Episode 4: The Zabrischoll Chest

Gokrenxia    Prose    The Longest Journey      Episode 4: The Zabrischoll Chest

Content Warning

Self Harm, Dismemberment

Crew Quarters, Sin'glyyd Selash

Cassian leaned back against the sole wooden chair in his cramped quarters, eyeing the dark crimson wax-sealed vial on the table before him. He swallowed hard as a shiver of dread crawled down his spine. He felt queasy, telling himself it was from the horizon that seemed to bob up and down beyond the porthole as the wind and waves bore the Sin’glyyd Selash toward the third port on their journey, though he knew that to be a lie.
He unfurled a narrow scroll, spread it out carefully on the table, and studied the strange foreign runes. Though he’d seen his fair share of street performers and charlatans, he’d never seen real magic before. If the rumors were true, real magic could drive people mad. Real magic could just as easily kill you as someone else. He hated not knowing what was about to happen, what the runes meant, or why he needed them, but his orders had been clear. To deliver the third chest, he would need real magic.
Cassian removed his leather bracers and rolled up the sleeves of his navy blue tunic. Taking the vial, the wax cracked with ease, releasing a thin yellowish mist like an exhale on a cold morning. Hand shaking, he picked up the quill and dipped it into the vial pulling back a thick mustard-colored ichor. Setting his exposed left arm palm up on the table, parallel to the scroll, he began to draw the runes on his skin.
In the world of unsavory skills, Cassian had always favored those relying on either stealth or the spoken word. He'd much rather sneak or talk his way out of (or into) a situation and had never been particularly adept at forgery. Though suddenly he wished that were not true, for he'd been warned that failing to copy the runes precisely could send the spell horribly awry.
One elder symbol at a time, he pressed the yellow ink into his skin, desperately hoping the unseen forces of fate were on his side. The ink had a foul odor, like a fish dropped on land by a predatory bird and left baking in the sun, which only served to add to his nausea. Building from the glow of an ember to the light of a candle, as each rune was completed the ink glowed a little brighter and increased in temperature. By the time he'd completed the fifth of the eight runes, sweat drenched his brow. The sound of his heart pounded in his ears. He fought to keep his entire body from quivering.
Summoning every ounce of willpower he had, Cassian forced himself to focus. He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might break. As he penned the remaining three runes, their soft, sickly yellow light became a blinding blaze; their warm kiss a hungry, blistering fire. He could smell his skin beginning to burn.
Tears welled in his eyes with the completion of the final rune. His entire body shook with fear. Dense, pale yellow smoke billowed up from the searing hot runes, filling the room until he was unable to see. He grabbed his wrist, trying to hold on, but the pain was too great. His vision collapsed in a tunnel of darkness, sending him to the floor unconscious.

Disclaimer

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

Actual Play

Oracle: Challenge Time
Oracle: Blocked Mist
CI: Face Danger (heart)

7/6/8-W-PtP

CI: Pay the Price

-1H

CI: Endure Harm

6/1/4-S+1H

* * * * *

Cassian shuddered awake in a fit of coughing, dry dust and drier air filling his lungs. The hard earth and sharp stones beneath him poked painfully through his relatively thin clothing. His lips were cracked, caked with dust, his throat parched. His eyes widened, his mind trying to take in the strange and unfamiliar landscape before him.
Where for weeks he'd been surrounded by the shifting ocean tides, now there was only a static and desolate wasteland of earth. Instead of the well-tended wooden planks of the Sin'glyyd Selash, he found before him a vast graveyard of rotting and decaying ships illuminated by a massive harvest moon. Tattered sails flapped in the breeze, the only sound to break the otherwise lifeless silence.
Where am I?
In the distance an ominous mountain peak loomed proud against night skies, casting a long shadow across what he could only conceptualize as the desert of shipwrecks between he and it. A flicker of flames illuminated the mountain's base. Seeing the glow of flames sparked a fearful recollection of his arm, the spell, the ink, the runes, the pain.
How did those get back on? He wondered.
Cassian removed his normally well-kept leather bracer, finding it stiff and inflexible as though it had not been oiled in an age, and pushed up his tunic sleeve. There on the soft underside of his left arm, the now dull and darkened runes – a yellowish-brown like dried leaves heralding the onset of winter – stared back at him.
None of this makes any sense. Is this some kind of dream? Should I be relieved or terrified? How do I get home? Well, he chuckled to himself. I guess the spell worked.
Another coughing fit overtook his wandering thoughts. He rolled to his hands and knees, struggling to catch his breath. Once the fit passed, he drew himself up to his feet, eyeing his surroundings. His stomach growled with hunger.
Seems unlikely I'll find food or water in the husks of those ships. He sighed. No, the only thing that makes sense is to cross the valley and head for the mountain. Hopefully whoever is stoking those fires is the one I'm supposed to find.

* * * * *

With a watchful eye and little else to go on, Cassian picked his way down into the valley. Drawing closer to the ships, he was struck by how many different types and sizes there were. An unsettled line of thought began to form in his mind.
These ships aren't destroyed. They're not in pieces or lying on their sides like they were in a battle or ran afoul of some reef. It's almost like they were... abandoned.
The word echoed in the deepest chambers of his heart, as though he'd stumbled upon some profound truth. It consumed his thoughts and sent his mind spiraling down into a pit of despair.
You're never getting out of here, he told himself. You were a fool to trust them. You know the truth of it. They're never going to pay what they promised. They're going to kill you as soon as you deliver the last chest. You should give up now, end all of this in a manner of your own choosing. It would be far better than to suffer whatever fate they have in store for you.
As if waking from his own thoughts, Cassian suddenly realized he'd stopped walking. At some point he'd become overwhelmed and just... sat down... on a large boulder. He eyed the large ships with a deepening suspicion and glanced again at the runes on his arm.
Foul magics haunt this place, he thought. Resolving to get up and press on with haste, he chose to go around the remainder of the ships instead of heading further down into the valley.
Minutes turned to hours as the dry earth continued to crunch beneath his boots. His feet ached and his throat was parched. He scanned the horizon, but saw no signs of an approaching dawn. How long have I been walking? It's like time is frozen here.
Taking his focus from the path before him was a mistake. Cassian kicked a rock sending shooting pain through his foot and up his leg. He stumbled forward, crashing into the uncompromising ground with an Oof. And there he laid for several moments, mentally confirming he'd injured little more than his ego.
Looking back at the offending rock, he noted a slight glint of metal.
Hello. What have we here?
Cassian crawled back to the rock and began picking away at the encrusted earth only to uncover it was not a rock at all, but an ancient, tarnished crown. He turned the likely priceless artifact over in his hands as dark thoughts began to overtake his mind once again.
Kings and queens. For all their power. For all their wealth. Even the Lords and Ladies of the land cannot outrun the grasp of time and tide. The earth itself shall lay claim to the greatest and most lowly of the land. Everything for which I strive is ash and dust. It is pointless, like trying to hold water. My life is aimless, pointless. I have no true friends and my name shall ne'er be sung in the songs of great deeds.
The crown slipped from his hands, falling back to the ground with a clang.
I've got to keep going, he thought, but he could not muster the will to stand. Lifting the crown once again, he placed it upon his head. Without warning, the ground rumbled and shook. Large rocks began to break from higher up the slopes and careen toward him, building momentum as they rolled.
Fear gripped his mind. He sprung up, running with all his might across the avalanche's line, yet it was apparent he would never make it. Thinking quickly, he sprinted to the nearest outcropping of rocks and pressed his back against it. The tidal wave of rocks washed over the outcropping without regard and darkness overtook him.

Actual Play

Delve: Ravaged Badlands (Troublesome) Progress: 0/10 CI: Delve the depths (+wits)

3/4/10-M

CI: Reveal a Danger

67: Environmental or architectural hazard

Oracle: Transform Fellowship

The desert of despair

CI: Face Danger (+heart)

8/6/7-M-2Sp

CI: Endure Stress

9/7/6-S-1M+1Sp

CI: Delve the depths (+edge)

7/1/6-S+1M

Progress: 3/10

CI: Find an opportunity

02: The terrain favors you

CI: Delve the depths (+wits)

3-6-10-M

CI: Reveal a Danger

17: Unexpected environmental threat

Oracle: Defeat Fame
CI: Face Danger (heart)

4/1/5-W-1Sp

CI: Endure stress

9/6/7-S+1Sp-1M

CI: Delve the depths (+wits)

5/7/9-M

CI: Reveal a danger

68: Environmental or architectural hazard

CI: Face danger (+edge)

5/9/10-M-3H

CI: Endure Harm

4/7/9-M-2M

* * * * *

Petchryyg Pervak by dream by WOMBO

Cassian awoke with a start to the intense stare and pursed lips of an elder dwarf with a crooked hooked nose and ears the size of potatoes. He had gaunt cheeks, deep bags under his eyes, a scraggly white beard, and two tufts of wild hair to either side of his otherwise bald head. Faded tattoos covered the top of his head and stretched from his exposed forearms all the way to his fingers. His dirty brown and blue clothes were tattered and worn with age. Bracelets and necklaces of wood and silver adorned his person.
Cassian tried to move, but only succeeded in discovering not only was he immensely sore from the avalanche, he was also shackled in rusted irons. Thick metal manacles bound his wrists together, while a chain linked another around his ankle to a heavy iron ball.
"What? What is the meaning of this?" He exclaimed. "Release me!"
The elder dwarf regarded Cassian in the awkward silence, chewing on something.
"Eh. Perhaps." He began nonchalantly, with but a hint of an accent from Kungaroun. "But perhaps not. We have some questions first."
"We?" Asked Cassian, looking around for signs of others.
Ignoring the question entirely, the wild-eyed dwarf continued. "Who are you?"
Cassian weighed his options in responding, trying to quickly bring his normally quick-thinking mind into focus. A simple, straightforward approach seemed the best starting point. "A courier. Sent here to find someone."
"Sent by whom?" The dwarf countered.
Cassian swallowed hard. His employers were not good people. Revealing them could be risky. "Does it really matter? I'm here, not them. And I don't even know where here is."
"Seems like a problem, for certain." The dwarf chuckled. He dipped his head toward the yellow-brown runes on Cassian's forearm. "Tell me about those markings."
A pit formed in Cassian's stomach. "Honestly sir, I know very little about them. I was told …"
"...by your unnamed employers?" The dwarf interrupted.
Cassian nodded. "Yes, I was told by my employers this spell would help me find someone."
"Who?"
"A woman. A dwarf by the name of Hafyatsa."
The elder dwarf leaned back, crossing his arms, his wrinkled brow furrowing in displeasure. "And what do you want with her?"
"As I said sir, I'm a simple courier. I'm supposed to bring her a large chest."
With fists clenched, the elder popped up and began pacing back and forth, a stream of curse words in the language of the Stormbreak Mountains flowing from his lips. "You want to see her?! My Hafyatsa? Fine!" He grabbed Cassian by the tunic without regard for skin or chest hair and dragged him away. Across the unforgiving landscape they went, the iron ball catching every few steps, causing the manacle around his ankle to dig deeply into the top of his foot.
"Ahhh," exclaimed Cassian. "Stop dammit! This hurts! I'll walk!"
The dwarf dropped him to the ground unceremoniously. Cassian grunted, rolling to his stomach and simply lying there, attempting to catch his breath.
"Get up and follow," seethed the dwarf through clenched teeth. "It's what's you're good at, no?"
"Alright. Alright!" Cassian conceded. "I'm coming."
They made their way down into the valley of abandoned ships, crossing toward the closest mountain peak. Cassian stared up at the husks of old ships, as they weaved in-between them.
"What happened here? What happened to all of these ships?"
The elder dwarf slowed, but never stopped. "This place is a zabrischoll – a place for lost and forgotten things. Now keep moving and keep quiet. There are things here whose attention we would do well to avoid."
Onward they pressed with little more sound than the crunching of stones beneath their feet and a lonely breeze. By the time they reached the sheltered cave entrance to the mountain, Cassian's muscles ached from carrying the iron ball.
The cave itself did not extend deep into the mountain. The path was well lit by torches, leading to a single sizable chamber in the back. In the center of the room, a large black cauldron hung from wooden posts above a fire. Most surprising was the room was well-furnished with an actual bed, wooden chairs, and a table, all of which Cassian imagined were scavenged from the abandoned ships outside.
Furthest from the entry stood one of the most lifelike statues Cassian had ever seen. She was a dwarven woman, carved and shaped from a massive boulder with such care it almost brought tears to his eyes. He ran his fingers along the smooth-polished lines of her cheek and neck.
"This," began the elder dwarf, deep longing and loss in his eyes. "This is how I remember her, my Hafyatsa."
"I..." It was rare for Cassian to be speechless. "I don't understand. I was told the spell would help me find Hafyatsa and deliver to her a chest."
Moving to a set of driftwood shelves, the elder dwarf ran his fingers along the spines of a dozen books. "All that remains of my Hafyatsa is her memory. They knew that long ago. No, courier. You were sent here for me. They knew if you found her memory, you would find me. And even then, your employers do not care about Petchryyg of House Pervak. What they truly want..." His fingers stopped on a book whose leather-bound spine bore golden imperial script which he reverently removed from the shelf. "...is this. But I wager you have brought me something, as well? Your chest, perhaps?"
Noting the utter confusion on Cassian's face, Petchryyg pointed to a shadowed corner of the room. "You brought it with you." Cassian stared at the chest in stunned silence. "Go ahead. Look inside."
Cassian crossed the chamber, largely forgetting the soreness in muscles. Placing the iron ball on the cave floor, he nervously unlatched and opened the chest, finding within an old bronze urn. He lifted the urn from its place, turning to Petchryyg who smiled as tears began streaming down his cheeks.
"Yes. Here," said the dwarf. "Take the tome. Place it in the chest. Give me the urn and be gone, before it is too late." They swapped quickly.
"How do I..?" Questioned Cassian, but Petchryyg cut him off.
"Give me your arm. The one with the runes." Cassian complied.
Without warning, a hatchet materialized in Petchryyg's hand. Before Cassian could react, Petchryyg brought it down on Cassian's elbow, severing his forearm from his body.

Crew Quarters, Sin'glyyd Selash

Screaming and gripping his fully-intact arm, Cassian awoke on the floor of his quarters on the elven ship Sin'glyyd Selash. Mwangi Brahm, the ship's chocolate-skinned master-at-arms burst through the door, sword at the ready. Cassian, frantically confirming his arm was indeed there, noted the runes were gone. He looked to the confused Mwangi, rolled to his feet, and rushed through the door. By the time Mwangi caught up with Cassian in the ship's hold, he was standing over an open chest, holding what appeared to be an ancient tome.
"What in the devil are you on about man?" Questioned Mwangi.
"Change of plans," responded Cassian in a distant voice. "We're skipping the third port of call."
Confused as to what was happening, but knowing better than to ask, Mwangi backed out of the hold and relayed to the captain and crew the ship's new course.

Actual Play

CI: Compel (+heart)

8/5/9-W+1M

Counteroffer

CI: Compel (+heart)

3/1/2-S+1M

CI: Compel (+heart)

7/4/10-W+1M

Counteroffer

Oracle: Does Cassian know what he's picking up?

50/50 - 11 Yes!

CI: Compel (+shadow)

Scoundrel +2

6/4/8-W+1M

Counteroffer

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