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[monk12]

Anathema examines the odd gauntlet closely, inspecting the engraved falcon banner cracking in a high wind, soaring against the morning sky and the sharp blades. He is sure that, with a bit of experimentation, he could divine the purpose of the gauntlet, as well as the amulet. The gifts of Chaos hinder as often as they help.

Anathema thinks for a moment, his face a study in sober contemplation. Predicting the whims of Chaos is often an exercise in futility, but planning for the worst goes a long way towards surviving its patronage. Anathema needs to identify his new toys, a sword is not a toy, boy, but that task can be done at any time. He is still dimly aware of additional artifacts in the ruins- perhaps he will know their location in the world for all eternity, and perhaps awareness will fade before the setting of the sun. Hope for the best, and plan for the worst.

Anathema leaves the amulet and the gauntlets in the ruined hall, marking well its location. He does not want to be encumbered if he finds a great treasure, and this building seems easy to find again. Then, he sets out to recover more artifacts, leaving time to forage and return to the hall before sunset. No sense in finding an armload of magical items if it means being eaten by a jaguar in the night. Be careful with that before you get yourself killed, boy.

[filiusenox]

   Bryn froze in place, pressing his back up against the bark of the tree harder, as if trying to merge with the wood itself. The branch would protect him from the creature’s sight, but for how long? And what if more came to roost.
   
   He didn’t have much time to think it though, and this would probably be his end, but he strode out from under the branch, calling up to the harpy with a confident tone, slipping his arm behind his back, hiding the knife, his necklace hanging down, hidden under his collar.

   ”You there, Harpy? I wish to offer you a proposition. his tone was curt, quick, yet not the least bit panicky. Or he hoped that’s what it sounded like. He kept his eyes on the creature, looking into her eyes directly as he spoke, keeping a stabbing grip on the iron knife, readying it for a fight if she was faster than he thought. Or hungrier, that still wasn’t out of the equation.

   ”I can get you hoards of gold. Hoards of silver, gems, whatever takes your fancy, hoards enough that every other harpy will look upon you and turn dull green with envy at how their own jewels don‘t measure up to your own. All I ask for, in return, is your service. ” The muscles in his legs were tense, and his heart was beating hard, pumping adrenaline into his veins for the run which was most likely to come. But he steadied himself and waited for her response.         

"I need an escort to Spearmount if you're alone, or, if you've a flock, I wish to hire you all as a personal bodyguard...of course, you'll be paid the most out of all of them"

((Just use whichever one you feel like. ))

[Dwarmin]

The Harpy at first seems alarmed-hopping up even higher into the tree-then seems to consider your offer, angling her head to one side at an unnatural pitch.

"...if you have so much shining riches, why are you lost and alone in the forest?" She asks illogically of you in a pleasant sounding, if a bit screechy voice. Her eyes glitter as she consider you-maybe looking for valuables, or imagining how you might taste. You notice her teeth are quite sharp, even hidden behind what would be considered an attractive female facade. She hops back down onto one of the lower branches, facing you. Her long, ring studded talons begin flexing rhythmically against the bark.

"Also, no-one-but me around. Traveling to my sisters clannest, delivering a message about the Rising. Promised me a good meal. She lives very far South from here...are you sure you're totally alone?" She asks again, her eyes darting around-all around you, to your knife, to your boots, to your face.

[Shootandrun]

Rankar frowned. Behind him, he had smelled horses - and there were no wild horses at this altitude. In this part of the world, there were only men and the occasional goblins - and in these two groups, only men rode horses. That meant trouble. He was far from the slaver lands, but few were the humans who liked Kasars, and a party riding on horse indicated that they were no mere farmers or hunters. They could not be merchants, either - if they had been, they would have been following the roads. That left soldiers or bandits, and he did not want to try his luck with either of those. He may have been seen, or they may have spotted tracks; and greedy men could decide to capture a Kasar to sell him to slavers solely for the sake of profits, just like hateful men could kill one because they were seeking easy enjoyment.

Danger behind and danger ahead. That simplified his choice. Evidently, if he could fit through the vines, humans would have no problems - but they would not be able to come through riding, and they might not even be able to bring the horses at all, which gave him an edge. On foot, no human could catch up with him - of that he was convinced. As such, assuming they were following him, he would lose them if he passed through the path. Still, that movement in the vines had put him on his guard.

He put on his mailshirt, and took his spear. He was not a soldier nor a tactician, but he knew his way around a fight, or he thought he did. One against one, it may very well take a blademaster to beat even an untrained Kasar, if the space was good. In large, open areas, raiders usually liked to ride in circles around the nomads, trapping them in nets and shooting down those refusing to submit. Here, however, the space was tight, and his spear gave him a long reach - that should avoid him any unpleasant surprises while he was going through the path.

Of course, he still did not know what lay on the other side. Something was driving him that way, pushing him towards it as though it was not his own choice, but he still had some doubts about it all. He knew he had to go forward, but he did not know why - perhaps that way was the way of his death, or perhaps not even what had sent him there knew what lay beyond. He was not one to play with powers he did not understand carelessly, and he was certain he could not understand what was going on there.

Part of him wished there was time to sit down and write in his notebook. It was a good way to gather his thoughts. When he had been a smith, he had written in there what he learned and what he thought he could do best. When he had had the library, he had reported his findings in the notebook. When the town had burned, he had written down the names of the dead, and how they died. When he had travelled, he had noted paths and discoveries. And throughout all that time, he had gathered there his thoughts and moods. But now he had no time.

No time at all. Warily, he took his first step into the vine-covered paths.

Go through the path of vines, while wearing the mailshirt and wielding the spear.

[IamanElfCollaborator]

Wendell looked around. The hunters were gone.
"Thank Aladas. I'm safe. For now."
The goblin quickly sought food. The hunters, whether or not they had truly intended to seek him, had scared him out of food, and he was quickly growing hungry.

Saman, he knew, was at least an hour to go away, and he had no cloak or hood to conceal his goblin features. Neither did he know how to use the few weapons he had; his father's crossbow and his boning knife.

He could also return, but to what? Who would protect him? He was a goblin in the land of men. And men hated him. He couldn't go back. Not really. Not now.

Wendell ignored these troublesome and muddled thoughts as he saw a small rabbit. Food!
"Thank the gods. I can't go any longer without food!"

Sneaking up on it, as he had seen his father do so much, trying to emulate it, he slowly raised his boning knife and plunged it down on the soft flesh of the rabbit.
Sneak up on and kill a rabbit with my boning knife.

[filiusenox]

"It's a long path from my home to," the slightest of pauses here, "Longleaf, fair Harpy. And wearying." the young woman replied, flashing the creature a small smile. "As I'm sure your flight has been. Would you like to share a meal with me? I could tell you of my plight and you could inform me of this Rising you speak of."

"Indeed. Quite alone." she replies at last, opening her pack, not looking into it directly, instead keeping her eyes on the harpy through her hair as she rummages, "Would you like some jerky, fair Harpy? I have some stale bread here as well." as she rummaged, she quietly pondered how to make roast harpy palpable.

It'd probably taste like chicken. a grin flickered across her lips as the thought bubbled into her head.

She withdrew a slice of stale, slightly moldy bread from her satchel, smiling at the harpy, and holding it out in a free hand.

[adwarf]

Ramus was up with his sword sliding from its sheath in seconds, looking about as he bellowed,

"Up off your damnable arses if you wanna live, we got some unwanted guests! Get you're weapons in hand and keep them away from the damned boat, we need to stay afloat, and you oarsmen haul ass to land I want to be on solid ground in case more of them decide to show up."

With that he turned his attention back to the water, scanning all around.

Try to figure out the number of beasts coming towards the boat, and attack any that get in range of it. Make sure to keep them away from the hull if at all possible.

[Dwarmin]

"It's a long path from my home to," the slightest of pauses here, "Longleaf, fair Harpy. And wearying." the young woman replied, flashing the creature a small smile. "As I'm sure your flight has been. Would you like to share a meal with me? I could tell you of my plight and you could inform me of this Rising you speak of."

"Indeed. Quite alone." she replies at last, opening her pack, not looking into it directly, instead keeping her eyes on the harpy through her hair as she rummages, "Would you like some jerky, fair Harpy? I have some stale bread here as well." as she rummaged, she quietly pondered how to make roast harpy palpable.

It'd probably taste like chicken. a grin flickered across her lips as the thought bubbled into her head.

She withdrew a slice of stale, slightly moldy bread from her satchel, smiling at the harpy, and holding it out in a free hand.

[5+2=7]vs Difficulty 6: Pass

The Harpy seems to freeze in place, eyeing you warily...but something about your demeanor makes her slowly come down from the tree-coming to take the food from your hand.

"Bread is alright...but would like the Jerky with lots of delicious salt. I like salt. Very tasty for meat. Hard to get, but very good. My name is Aeatha. Who are you? I don't know any humans. Clanmother says Humans are bad. The Rising will take them all away and Harpys will rule the land and sky. I don't know what to think. I've eaten Humans, but I don't know any. They were already dead when I ate them. I had salt then, too, and the meat was very good. I wouldn't hurt a human, though, I'm your friend, trust me..." She says, speaking in a rapid pace as she approaches you craftily-maybe to calm her nerves. Or perhaps to distract you.

[Knave]

OOC: Sorry for the delay guys!!

Grimman stood silently for a moment, watching over his freshly claimed prizes. The sound of his heavy breathing the only sound to accompany the howling winds over the snow swept plains. It had been a good hunt, and if weren't by himself in the middle of a wasteland, he would probably have the horns fashioned into a trophy of sorts, perhaps a great helm, to show the others in his tribe what a skilled warrior he was.

Thinking of his former home caused a pit in his heart "That part of my life is over" he thought to himself as he pushed the familiar faces out of his mind to focus on the task at hand. The two beasts that he fell would contain more than enough meat, and maybe some other useful items, but he would have to get at them first. Surveying the land provided very little in terms of optimism though. Perhaps if he could fashion a decent enough shelter by the bottom of the cliff face it would allow him to slaughter the carcasses without being too exposed to the wind. A day for rest and to prepare for the long journey would not be a bad choice.

Just the thought of having a delicious cut of Farum steak made the young warrior's mouth water, he quickened his pace, doing his best to drag and push his kills down to his eventual camp.

Try to fashion a make shift camp at the bottom of the cliff face. Use the furs to help keep the wind out and try to fashion a fire to help smoke the meat to preserve it. Try to salvage anything else useful, furs, horns, bones, fat for burning.

[filiusenox]

"Indeed? I hear human meat is quite tough and hard to chew." Bryn threw the bread back into her satchel, reaching in and grabbing out a thick hunk of jerky, spiced and slightly oily, salt hanging heavy on it. She ignored the churning in her own stomach, at the harpy's words, and at how close the creature was coming.

She did nothing as it took the jerky, taking a step back and leaning against a tree, eyeing the creature through her bangs.
"My mother told me all harpies are bad, but I never met one before. She surely must have been telling tall tales, for you're quite unlike the monsters she told me about. Far fairer, kinder and smarter by far."


"And as you can see, fair Aeatha, I'm not bad, or, not very bad. she paused here, watching the Harpy eat, So, the Rising is all Harpies getting their dues on the humans?" she asked, reaching up, brushing some hair back from her eyes, a futile gesture, but still comforting.

[Dwarmin]

The Harpy snatches the meat from your hands faster than your eyes can see, then hops back a few feet from you-but she does not climb back into the tree.

She then begins picking apart the jerky delicately, snatching and swallowing one small chunk at a time. Aethea speaks briskly at that moment, keeping one eye on the meat and another firmly fixed in your direction.

"And...no, no, no. The Rising is more than that. The Old Seer she woke up! And she spoke for the first time in many years, she speaks 'They Rise'-and then she dies, falls like a stone, clutching her chest. No one touches the body because she is an outcast, but I feel sorry for her so I make sure she has flowers by her side, the pink ones she always like to decorate her hair with, before her hair fell out and they laughed at her. It was the reason I was sent as messenger-for penance, maybe to die, no one touches or comforts the outcast.

They Rise. Words we remember. Two Great forces, always opposing one another. A Great war is coming between them. Everyone chooses a side. My clans Harpies have always served the River, we always fight the stone-what you Humans call chaos and order. Chaos is the river, and Order is the stone. The River flows around the stone. The stone does not move, and it cannot stop the river. So the Great Forces call us in our dreams and sing to us about what is to come-we must help them, help them win, help the river break down the stone. We know, since only those closest to the ground hear their song first. The little things. Mices, Frogs, bird, bugs. Then half-things, like Harpies. Humans will hear last, but they will hear. Then we all must choose a side.

I might have to kill you, if the River sends me a dream that says so. It wouldn't be because I didn't like you. I would still be your friend, even if I had to kill you." She says, managing a sad looking toothy smile. She continues to tear apart the meat with gusto.

Bryns headache seems to be steadily trebling in pain.

[filiusenox]

The Harpy's words took the fear from Bryn for a few long moments, the dream, this seer's wake and death. River and Stone, all of these things he considered in turn, eyes going unfocused as he thought long and hard about what the meaning was behind all this, the pain failing to help the young man focus on the situation at hand.

He reached up, rubbing his forehead and eyeing the harpy, before giving her a winning smile, "This news is disconcerting, to say the least. I need to hurry back and rally my people for the River, Aeatha, and you must hurry to bring your words to your sister's clannest. My people have tales of this day too, my friend, and I have no time to waste if your words ring true." patently all lies, especially that last bit. This war was bad news if the Harpy's words were indeed true.

[Dwarmin]

The Harpy nods, finishing the meat and tasting the salt from her claws.

"Do not worry, friend. The River will win. Even if it loses, it wins. The River is the absence. The stone is defined in relation to the river, but the river is always there...

So I will lead you to Spearmount then, and you will give me shiny gold. I am not a fool, I do not think you own a mountain, no one could own that much but maybe enough for me to carry yes? I would like that. Maybe I would not have to go back to my clannest then...anyway, do we go on together?"

[Digital Hellhound]

Chaos

Wendell Madryt

 Regretting his hasty decision to leave without provisions, Wendell Madryt decides to emulate his father and go on the hunt. Looking around for tracks like Father had taught him, he begins moving through the woods.

[2] There is plenty evidence of animal presence, but when he tries to follow the tracks, they disappear into the undergrowth, circle around and become one with the soil or otherwise end in nothing. The young goblin is sure he sees rabbits and larger prey in the distance, before they vanish into thin air. The deeper he goes into the forest proper, the fewer signs of life appear, the silence of earlier returning.

Half an hour later, aware of a growing hunger, Wendell returns to the smooth cliffs and sits down. Nothing seems to be going his way today. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, watching the birds in the trees and wondering if he could get any of them for dinner. Certainly there are nests in the trees, as there are those of land animals in the forest. If he can't catch grown prey, perhaps he ought to find the young ones.

Of course, he could just try again - a bout of bad luck is no reason to throw a fit, as Caulanne used to say - and there are other ways to get food than just hunting.

Spoiler: Wendell Madryt, Chosen of Chaos (click to show/hide)

Tier I
HP: 30/30
Combat: 1 die
Action: 1 die
Magic: 1 die
Skills and Traits: None
Equipment:
   *Old Crossbow (1d6+1 damage)
   *Boning Knife (1d6-1 damage)
   *Pouch of Coin
Known Spells: None

Grimman Vazrock

 Unwilling to oppose the rumblings of his stomach any longer, Grimman Vazrock begins pushing the two farum carcasses towards the cliff's edge. They slide off and fall with a solid thud at the bottom, sinking into the snow. Grimman begins to make his way down - the cliffs aren't that big - looking desperately for any shelter in the rock.

[6] Grimman quickly realizes how uneven and perfect for his purposes the bottom of the cliffside is, spaces under broken rock providing adequate protection from the wind - enough, he thinks, for a fire. He takes the two farum, their eyes staring blankly in death, and gets to work.

Survival in the wasteland is not easy - there is a reason most exiles and outcasts are never seen again - but Grimman perseveres, not allowing the seemingly malevolent forces of nature to halt his work. Soon enough, a fire is, if not roaring, reaching up into life in the tiny shelter, protected from the wind by his fur-wreathed body. The meager warmth feels euphoric after his journey. The farum are big animals, and he is careful not to extinguish the fire when he begins moving them to the fire.

It takes time, but eventually Grimman judges the meat good enough to eat and bites in. He tries to hold back at first, but his hunger overcomes him and Grimman finds himself stuffing the stringy chunks into his mouth again and again.

Eventually, satisfied and with a full stomach, Grimman drifts off to sleep...

---

Grimman dreams.

The air is thin, suffocating. Grimman sees an endless line towards a darkness in the horizon, all huddled down, bearing open wounds, eyes of despair. He alone walks with a straight back and strength in his step. As he passes the line, a voice of crackling fire whispers from within; 'You think you will be different? You think this time, it will all end? There is no salvation, no sweet embrace of oblivion, no escape from this all, only the darkness... and the light.'

Grimman turns to see. And the dream changes...

He is chasing his sisters on the melting snow, laughing all the while. Joy reverberates through the air, across the playing children, enveloping the adults, filling the elders with glorious light. The tribe's lands spread far and wide and the soft peoples pay tribute to them. There is peace, prosperity and the game is plentiful.

Alnan swirls into view, her dress of all colors spinning with her. She smiles and there is nothing in the world but her eyes her eyes of brilliant green - and then she is in his arms, calling for him to dance with her. There is only one discordant note in the dream, a flash of black hair and blacker eyes in the corner of his eye... And then Grimman remembers, and sees the black-haired man, sees the betrayer, sees Callen...

They are fighting, then, in the blink of an eye, but Callen is faster, crueler, lacking in all honour. When Grimman goes down, the others join him, raising their blades and spears, in terrible silence.

The dream changes...

Grimman is standing over the world, towering above even the highest mountains. He crosses continents with a single stride. His gaze turns cities into ash, reduces armies to blood and rust. His faintest touch breaks the world forever more, again and again. The chains fall apart behind him.

The dream changes, dissolving into memory...

---

Grimman wakes wreathed in cold sweat, his heart beating against his chest. It takes him a while to calm himself and look around - the fire has died and hours passed. It looks to be near dawn soon.
 

Spoiler: Grimman Vazrock, Chosen of Chaos (click to show/hide)

Tier I
HP: 30/30
Combat: 1 die
Action: 1 die
Magic: 1 die
Skills and Traits: None
Equipment:
   *Iron Hunting Spear (1d6+0 damage)
   *Bundles of Furs (2)
Known Spells: None

Anathema

 Anathema sets down the amulet next to the gauntlet, not wishing to weigh himself down with them. He tries his best to memorize the ruined hall and sets out, searching the fading memory of the vision for more artifacts. There were many great things here in the last age, but, he supposes, most of it has burnt out or been stolen or destroyed in the aftermath. Images flash in his mind - a great suit of armor, engraved with lightning, a heart-shaped stone laid upon a dying woman's chest, a woman he feels he should know - but they fade away quickly, leaving him only with questions.

Anathema's feet take him back closer towards the palace and the prison of his master, but he finds what he is looking for underneath a thin layer of rubble and colorful flora. His hands push in, closing around something. With a grunt, Anathema pulls out an flute of shiny obsidian, untouched by the years - even devoid of the dust. He studies it for a moment, seeing nothing odd about the form, and sets off again.

There is only one strong image remaining, but Anathema finds he cannot focus on what it is. The vision leads him to a section of the city mostly overtaken by the jungle. A metre-long spike sticks out of the ground, a dull black. Anathema tries to look closer, but to his bafflement, finds it hard to focus on the spike. His gaze is attracted to everywhere but the direction of the spike itself. The air ripples behind it, but Anathema gets nothing from it except a slight headache. It's obviously a magical effect, but for what purpose?

Spoiler: Anathema, Chosen of Chaos (click to show/hide)

Tier III
HP: 50/50
Combat: 3 dice
Action: 3 dice
Magic: 3 dice
Skills and Traits: None
Equipment:
   *None
Known Spells:
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 5]
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 6]
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 6]
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 7]
   *Unknown [Difficulty: 10]

[filiusenox]

"Ah...well, you see my fair Harpy, I have lied to you in order not to be aten." Bryn spoke calmly, keeping her back to the tree, getting ready to jump out of the way the moment the harpy lunged.

Bryn went on, the words tumbling from her mouth in a panicked sort of way, yet she remained as calm as the tree behind her, pushing her back up against it, knife still in hand, which remained steady and still. Her muscles tensed and hear heart fluttered wildly as she watched the reaction on the creature's face.

"I'm a pauper and I quite like the way things are, thank you very much. If you still wish to serve me for gold then you'll have to wait until I get some. And if you still wish to strike me down, then do so." she breathed out, "But let me assure you my meat is quite stringy and tough, and I carry no more salt to flavor myself with."

If the harpy lunges, dodge to the side, trying to get her to impact the tree. Try to capture it with bindings made from my rags, knife it if it calls for aide or tries to fight back too much. Repeatedly.

((