, and something small and metallic rings on the flagstones of the courtyard.

The upshot: Altan wins! YAY. He's taken 7 Wisdom damage.

[Isabella]

"Well fought," Richard quietly agreed with the specter. He moved over to Altan, taking the alabaster shield around his neck and murmuring a prayer.

"His sword may not-may not cut the flesh, but it-it cuts through the spirit well enough," said he, touching Altan's shoulder lightly with a slight burst of silvery motes. He frowned down at the chip of metal on the ground. "I-I-I could not say for certain, but I-I'd wager that is a-is a piece of a claymore he's left behind. The warrior's spirit is still bound to the cause of his death, methinks."

Lesser Restoration heals 3 of Altan's Wisdom damage.

[The Whistler]

HE sustains the living in perfect Order
HE guides the dead according to his Law
HE strengthens the falling
HE makes useful the sick
HE ensures that the bound are bound justly
HE maintains the oaths of those who sleep in the dust

For who is like YOU, o Mighty Ruler?
And who can be compared to YOU, o Bringer of Law,
Who brings death and upholds life, and returns all to their rightful state?

As Richard gave his prayer, Avram gave his, making a rather elaborate sign of blessing around Altan as he did so. Returning his cloak, too; the Rashemani had been the one to hold it during the fight.

"A noble display, my lord. Surely, as you do the Isfahani proud with your efforts, you make this old man proud to be in that family's service." The hetman sounded sincere, but looked...concerned. That might have been the first time he'd heard the nickname "Pit Fiend," for one thing.

"To jump so quickly to battle, taking that burden from us...it is a fine thing, this. A wonderful thing." Ah. Those of you with an ear for repressed curiosity sensed a rather desperate desire to know why a louche, dissipated nobleman would suddenly go out of his way to fight a ghost one-on-one, matched by an even greater desire to not offend said nobleman by asking. Politeness was hard.

Lesser Restoration, too, on the Wisdom damage!

[dice]0[/dice]

[Kaitou Kage]

Altan grinned triumphantly as he watched the ghost fade. Flames still flowed along his arms and shoulders, slowly flickering and burning out. By the time Richard and Avram approached, the tongues circled his hands and died down. The ghost's damage had taken its toll though. He didn't notice the others approach and he didn't realize how fuzzy his head felt until Richard and Avram worked their magic.

He collected his cloak from Avram and nodded a curt thanks, then slung it around his shoulders. He pulled out his flask and took a sip, then smiled wryly. The horns and devilish tattoos faded out, replaced by the sleek feline shapes Altan normally wore.

"Thank you," the Mulani said to Richard and Avram. "For the healing and the praise. It has been a long time since I've had a fight that satisfying."

Altan was still grinning and though the fire had long since faded from his body, it burned fiercely in his eyes. The battle changed him and filled him with an eagerness he had not displayed the entire trip.

"I look forward to whatever else we find here."

[Isabella]

"All the-all the same, Freiherr, I-I-I think we had best move on quickly lest you get your wish," Richard replied, with a wry grimace. "Has anyone a-a measure of holy water? If we place-place that shard in it, we might prevent our-our unfortunate guardian from coming back."

[Nathan of the FoS]

Renhalt comes forward and scoops up the piece of steel--a fragment about half the size of his little finger--in a handkerchief, carefully putting it into a small glass bottle he draws from his haversack. "Very impressive, Altan. Holy water?" he asks no-one in particular.

"Just a moment," Marcel says, having turned back to the door to the tomb. It opens on well-oiled hinges, revealing a low white catafalque at the far side of the room with a white marble coffin placed on it; the tomb is perhaps ten feet wide and fifteen long. He gasps as the light he has summoned reveals a mural painted on the far wall of a young man. It is the image of Morholt ApBlanc, dressed in the green and white of his clan, with a woman bearing two swords hovering over his right shoulder.

"Much is explained," he says, grimly, stepping forward...and disappearing.





Ushka is well pleased with how things are going; the captain hasn't noticed her, and doesn't seem likely too, and she's kept out of anyone else's view without much trouble. The doors have threatened to be a problem a time or two, but nothing she can't handle.

And then the captain is gone. The little fox is so put out by this development--never has she had such trouble just following people--that it takes her a few long seconds to realize that her mistress' mental presence is gone as well. Which is so disturbing that it takes another sixty seconds to realize that the smells are all wrong. There have been no humans here in this hallway for weeks, at least, but the smell of something else--wolf, and the scent her mistress thought was goblyns, and the smell of decay--is strong.

[NeoTiamat]

Lena had been silent as the battle progressed, and as Richard identified the odd bit of metal. "I think we can safely say that ApBlanc ghosts are prominent in this place. Morholt ApBlanc, Gilan ApBlanc, the Laird and his wife... I wonder how Morholt was connected to the others."

It was her unfortunate timing that she said this right as Marcel vanished into thin air. Lena said a rather impolite word at this point.

Knowledge rolls?




Ushka pressed her ears flat against her skull and tucked her tail between her legs. This was not good. The little fox considered her position. Right, so, her mistress was gone, which was worrisome. Her quarry was gone, which was seriously annoying. She was surrounded by goblyns, which wasn't too big a deal. She was surrounded by wolves, which was much worse. (Wolves were bad things to little foxes). On the bright side, she was back in the world she was supposed to be, and Ushka was somewhat confident in her ability to sneak around.

So, this was what she did. Moving very, very carefully, the red fox followed the new scent of goblyns. In theory, she'd link up with her mistress sooner or later, in which case this information would be useful. And if not, there were always mice to eat and scraps to steal.