Comparing Notes and Immediate Concerns
After the harrowing adventure in the underground chambers, the improvised party found themselves magically teleported to a secluded spot in the forest about a mile outside of the slaver excavation site. After the initial disorientation and slight nausea brought on by such major magicking, (The most severe, of course, felt by Callister Draabyn, whose teleport was, for some reason, slightly skewed enough to cause him to materialize eight feet above the ground, causing him to fall from that eight feet with a great yelp and onto a rather large cactus, coincidentally the only wild cactus growing in the vast northern empire.) the group began to gather their senses and make a few introductions, realizing that they'd probably be travelling together for a little while, at least long enough to distance themselves greatly from anyone wearing a yellow slaver sash.
The group had learned quite a bit from the dungeon, some disturbing things that they previously could never have foreseen. A horrible battle with the dead come to life, ancient magicks swirling about them, and most chilling of all, visions of their own pasts and future- presented more vividly and real than the most gifted of seers could ever describe. Could it all have been real? What did it all mean?
For his part, the baenite mage had no doubts as to the reality of the situation. He had been seeking some grand adventure for months now, the perfect chance to gain knowledge and experience, to truly test himself to the limits of wisdom and endurance. He quickly acheived his bearings and began sorting through his newly- scribbled notes, seeking to understand just a little bit more before the party would get underway and head south, away from the dig. Equally obsessed was Draabyn, who seemed to the three phyllesian digging team survivors to have a sense of awakeness and urgency previously undisplayed in the last few weeks of slavery. He and Shr'lee organized the objects brought forth from the chambers in a matter of minutes. Some scrolls and rings, a few blades and potions, and a rather thick magical tome-- quite a take if this had been but a leisurely dungeon crawl. However, they had immediate business to attend to. First, to get far, far away. Next, to find some way of removing the hex placed on the slaves by the guild. The magical glyphs, now glowing conspicuously upon Draabyn, Rothgar, and the two other phyllesians' foreheads, obviously identified them to all as escaped slaves.And on the subject of slaves, Kramtha's mind was already racing about possible ways to return to the dig and free more of his brethren. He had no idea what the situation could be over there. Had the other guildsmen noticed the digging team's disappearance? Would they already be on full security alert? It would probably be more prudent to journey south with the others, to find some hedge-wizard along the road to remove the glyphs on his three fellow tribesmen, to send them on their way home with a message of hope to the widowed and orphaned. Them he could figure out how to free the rest.
The party of seven took to their feet and, avoiding the main roads, headed towards the quaint hamlet of Corf, a village just a day's journey south. Shr'lee knew an herbalist there who would have some advice about how to proceed. Perhaps he could even remove the slave gyphs from his newly-freed fellow travellers. Shr'lee had no loyaty to the slaver's guild. After all, he'd already been paid. Plus, if his theories about the knowledge they had recently stumbled upon were true, this could be the grand quest he'd been looking for. It could prepare him for his long-term goal and dream, that of being found worthy to study under the Great Wizard Morlokk, a friend of the Baenites, and possibly the greatest practitioner of the Arts who ever lived. But to get this far, he'd have to survive... and the chances of that always improve with non-hexed traveling companions.
Callister Draabyn also had much to work out while travelling. For now, his attention was focused on the one item he had lifted from the great chamber that was non-magical. Actually, it was the extent of it's plain-ness that set it apart. The item was a featurless deep-black metal box. When Draabyn held Shr'lee's crystal against it, the crystal's faint magical gleam suddenly was extinguished, as if the aura of the box had blown it out like a candle. The box was also locked, and Draabyn had picked at it for hours with no success.. Finally he turned to the young woman, Stryfal. Nearly six feet tall and slightly gangly, the rogue at first glance did not seem to be one well suited for the more subtle challenges to which one of her apparent profession seemed accustomed .The art of stealth usually requires one to blend in easily with the shadows, and being quite tall would usually seem to be a disadvantage. And yet, in the dungeon, her size did not seem to prove much of a hindrance at all. She moved gracefully and with blinding speed, and could possibly be looked to to help pick the lock. These roguish types always seemed to have a knack for those sort of things. At Draabyn's request, Stryfal held up the box and examined it. After peering at the lock for a bit, she began rumaging through her pouch of tools. Using a sliver- sized lockpick, she coaxed the lock's bolt into shifting, and with a satisfying click, saw it give way and the box creak open before her. Styfal and Draabyn's faces were bathed in a green light. Within the confines of the box sat a beautiful fist-sized emerald. Smooth and disk-shaped, it's surface seemed to churn and swirl with a brilliant inner light. And on the gem's surface, again was this puzzling symbol from the dungeon. A triangle within a triangle within a circle. Under the gem, sandwiched between it and the bottom of the box lay a piece of parchment folded many times. As the rest of the party continued on, Draabyn quickly unfolded the parchment to sneak a look before replacing both items and catching up with the party. As spectacular as the emerald seemed to be, this piece of parchment was on the other extreme. It was simply a map of the continent of Ithria. Just a large, detailed, everyday vellum map. Draabyn ran to rejoin the party. Needing to make some serious time before nightfall, the group proceeded on through the Snowy Timber.
The Village of Corf
The band of weary adventurers arrived in Corf early the next evening. With three glowing cat-people and a glowing sailor. The group pooled their funds to get a private room at the Owl and Thistle, a slightly-worn but respectable looking inn. Here the ex-slaves could stay hidden while Shr'lee, Kramtha and Stryfal looked about the village for some solutions to their immediate problems. The village apocathary was owned by a congenial man, a grum named Freaden with whom Shr'lee had had some friendly dealings in the past. After realating the party's hex problem (in very vague terms) the mage learned that although Freaden had not the resources in such a small village to remove the glyphs, the grum knew of a retired grand wizard in Bollus who might be of service. The wizard's name was Demitrius and he was quite respected in his day. He also had a reputation of being friendly enough, even to the point of helping total strangers for a price. Shr'lee thanked the man, tipped well, and returned to the room for the night.
Shr'lee learned several things of importance while studying his newfound relics that night. He had initially figured, while taking notes in the pit chamber, that some great magick still circulated, an enormous spell that had been created years ago, and was so powerful that it continued still. Now he had more carefully inspected the large, auspicious tome he'd recoved... And the mage was humbled beyond belief to realize that whatever the monstrous nature of the enchantment, it was all revealed in that very book. The knowledge contained therin was decades beyond Shr'lee's understanding, and the journeyman mage felt at once insignificant and even a little afraid. As if a child had stumbled upon some sacred, forbidden world. More on his notes: The statues that the group used to blockade the door against the dungeon skeletons numbered seven, each sharing the strange symbol, and each referred to as a member of "The Conclave". ( Wizards, all.) And now that Shr'lee was able to decipher the pieces of parchment the party had taken, a few points of observation became to come together like a puzzle on its way to completion.They were a short series of letters, dated over a hundred years before, penned by a member of the Conclave. Now he was starting to see...These letters were written during the Demon War...Although Baenites as a whole do not consider the history of the outside world to be completely relevant to the desert-dweller's mindset, Shr'lee had come from a family of serious scholars, and had read quite a bit about this sort of thing. More so than most of his clan, in fact. What he did remember was that the Demon War took place between the Empire and the corrupt nation of Duthelm over a hundred years ago. The Demon War was so named because the ruling powers of Duthelm worshipped the Demon God Draxorith and sought through Unholy means to create a passageway from the evil god's world to our own. Draxorith could have swept through the Empire with his armies of the undead and laid waste to everything, had it not been for the heroic Conclave, who somehow stopped this from happening. The two letters referred to the very spell that was used, apparently, to send Draxorith back through the conduit, trapped in his own world forever. The letter spoke of "The Chamber of Banishing" ( the chamber they had seen with their own eyes.) and how the spell had succeeded in banishing the demon lord. Shr'lee paused to let it all sink in. This party, kept together by the slimmest of circumstance, had just stumbled across the makings of one of the most significant battles of the Dark Arts in recorded history. And as if that wasn't scary enough, the next puzzle piece was even more terrifying: Another letter, by the same author, dated a few months after the first. This letter explained that the spell had only partially succeeded. They sought to bind Draxorith to his own world, body, mind, and soul. Body and mind succeeded. Soul did not. So, instead of being trapped in his own world, the demon lord was trapped halfway between the two. But what did the Conclave mean exactly, by body, mind, and soul. If they were unable to bind Draxorith's soul to his own world, whatever became of the Dark Lord's soul? Frustratingly, these notes seemed to present more questions than answers. At any rate, the "partial" success created folds and imperfections in the core of the enchantment, and now the entire spell was rapidly deteriorating. Shr'lee compared his notes of the spell in it's present state (taken from the chamber) with the descriptions in the letters. He took into account the small portion that he could translate from the original spellbook.The early spring evening was a pleasant one, with cool, gentle breezes flowing in through the open window of the spacious upstairs loft. But Shr'lee was oblivious to these things, transfixed by the history in his hands, lost in the world of the mind.
The perplexed mage was not the only one who spent the evening consumed in study. Callister Draabyn, having had some small degree of formal education (thanks to his old mentor, Mosk, now long presumed dead) attemped to try his hand at understanting the party's cryptic new findings. A cartographer of considerable skill, he'd always had a passion for maps. In studying them for most of his life, he found appealing many aspects of the science... The feeling of control over the world, of knowing how the waters meet the land and realizing the endless possibilities that extend from the meeting... The sense of accomplishment that comes from plotting one's course through the endless blue, feeling a freedom unmatched by anything else life has to offer. Freedom and adventure tempered by reason and control... a grand, soaring life to lead. Draabyn smiled longingly at the thought of his former existance. It would be these experiences he called upon as he set the map and emerald gem before him. These items were stored together and the mariner assumed this was intentional. But what would the two have in common? He spread the map out on the ironwood floor. It was a very nice piece of work, actually. It was large, including the whole of the continent, and yet was rendered to minute detail. Quite clear to the eye, except for the series of old runes bordered along the edge of the paper. These were gibberish to even the most educated of sea farers. He'd have to get the Baenite to look at them later. But for now, he had a theory about the relationship between the gem and the map that seemed more interesting. The symbol on the gem was, of course, a triangle within a triangle within a circle. The triangle, he knew, was the most stable of two-dimensional shapes. That was why variants of it were used in sextants and other navigational tools. And here were two of them inverted within a circle, stored with a map in a protective metal box. Callister Draabyn was convinced...the gem was a compass. Exactly what kind of compass he was unsure, but he hoped to clue himself in with a little trial and error. With the map flat and level before him, he placed the gem next to the map. The gem's symbol was matched by four proportionally smaller versions on the map. One on each corner, connecting the runes. Draabyn took the gem and set it onto the upper left corner of the map, directly on top of one of the smaller symbols. He peered through the gem, transparent but for the watery swirl of green, and carefully lined up the two symbols. He then stepped back to study the map. It remained unchanged. Draabyn had no idea what he was looking for, but had a feeling that something was there, waiting to be found. The latest clue to finding out why the fates found his life so amusing was in this room. He was sure of it. Trying again, he slid the gem across the map to the opposite symbol. Before he could line them up, however, a brief red flash blinked in the corner of his eye. Instantly brought to attention, he held the gem fast against the map. Then, taking a deep breath, slowly began to retrace the gem's path, sliding it back towards the first, upper left hand corner. He was rewarded for his effort. As the gem passed over the section of the map that detailed Mercia, his homeland, it seemed to pause and be held there, the swirl of green glowing more brilliant. And then, suddenly, two intense beams of red light, one vertical and one horizontal, converged on the area directly below the gem's symbol. It intersected at a point just off Mercia's southern coast, as if targeting it for some reason. The red cross-beams did not move further. They simply stayed their position and continued to glow. Also glowing were the individual runes on the map border that functioned as the end of each line. It seemed as if the cross-beams originated from the border runes for the exact purpose of suggesting or revealing a location, and in this case, leading Callister Draabyn home. The cursed one was grateful to find another piece of the puzzle, his puzzle, the next step to reassembling his life. With some newfound confidence, he turned towards the others to reveal what he had discovered. Shr'lee did the same. The party would discuss these revelations, findings both marvelous and horrifying, well into the night. Outside, the village slept. Tomorrow would be just another day.
By morning, the group of seven found themselves scambling through the second floor window, hastily trying to avoid capture once again. The innkeeper's son, being alarmed at the sight of several slavers in full armour bullying his father into revealing last night's guests, sneaked upstairs to warn Shr'lee, who was still on watch. Shr'lee wasted no time in rousing the party to action, and within minutes, the slightly disoriented band was outside the inn. The commotion from this attracted the attention of three slavers, who commenced with a volley of arrows towards the group. The two phyllesian civilians turned and circled around the inn, looking for the horses which the slavers hopefully had not yet properly stabled. This proved to be the case. As the two cat-men worked to free and steal them for a quick escape, the conflict on the other side of the building escalated to a full melee. Kramtha and Draabyn closed the distance between themselves and the archers while Shr'lee called forth magical flames from his hands to set the straw roof on fire. (Though the logic of this action was later questioned by the rest of the group) As the twin suns began to take their place in the sky, the party struggled to escape. Once the phellysians were able to steal four of their opponents' horses and bring them about, the other members were able to retreat and quickly mount up. The party rode off into the woods, certain that pursuit was right behind them.
Once they had acheived a considerable distance from their chasers, they began to formulate a new plan. They would still make best possible time to Bollus, to find the man called Demitrious. He would, hopefully, be able to provide some much needed assistance. Then, they would head south to the coast of Mercia, to the mysterious spot indicated on the map. Such a thing seemed too important to ignore. And so it would seem that this hastily assembled group would be together for quite some time. Their planning session, however, was cut short by the sound of horsemen approaching fast. Rather than continue to run, they decided to stand their ground, as when the "riders" came into view, there was only one. Cautiously, they questioned the rider. What did he want? The phellysian Rothgar had other plans. Acting on a theory, he fired an arrow, intentionally five feet to the rider's left, at the open air. The rider's eyes widened as a sickening thud rang out through the air. Another rider, no longer invisable, clutched his chest and fell off his horse. The rider turned and began to gallop away, but the group was too fast and too fed up to lose him. They quickly captured and bound the slaver, and began to question him. What was the excavation site? What had happened underground? Were there more pursuers? What was the situation at the site now? The slaver refused to answer. Kramtha was livid. He'd had to journey across a continent to save his family from scum like this, and he'd had about all he could take. He decided to...persuade the slaver into answering their questions. Specifically, this persuasion took the form of him eating the slaver's finger. The slaver suddenly became very helpful. He told of how the excavation site was in chaos, how the undead were now streaming out of the crevice in the ground. The perimeter had failed, and most slaves were long escaped. This was the group that was blamed, and they were able to track them using the magical glyphs, hence the pursuit. Kramtha, Rothgar and the other two Cat-men were gladdened to hear of their brothers' escape, and now felt less obligated to return, as the escaped clansmen were sure to be headed home even now. Kramtha thanked the scum by giving him a quick death, and the party proceeded on.
Bollus and the Warthog
Demitrious proved to be most helpful, especially after the party revealed a few things about what they had found and seen. Shr'lee found the old wizard to be truly worthy of respect and trust. While talking of magic and the like, the Baenite mentioned his desire to be apprenticed to the Great Morlokk. As it turned out, Demitrious himself had once been a student of his. The conversation flowed easily after that. Shr'lee showed him the Grimoire, which he believed to be the catalyst for the Binding spell of so many years ago. Demitrious was amazed. The book was indeed what Shr'lee figured that it was, and the party and the mage quickly struck a deal. The old wizard would be given care of the book for a month or so, to study it. He would later report to the party his findings. For now, he would remove the slaver glyphs from the party, and provide some healing. Draabyn also secretly asked for a special sleep potion, the kind that he'd used on those unwilling to sail earlier in his carreer. If they were still being pursued, travelling by boat to Mercia would be the only safe thing to do. However, the party had talked of it earlier, and Kramtha and Rothgar seemed very unwilling to cooperate. He'd almost forgotten that cat people weren't the most enthusiastic sailors. So, he could later spike the water of the pheyllesians to help get them in a more sea-worthy mood. Draabyn wanted to get back on the waves so badly he could taste it. The two civilian phellysians, having had enough adventure, decided to separate themselves from the party, to head west over land, to go home. Rothgar and Kramtha said their goodbyes and continued to argue with Draabyn about traveling by boat. Demitrious, impatient with the bickering and wanting to start his examination of the book, put Rothgar and Kramtha to sleep with a spell, telling Draabyn they were now his problem. Draabyn, with the party carrying and dragging the two cat-men in tow, directed the party to the nearby docks. He'd been there before. And, for once, his luck seemed to be holding out. Sancho, an old drinking buddy of the mariner's, happened to be in port with his trading ship, the Warthog. Sancho was pleased to see his old friend, as he'd heard the man was dead. Killed in a card game with an orc. Draabyn cleared up the misconception and used the funds at the party's disposal to book passage to Freeport, convincing Sancho to shove off within minutes. Counting the two sleeping phyllesians, the party now numbered five, with Shr'lee, Stryfal, and Callister Draabyn. As the ship pulled away from the docks, Stryfal noticed someone seeming to watch them. It was a knight on horseback. With a clatter of hooves, he thundered to the end of the wooden dock, glowering at the boat. The knight wore shiny black full-plate, and did not seem like a very nice man. This image burned in the party's mind as Warthog set sail.
Callister Draabyn was in a good mood for the first time in months. He had almost forgot what it was like to take in the view of the ocean, to smell the salt on the wind. Simple, glorious things he had always taken for granted. Well, never again. Sancho had previously mentioned he was a little uncomfortable transporting unwilling cat-men anywhere on the open sea, but soon settled in to the idea. That's Sancho, Draabyn thought. Always on the even keel. His afternoon musings were cut short, however, by Shr'lee running up from below deck. The baenite was quite alarmed, because the phellysians were starting to wake up earlier than expected. The mariner ran underdeck, to the quarters where Rothgar and Krmtha were groggily starting to gain awareness. Draabyn, taking a chance, quickly fed them both the sleep potion he had purchased from Demitrious. It did not seem to take effect. The phellysians bolted upright into awareness. And they were not happy. They shot Draabyn an insensed look, and sprang up to challenge the mariner. An angry fight very nearly broke out, with Draabyn about to embark upon a new career as a new make of cat food. Fortunately, Shr'lee was able to intervene peacefully, and through his diplomacy, the inter-party conflict was avoided. While the phellesians huddled below deck fuming, trying to think non-wet thoughts, Draabyn stood at the bow and examined the empty potion bottle that nearly got him killed. The label marked,"sleep" had started to peel away, revealing another label, yellowed from age, marked,"animal control". The cursed one laughed bitterly. What were the chances of such a grand wizard making the simple mistake of mislabling the very potion that made its way into his very hands? The joy of being on the blue again had caused him to forget about who he was, and what was being done to him. " Son of a bitch.." he muttered, tossing the bottle into the Sapphire Main. He was silent for the rest of the trip to Freeport. And so was everyone else...
This was the end of session two. In session three, the party journeys through Mercia to the spot on the map. Also, everyone almost dies horribly. Good times, Big Fun.