Birthright: Promises to Keep, Chapter 2

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

SEEKERS

Mindful that eyes are on him, Renn takes his waterskin and pours a measure into a tin cup. He thrusts the cup toward the girl and does not, apparently, want it back.

"Let's get moving, then," he says. "We're losing time as it is. Moll here might have pointed us to the next part of our journey, but you can bet that knifey trail isn't going to stay warm for long."

[ewancummins]

SEEKERS

Mindful that eyes are on him, Renn takes his waterskin and pours a measure into a tin cup. He thrusts the cup toward the girl and does not, apparently, want it back.

"Let's get moving, then," he says. "We're losing time as it is. Moll here might have pointed us to the next part of our journey, but you can bet that knifey trail isn't going to stay warm for long."

Gatt looks up into the darkening sky and says, "Snow's coming."

[Varrus the Ethical]

SEEKERS

"We should take Foerde up on his offer of hospitality," Roald says, seeing the clouds gathering in the distance. "We can plan our next move from the relative safety of his house."

[Adam]

"Aye," Cormac agrees. He gestures to the others to mount back up, climbing his own horse and turning back to the trail.

[ewancummins]

THE SEEKERS
NIGHT-RIDE

Gatt strikes flint and steel together, making a small fire in his tinderbox as the others hasten to mount up. Once he has set the wood chips smoldering, he joins the rest and moves out…

The party rides south-by-east, down from the foothills and onto a plain covered in brown grass and clumps of twisted pine. The sky changes from hazy dusk to full dark with the speed of a falling curtain.
Gatt lights a torch, using the little smoldering fire in his tinderbox.

Cormac’s man, Ned, lights a torch using Gatt’s fire.

The north wind roars down, bringing snow-flurries.

The party rides on through the cold, dark nightscape. Past frost-cracked boulders, dead trees, frozen pools.
South by east for hours in the falling snow, without the bright guiding stars of Haelyn’s Crown, which have vanished below the rim of the world. And without the sickle moon, save in brief flashes through the clouds.

[Adam]

Cormac drapes a cloak over the half-breed girl to shield her from the cold.

[kintire]

Safana grimaces and murmurs a short spell. An instant later her supple form steps out into the hallway, both hands raised.

"Don't hurt him! We can talk. But call your friends off, they've gone crazy! Look, I have no weapons."

it is clear to the Ghul that the young woman in a loincloth and breastband is completely unarmed and defenceless, and in her anxiety over the half ling she has moved forwards just a little too close, within range of sudden lunge...

Meanwhile, around the corner the actual Safana waves frantically at the ginat baby, pointing at the fight between Devlin and the Ghul, while supplying her duplicate's dialogue...

[ewancummins]

SAFANA, SHADOW WORLD

Safana grimaces and murmurs a short spell. An instant later her supple form steps out into the hallway, both hands raised.

"Don't hurt him! We can talk. But call your friends off, they've gone crazy! Look, I have no weapons."

it is clear to the Ghul that the young woman in a loincloth and breastband is completely unarmed and defenceless, and in her anxiety over the half ling she has moved forwards just a little too close, within range of sudden lunge...

Meanwhile, around the corner the actual Safana waves frantically at the giant baby, pointing at the fight between Devlin and the Ghul, while supplying her duplicate's dialogue...

Safana sees Devlin turn away from the fray, running for the door.
The ghul-woman swipes her dirty nails at the duke’s back, but Gunnar charges in—shaking the ground—and attacks with balled fists.

Whipping her head away from the battling pair for a quick look down the hall, Safana sees her duplicate image vanish as Devlin runs straight through it.
On the far side, a bloated ghul drops the immobile Filbert and opens its arms wide to seize Devlin as he slams into its bulk. The monster champs its jaws down on the Duke’s shoulder. Devlin screams. The two wrestle in the dim hallway, knocking each other between the narrow walls.

[ewancummins]

SAFANA, IN THE HALL
Safana conjures enchanted arrows and sends them speeding down the hall and around Devlin, to strike the enemy.



She rifles through her pouch and withdraws a silver pepper shaker. Twisting the top loose, she dumps the contents--a wriggling spider-- into her mouth and gulps.
Lunging through broken door, the sorceress hops up, catches the lintel above her head, and crawls spider-fashion along the ceiling of the hallway.

Clinging upside down and scuttling forward, she spies the fat ghul getting the best of Devlin in the tussle. The thick-bodied fiend slams the slimmer nobleman to the stone floor.

"I'll make thee a tender cut of meat for my plate!"

It slams Devlin down again hard.

Safana gets close to Filbert, who lies motionless on the floor not far from the ghul and Devlin. She hastily intones a spell of concealment.
Devlin and Filbert fade from sight.

Safana herself fades—but not before the obese ghul licks her with a toad-strike. The long gray tongue snaps back from her cheek, dripping with her fresh blood.
She gasps at the sudden stinging pain, scuttling sideways on the ceiling till her hip bumps the left-side wall.

The fat ghul stares at the spot where she had been and licks its liver-gray lips.
“Delicious woman! I know you are still here. I can smell you.”

The ghul reaches up and rakes its long nails on the ceiling, splintering wooden crossbeams.

''Wee spider, come to Runcible!"


Safana scuttles back, but not fast enough to avoid a sudden blind lunge of her enemy. The ghul's hands wrap around her left wrist. Her body grows stiff, cold, unmoving!

Runcible begins to peel her from the ceiling...

[ewancummins]

THE SEEKERS, NIGHT RIDE PART 2

Cormac drapes a cloak over the half-breed girl to shield her from the cold.

The party rides on until the horses begin to tire and the second set of torches has burned out, leaving the rides moving by what few glimmers of the dim stars and the pale crescent moon peek through the snow dropping clouds.

Gatt curses the darkness and sets to starting a second fire in his tinderbox. Sparks fizzle in the cold, humid air, as Gatt strikes again and again, hunched in his saddle with his cloak drawn over the tinderbox and flint and steel.

The girl, Moll, pulls Cormac's cloak closer about her body and begins mumbling something sing-song under her breath.


Cormac searches for the trail while Foerde assists, looking for landmarks.

Hob says it first.
"Lost."

Searching with the last of the torches, even the whole group working together cannot find the trail-- every attempt leads the party into features of the landscape that Foerde doesn't recall with any clarity; a snow-choked gully, a stand of dead wood, a frozen pond.
But no clear route home.

And the night grows colder still, the snow thicker...

[ewancummins]

FILBERT


Filbert stabs Lord Runcible in the back.

The fat Master spins round, howling.
Backlit by flickering witch-light, it now resembles a man only in the gross outlines of feature and frame. Its skin hangs in peeling strips, its gray lips roll back to bare dog-like teeth, and its jaundiced eyes blaze with unholy hunger.

''EAT YOU RAW!''


The monster charges Filbert-- forcing the Halfling to skedaddle back down the hall-- but trips on something and sprawls face-forward.

The hall rumbles. Something big and green squeezes through the busted doorframe.
Gunnar-child waddles down the narrow passage, head bent low, and grabs for the fallen Master. But the giant toddler also trips on something, staggering and reeling back with its fat right hand closing on empty air instead of the enemy.

Runcible rolls to his feet, looks back at the angry giant-child who waddles ever closer-- and hoofs it past Filbert, almost knocking the Halfling down in hasty flight.


The fleeing master rushes into the nearest open door-- the kitchen.

[ewancummins]

UGO


Ugo has lain still and quiet. He hears the battle, and can only guess at who's winning by the noises.
He listens to Lord Runcible threatens and taunt the outsiders.
He hears an unfamiliar masculine voice shouting. It screams, falls silent.
Chanting, the magic woman--but her voice too falls silent.
Familiar footsteps in the hall, lip-smacking sounds, chewing noises.

"EAT YOU RAW!"

But then another struggle, a loud echoing wail, thuds, running footsteps.

A tall, wide figure fills the kitchen doorway-- Lord Runcible.

The Master steps over Ugo and moves to slam the door shut...

[alhoon]

UGO
Time seems to slow down for poor Ugo. It seems an eternity between heartbeats that could actually be his last. His fear starts to retreat, it is still there but it's not keeping him immobile anymore.
Master Runcible is wounded. Master Runcible is retreating. How powerful those outlanders are to force Master Runcible to flee?
The door is still open, and Master Runcible is wounded and ignoring him. Should he step up and make a run for the too-bigs with their swords, spells and strength?

But would they even accept him if they win? Or he'll just get caught in the middle of a fight between powers well beyond his meager strength?

The shock of seeing Master Runcible wounded and fleeing and that moment doubt costs him the split second he could use to rush out. As the door closes, Ugo can only hope that the big giant will break through it or that Master Runcible will retreat to the Garden. He can also hope that he won't be trampled as he plays dead.

[Varrus the Ethical]

SEEKERS

"This is pointless. We'll freeze if we keep wandering around in the dark," Roald says. "Let's set camp and rest until dawn."

"Reese, start gathering wood for a fire. Cormac, Renn, I'd ask that your men assist my squire." He turns to the darkness. "A fire will probably attract attention, but I'd rather face an ambush than the cold." He plants a hand on the handle of his blade. "An ambush we can fight."

[Adam]

"Better find shelter soon," Cormac says to the others, "Or else they'll be sendin' out parties to search fer us."

He begins searching around their area, looking for someplace to at least throw up a lean-to.