Episode 12: The Scorpion in the Storm
Previously, on Tales of the Inner Council
Summoned by the now-deceased King of Vath'azen to the court of Stoverj, a little known Dwarven negotiator and mystic by the name of Tashkerr Dyber set out alone from the Stormbreak Mountains. Ten days into his multi-month journey, Tashkerr happened upon a human village in the plains known as Arden's Rest. There he discovered a secret arrangement between the head of the village and the animal-like Kynekin occupying the former Dwarven city of Kurzneirt. In retaliation for repeatedly pillaging the village, humans were abducting Dwarves as they passed through Arden's Rest and sold off to Kurzniert. Yet over time the human village found it was trapped in the arrangement and unable to get out from under Kurzniert's thumb. Tashkerr sent an even-handed assessment of the situation back to Stormbreak and used the threat of what happens next to Arden's Rest as his leverage to negotiate a way out of the town.
The Plains of Northern Rolighav
Two months ago...
"To arms," yelled the unfamiliar woman's voice, laden with urgency and a twinge of fear. Tashkerr's years of Deepwatch training kicked in. In the dark of night he rolled from his bedding, grunting at the stab of sharp pebbles covering the plains of Rolighav. He snatched his war hammer from his pack and dropped into a fighting position, heart racing. Though as he scanned his surroundings he was hardly prepared for what he saw. He was alone, which might have been a source of concern had the sky not seized his undivided attention. There above him, in every direction as far as his weak Dwarven eyes could see, violent navy and lavender clouds swirled in a fierce storm unlike anything he'd ever seen. Tash winced as thick streaks of lightning in similar shades slammed down from the sky like the arms of an angry beast pounding its fists into the flat expanse of the plains. It was a beautiful yet terrifying display of the power of nature. Panic set in. Instinctively, he scanned his surroundings for a place to hide, but the barren flatlands offered no shelter. He reached for his pack when another brilliant flash of lightning streaked down, stunning him momentarily. The associated crash of thunder shook him to the core. It is getting closer! So Tash did the only thing he could think of. He ran. As fast as his short Dwarven legs would carry him, he ran. He didn't know where he was going. Frankly, he didn't care which direction he was headed. The only thing that mattered was getting away. Behind him, a bolt of crackling purple energy struck his camp, charring the earth black where he'd been sleeping only moments before. He hesitated in fear, his mind screaming for his legs to keep going, but his body refusing to comply. Tash squeezed his eyes shut tightly and bore down on the leather-wrapped metal of his weapon until the knuckles of both his hands shown white. Perhaps the magic of the Wayfinder's Guild would help him find a path where none could be found. He exhaled a quick, solid, steadying breath and mentally reached for the natural flows of magic. Little did he expect the tsunami of overwhelming power that came crashing in. The Dwarven negotiator suddenly found himself drowning in a tumultuous sea of mystical energy, far more powerful than anything he'd ever experienced through his years of Istoyaver training. Like a rip current that dragged his mind and body under the surface, he fell to the ground, dizzy and gasping for air. The rivers – no, the ocean - of magic here was as violent as the storm itself. No, his mind tried to comprehend. The magic is the storm. He crawled on hands and knees, struggling to take a full breath as the force of the waves of magic pressed down upon him from constantly shifting directions. He pressed forward, uncertain where he was going, but refusing to relent. Lightning crashed down around him in a dance of destructive power. The muffled din of a great battle rose around him, filling his ears. Dozens, if not hundreds of shadows played at the corners of his periphery, disappearing when he attempted to focus upon them directly. "To me," shouted the woman's voice above the chaos. "Sound the rally cry!" A great horn bellowed, followed by the chorus of a dozen voices. "The Scorpion still stands!" "Rally to the Princess!" "For the Sharizaad!" Though not understanding, Tashkerr crawled forward toward the voices. A tangible wave of hope surged through the shadow army, granting him some small semblance of determination. Tash pushed to his feet and rushed ahead, following the sounds of armored feet pounding across the plains. A young, armored elven woman came suddenly, crisply into view. She turned, her long black braids spinning in the chaos. Her battle-hardened silver eyes looked through him. Blood dripped from the dull, pointed silver circlet seated upon her bronze-skinned brow. A red banner with an unfamiliar white crest waved just beyond her shoulder. Distant voices chanted foreign, dark words, punctuated by the deafening BOOMs of thunder as mystically-summoned lightning ripped through the ghostly army. Screams of pain and terror rose from the battlefield. The very air around Tash became electrified. His hairs stood on end as his mind screamed warnings of the coming lightning strike. In an excruciating flash of a blinding light, a searing pain seized his every muscle. Tashkerr cried out as he was lifted from the ground and propelled forward, bouncing off the dry-packed earth as if he were no more than a skipping stone. Pain shot through his body. Consciousness yielded to darkness' embrace.
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What follows is an Ironsworn RPG solo session. My notes will generally be captured in the form of:
Character Initials: action
six-sider/ten-sider/ten-sider-result(Strong, Weak, Miss)
Effect
Show spoiler
TD: Undertake a journey +shadow
4/4/6-M-Pay the Price
Situation:
Assault Superstition (a magical attack?)
Restore Passage (keeping him from proceeding/blocking his way)
TD: Face Danger +edge
6/7/8-M-Path the Price
TD: Pay the price
Waste resources
TD: Face Danger +edge
4/1/7-W--1Sp
TD: Endure stress
8/4/9-W- -1M, +1Sp
TD: Secure an advantage
Sense Favor
7/4/5-S+2M,+1next
TD: Face Danger (heart)
5/2/5-W-2Sp
TD: Endure Stress
6/1/10-W-1M+1Sp
TD: Reach a milestone
Journey to Stovery
4/10
The Hills of Northern Rolighav
Two months ago...
Even before his eyes opened, the scents of stone and dust baking in the midday sun filled Tash's senses. His lips were dry and cracked, his throat parched. The soft bedding of palm fronds was far more comfortable than the bedroll on which he'd largely been sleeping since he'd left his childhood home of the Stormbreak Mountains. As the fog of sleep retreated, realization set it. Where am I? Tash sat up quickly. Rather he attempted to sit up quickly, but his entire body protested. He groaned unceremoniously, his muscles aching, forcing him to rethink any significant or sudden movements and instead lie still. The small room in which he lay was minimalistic, the walls made up of large, square, sand-colored stones. A gossamer curtain the color of sky hung delicately over the doorframe, allowing natural light to pour in from beyond. It shifted slightly, disturbed by unseen movement. He felt the soft ripples of the flow of magic, barely a pebble in the pond, gently wash over him before her tall silhouette appeared in the doorway. An old and weathered hand swept aside the curtain, revealing the intense and unamused silver-eyed stare of an elderly woman. The skin of her face, long kissed by the rays of the sun, was taught, exposing high cheekbones, an angular jaw, and rounded chin. Two-tiered turquoise earrings dangled from her slightly pointed Elven ears, matching the turquoise and sand-colored series of necklaces falling upon her leaf-green shirt. From her wrinkled forehead, white hair peeked out from under a long turquoise head covering. She was Sharizaad; one of the long-lived Elven peoples referred to in his books as the "children of the Sun." Noting Tashkerr, she hesitated. "Finally awake, I see," she recovered, moving gracefully into the room with a small, faded bronze-colored tray skillfully balanced on one hand. Upon it sat a blue stone teapot with antique bronze accents and several small earthen cups surrounded by various colorful desert fruits in oranges and deep reds. "I had begun to wonder if the blood of Kungaroun had lost some of its fortitude these last few generations." Her tone was matter of fact, her face unamused. Tash, unable to tell whether she was kidding, chuckled nervously. She set the tray on a low-rising table beside him and poured a yellowish, steaming liquid into the cup. She pushed the cup closer and dipped her head toward it in an unspoken command to drink. Tash nodded, taking the cup. A light steam rose from the liquid's surface, and much to his surprise carried a sweet, pleasant scent. After testing its temperature, he drank it down. Its warmth ran down through his chest and into his gut, radiating outward and giving him an instant rush of calming relaxation. "Thank you. This is very good," he nodded sincerely. She sat studying him, emotions locked behind a veil of apathy. Glancing around the room awkwardly, he changed the subject. ”Where... where am I?" "Kireen Voojdad, Master Dwarf," she said plainly. It was clear from the look on his face the name was unfamiliar. With an audible huff bordering on annoyance, she poured herself a drink, took a sip, then continued. "You are in my home — In the hills of Northern Rolighav.” The corners of her mouth twitched in an ever so slight distaste at the name of the Human Kingdom. ”We are roughly six days ride Southeast from where the Kingdoms of Sanysgal, Vath'azen, and Rolighav intersect. You've been unconscious for four days." Tash opened his mouth in shock to respond, but she continued without pause. "My turn. Who are you and what are you doing out here all alone?" "I'm Vennik... Vennik of House Zulzny." Tash tried to appear confident, but her eyes narrowed. Her lips pursed. Placing the cup back on the tray, she folded her hands and scowled. “Let us pretend, Master Dwarf,” she began, a menacing growl in the back of her tone, “that in my many, many dawns in this world I have come to know more than a few of your kind; Enough to have learned some things about the ridiculous way you parade your Houses about as tattoos and stitchings on your bodies and clothing.” Tashkerr was suddenly keenly aware he was shirtless and slowly pulled up the covers. She waved her hand dismissively at his heavily tattooed chest. “And let us pretend that I remember the services rendered to the Empire during the Kynekin rebellion by your three greatest Houses - Zunoch, Vogrem… and Dyber,” the later, Tash's House, she emphasized knowingly. ”Let us also pretend that I… just… saved… your… life.” Tashkerr swallowed hard, feeling the color drain from his face and his stomach turn in knots. Something felt very wrong. She brought her lips close to Tashkerr’s ear and lowered her voice to a deadly whisper. “And I don’t like to be lied to.” From the corner of his vision, he noted her eyes flash a brilliant white light that filled the room. One of her long, vein-riddled hands clamped down on his forehead with impossible speed. A rush of magic, like being thrust under the powerful force of a scolding hot waterfall, came crashing into his pitiful mental wards, painfully melting them away with ease until the elder Elven woman gained unfettered access to his every thought. He wanted to scream, but found he was trapped in his own mind, helpless to but watch her pluck and discard his memories as easily as a child plucking flowers in a field. He could feel her intensity, the bridge of magic linking their minds. And there, a faint undercurrent of emotion snaking along beneath the surface of her own fiery thoughts... Fear. She was afraid. But of what? She was searching his mind for something. Something specific. He watched in his mind's eye as she deftly parsed through his years of apprenticeship under master Saldre in the Istoyaver, his time with the Deepwatch, the recent battle at Nishram Gate - Here she paused. There was something familiar about the Dweller. Something distant. But after a moment of hesitation, she moved on. The play across the screen of his mind of more recent memories slowed as she meticulously studied those of interest: the letter from the King of Vath'azen, Tash's meeting with the Soverika, the Enforcer of his own House who'd sent him on this "secret" journey. His memory of the high-ranking member of House Dyber's words echoed in the darkness, as if spoken in a large, empty chamber. "Whose are the shadowed hands pulling the strings here? What do they want? And why are they drawing House Dyber into their intrigues?" A searing pain shot through Taskherr's skull. The remainder of the memory trailed off and for a moment he felt as though he were free falling into an endless darkness. The rush of magic ripped away with little regard for his well-being. The world faded to darkness once again.
* * * * *
When next the woke, Tash's head ached like a night off too much ale and too little sleep. The simple room stood unchanged, the gossamer curtain swaying gently in the doorway. On the table beside his bed sat several weathered journals, atop which lay a hand-written note.
“I mistook you for someone else. Rest. Read. Recover. It will take at least a few days before your full strength returns. Meanwhile, given what I saw of your recent memories, I think you will find these topics of interest. We will speak soon. ~Nizara”
He glanced at each of the titles in turn, and chuckled at the last of the three: “Exercises for Enhanced Mental Defense.” It wasn’t exactly an apology, but given how tightly Elves supposedly protected information about mystical arts, she was clearly extending an olive branch. He was intrigued with her selections and dove in without hesitation.
* * * * *
The first of the tomes the elder Elven woman - Nizara - had provided entitled "On Memory Storms" turned out to be a journal written by another Sharizaad Elf living in this area around 200 years ago. In it he documented his efforts to learn about and understand the fierce unnatural weather event Tashkerr had encountered, which he referred to as "memory storms." He believed that in times of great emotion, turmoil, or suffering the rivers of magic running through the world could be agitated into a churning, roiling fury. Like raging rapids, these currents could manifest in a physical form, carrying with them imprints and impressions of the inciting situation. Through strange and wonderous mystical contraptions arranged throughout Kireen Voojdad, the author learned to predict the appearance of these storms and chronicled his attempts to find them, navigate them, and unlock the stories hidden within.
The second book, "Knights of the Scorpion," was written by the same hand. It contained detailed ink sketches of a vast battlefield in the plains where two great Elven armies clashed. Tashkerr was shocked to turn a page and find himself starting at a meticulously drawn portrait of the same battle-hardened, silver-eyed Elven woman he'd encountered in the storm, an unshaded and unfamiliar crest on a shaded flag flapped behind her. The author, or possibly several, had scrawled notes and annotations around the pictures, capturing thoughts and observations as well as many questions, about the woman he referred to as "The Scorpion Princess." They seemed to know very little about her, her cause, or the armies present in the battle, and were desperate to learn more. As Tash read on, a chill realization ran down his spine. This was the same battle he had seen; the same memory carried by the storm these authors had been documenting hundreds of years ago.
If this was already a memory storm 200 years ago, how long ago must that battle have taken place? Tash turned the idea over and over in his mind until he eventually drifted off to sleep.
Show spoiler
Nizara:
Haughty
Intense
Unrealistic
TD: Face Danger (+wits)
6/1/3-+1M
TD: Compel (+shadow)
3/7/10-M-PtP
TD: Face Danger (magic)
4/6/10-M-2Sp
TD: Endure Stress
5/3/8-W-1M+1Sp
TD: Hearten
Escapism (+1)
6/3/2-S+2Sp
Kireen Voojdad, Northern Rolighav
One month ago...
Just as it had every day for the last week and a half, the mid-day sun blared down on the small set of odd, open structures that made up Kireen Voojdad, causing Tash to squint as he came up from the underground stairs. He'd never seen nor read about architecture like this before. It appeared as though someone had carved long tree roots out of stone in the fashion of a giant, hollowed-out tree trunk. The part of the structures exposed above ground were curved in and upward then flared out at the top, similar to the center of an hourglass. A neutral-colored, conical, pointed canvas roof rested atop. Three open oval entryways faced in a triad of different directions, allowing what little breeze there was to flow freely. Tash felt the soft ripple of Nizara's magic gently brush against his mind and smirked, checking and rechecking his mental defenses. He pulled the cowl of his cloak forward, bringing his eyes some solace as he stepped lightly down the wide-carved stairs to the surrounding sand. A short distance away, with her back to him, Nizara crouched in her loose-fitting clothing as she performed her chores, much as she had every day since he'd began venturing from his room. "Good day, Master Vennik," she called without turning. "Quite the rain storm we have today." Glancing up at the crystal blue sky, Tashkerr leaned into his senses. Taking an example from the third book Nizara had provided, "Exercises for Enhanced Mental Defense," he imagined a stalactite poised above a deep lake. A single drop of water dangled from its tip. "Indeed," he responded. "I'm glad I wore my wet weather gear." In his mind's eye, the droplet fell. Instinctively, he moved his hands to capture it, keeping it from hitting the lake and disturbing the resting pool of magic that surrounded them. Nizara stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Better." She said. "But still far too slow. You'll need to be much quicker to mask your lies if you expect to survive in the courts of Stoverj. It takes you too much effort to even sense when someone's lying to you." "I think I am doing much better, especially since I have not been at this long," Tash replied humbly. Nizara stared at him blankly, unamused. She rose, smoothing her robes and moved silently to serve herself some food from the fire. Tash moved to join her, but suddenly discovered he was unable to move. Sweat began to pour down his brow as his body temperature increased. "What? What is happening?" He asked, concerned. "What are you doing?" The elder Elf lowered herself onto a stone seat facing the Dwarf and began to eat. "You're Istoyaver training is abysmal and not at all practical." Disdain dripped from her voice. "Clearly your kind haven't needed it to survive. So..." She took a bite from her meal. "You want to eat lunch? Force me out of your mind. Take back control of your own body." As the sun slowly angled away from the midpoint in the sky, Tash struggled against Nizara's magic. She had long-since finished her meal and left him standing there, the hot sun causing him to swelter under his cloak. His muscles screamed for release. "Nizara!" He yelled, his Stormbreak accent thick. "This is not funny! You have made your point!" But he was only answered with silence. She does not understand. This is not the path of the Wayfinders. Nizara's voice responded somewhere in the back of his mind. Perhaps, Master Dyber, it is you who don't understand the seriousness of the den of wolves you're walking into. She chuckled at her own wittiness in referring to the seat of power of the animal-races, and then she was gone.
* * * * *
Discomfort led to despair. Frustration gave way to fury. Drawing from the concepts in the book Nizara had provided, Tashkerr closed his eyes and imagined himself standing in the darkness, the cold steel of his warhammer perfectly balanced in his hands. In his mind's eye he rushed forward in no particular direction toward a massive wall - his glowing magical prison. He harnessed his anger and pain, willing a surge of magical force to gather around him and channeling it down the length of his weapon in the form of engulfing blue flames. Clenching his teeth against the forthcoming shockwave certain to reverberate through his entire body, he swung the burning instrument into the mystical wall with all his might. The sharp crack of metal on thick glass was followed by a deafening silence. For a moment, Tashkerr thought he'd failed. Until suddenly, like ice atop a frozen lake, there was a great splintering and shattering as Nizara's spell was defeated. In the physical world an explosion of white light announced Tash's freedom, driving him to his knees, his muscles crying sweet release.
As his senses returned, Tash realized it was night. The magnificent stars of the open plains shone down.
How long was I frozen there? He wondered just before a slow, sharp clapping startled him from his thoughts.
Kharveg by dream by WOMBO
To Be Continued...
Show spoiler
TD: Face Danger (+magic)
5/1/9-W-1Sp
TD: Endure Stress
8/3/8-W-1M+1Sp
TD: Reach a milestone
Journey to Stoverj
6/10
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