Thread: The New RPG!

Vahn loosened his sword in his scabbard and straightened, cracking the tension from his neck. He knew the heroes were getting close to Dethsahn, but running into the Black Sands’ Master of the March was an unexpected bonus. Lucien stood beside him, keeping the runners busy passing out last minute orders to his commanders. It seemed that the heretics’ activity had drawn powerful attention, which was encouraging. If there was another push in the offing they would not find the Order unprepared. Below, he could see the initiate who had brought him in. The boy had promise, at least if Lucien was to be believed, and if Vahn guessed correctly, then his return meant that Celtis’ group had passed through the rearguard elements. It was almost time.

“We are in position, my lord,” the initiate said, bowing.

Lucien nodded. Selling the plan to Lucien had been tough, but that was to be expected. He still had misgivings, judging by the looks he was getting. Vahn didn’t blame him. Things were tense enough without risking resources this way. Hells, he wasn’t even sure he approved of it himself. It didn’t matter though. They’d never captured a live Ahbri Nect, and if they could take any of the band alive, they’d have a rare opportunity on their hands. The men under Lucien’s command were a decent mix of initiates and blooded veterans, well suited to the task at hand. The other commanders were as proficient as could be hoped for, not needing any further convincing once Lucien had given his consent. Just as well he supposed, otherwise Celtis would have been long gone before they started moving. He told himself that he was being purely objective, that his desire for expedience had nothing to do with his promise to Skye. He knew better though. He only hoped she appreciated it.

“Very good,” Lucien said, shrugging his cloak into place. “Tighten the noose.”

The warband weren’t amateurs, that much was certain, they’d been moving constantly since he’d met Lucien, as though fearful of pursuit. There was no way the band could have known, so whatever else he was, this Celtis had good instincts. He wouldn’t break easily. Thankfully, this worked into their plans. And, he thought, as a signal was given down the line, right now the heroes needed some time to recover.

There was almost a sense of relief as the order was given, and the men began to move. Lucien had two hundred men under his command, eighty of which had been tasked with bringing in the band. Runners had been sent to find Laurel and the other heroes. The rest were busy watching the passes and taking care of another warband further south. It didn’t matter. Celtis was, by now, well and truly surrounded, and Vahn couldn’t suppress the quiet satisfaction he felt at the prospect of shedding heretic blood once more. He’d spent enough time wrapped in thoughts of deception that some unadultered violence was beginning to sound like coming home.

Behind him, there was a sound like a whisper as the archers opened fire. Two volleys, then they would form up to keep anyone that broke through the primary assault from fleeing. Freeing his sword, he kept pace with the men easily, face set. Right there, side by side with fellow knights charging towards a battle, Vahn realised something: he’d missed this.

“I have reason to believe their reach far exceeds that of Arin.”

Tristan watched with impassive black eyes as Aouron unrolled several maps, indicating places where it was known the Traders were working. “It is very clear that their reach extends to most of Islen. But the woman they follow, the Mistress, appears to be in Arin currently.”

He explained briefly about Alecin’s meeting with the Fool, and what they knew of Aia. “She was brought to Arin, and is presumably being held in the Traders’ Catacombs. We know the Mistress is a user of Old Magic, and that Aia is possessed by a daemon that goes by the name of Lamont.”

*******

“Come back … Maybe I can help you!”

Laurel half turned as she reached Windsong, looking coldly back at Berul as he writhed pitifully on the frozen ground, sheer terror clear on his face. He was a wretched sight, wet, battered and bruised, no dignity left as he begged for help.

But in truth, Laurel couldn’t blame him. She knew well the vindictive, cruel nature of daemonkind. To leave him to his master’s punishments was worse than any death the Heroes could deliver.

“At least free my hands … give me a chance. Please!”

Laurel turned fully and took a step in his direction. “Help how? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t leave you to the fate you’ve made for yourself?”

*******

“I am much rested and feeling far better. May I enquire as to your name? And Also, where am I? And what has become of my companions, my armour and weapons?”

Smiling, the head of the Council pulled a chair over to the Nenarai’s bedside and sat down, smoothing her robes out over her legs, newly healed from the burns she had received in the old palace.

“I am Saehenine, master Kinareth,” she introduced herself, folding her black-gloved hands into her lap. “You are currently recuperating in the infirmary of the mage tower, in Arin, after those rather unpleasant burns you received.”

That was an understatement, Ellya thought at the edge of the room, and characteristic of the mages.

“Your companions … most of them … are still on their quest to close the Daemon Gate. Your armour and weapons are waiting for you in the armoury. I’m afraid we couldn’t leave them with you considering the state of your injuries when you were brought in.”

Kinareth listened in dismay as Saehenine told him of the ongoing quest and his shameful injuries yet managed to maintain an outwardly calm veneer.
“Thank you Saehenine,” he replied awkwardly relieved to learn of the apparent good health and sound condition of the others.

He noted how the other woman, the one who he was sure had tended his wounds before had retreated to the edge of the room, passing authority of the patient over to this “Saehenine.” He made sure to note the name for she was obviously an extremely powerful woman and one deserving the utmost respect. Yet that had been clear simply from her carriage and the manner in which she conducted herself, seeming to stem from an almost innate expectation that orders would be understood and requests obeyed.

Thus he made sure to look directly into her unnerving gaze as he asked when he might be expected to return to his companions or at least be out of bed, amidst protestations that his strength was quickly returning to him.

Skye averted her gaze from Celtis's probing one, hoping that he would lose interest. The horse's lead rein snapped tight and Skye clutched the pommel of her saddle with bound hands as the animal lurched.

A gauntleted hand grabbed her chin in a steel grip and her face was forced up to look at Celtis. He stared at her impassively, his eyes boring into hers, the horse's lead rein tight around his other hand.

For a moment nothing moved.

"Do you know," Celtis said, "that soon you'll have no secrets from me. Whatever passes through your mind I'll be privy to." His teeth flashed in a sneer, "It could be quite annoying if you think too much. So, tell me--

Celtis was cut off in mid-sentence at the zipping sound of an arrow. The slender shaft seemed to bloom suddenly from one of the rider's horses, bright fletching a spot of color against the wintry drab scene.

The horse reared with an affronted whinny, the rider doing his best to calm it.

Celtis had let Skye's chin go and had grabbed her arm instead as arrows began to fall, his gaze darting this way and that.

Saehenine was impressed that the young Nenarai was able to hold her gaze as he asked when he might be able to rejoin his companions. There were few who could bring themselves to look her directly in the eye, and even fewer who could do so for very long. Kinareth was, then, clearly a man of great inner strength.

Or perhaps he was simply ignorant of the true nature of the woman he spoke to. Ignorance often did lend confidence.

"I am afraid, Master Kinareth," Saehenine said now, "That the injuries you received were very severe. Under normal circumstances you should not be able to get of bed or begin rehabilitation for weeks, perhaps months.

"However," she held up a hand to forestall the horror she knew such news would give to one of Kinareth's nature, "We have given you a little magical aid in your recovery. You should be able to walk around and partake in gentle physical activity. I'm afraid rejoining your companions is out of the question for the time being though."

She paused, clasping her hands together. "It is actually about your companions, or one of them at least, that I was hoping to speak with you ... Ellya."

Saehenine turned to the redheaded novice, who squeaked nervously, "Y-yes?"

"Leave us for a few minutes."

"Yes, Magess," the girl bowed and scurried from the room like a mouse chased by a cat.

Saehenine half smiled, then turned back to Kinareth.

"I'm afraid I have some rather ... unfortunate news to impart, about one of the young women who was travelling with you. Aia Senyth, to be specific."

Islen, bless her and keep her. All I am is bound in your service, I give my very breath to serve you and to hold her again, for all else is dust and air.

He narrowed his eyes as the second volley of arrows soared overhead. There was still screaming coming from the heretic band, coupled with the frantic neighing of panicked horses, abruptly cut off as they were sent to their fate. Ploughing on, he stifled the satisfaction he felt, reminding himself that they needed some of the group alive. And the more heads they had for the hangman's noose, the better.

For all else is dust and air. Strengthen my arm for war. You are the light this world rejoices in, the wind that lends speed to strike.

Ahead, he heard someone bark an order, trying to keep control. Let them try, he thought, it would do them no good. From the corner of his eye, he could see the knights to either side of him. One will, one purpose, and for a moment, he was reminded of Ariain. There would be no pride in this. For some reason he thought of Laurel...of Lucien. How many had they had to kill to get where they were? Unimportant, they did what they had to do, and so did he. So did he.

With a fierce cry, they broke through the cover of the surrounding trees and into a scene of utter chaos. Some of the horses were dead, most were wounded in some way, and all were rearing in panic, stamping on each other and their masters with equal abandon. A hoof to the face was no death for a knight, he thought, wryly. He had barely enough time to take in the surprise on the face of a heretic who wasn't old enough to shave before his blade cleft the boy in two.

Rolling forwards, he let the momentum of the blow carry him under the blade of another heretic. Leaping to his feet, he lashed out, the pommel of his sword colliding messily with the man's jaw. The man staggered and Vahn pressed his advantage, a quick cut to the man's throat ending the encounter. Parrying a blow from a heavy axe, he pushed the heretic away from him, eyes casting about for his prey. For a moment, all was blood, screams and the clash of steel, but beyond the tangle, he could see Skye. And with her...that was the man who had questioned Berul at the clearing. That had to be Celtis.

The armored man with the axe took another swing at him, and he dodged it easily, kicking the man to the ground and following through with his blade. He couldn't afford to waste any time. Face set, he waded through the melee. He knew his purpose.

"I'm afraid I have some rather ... unfortunate news to impart, about one of the young women who was travelling with you. Aia Senyth, to be specific."

One of Kinareth’s talents was reading people, or, to be more accurate, reading their expressions. Unfortunately he had been reared in a society so closed off from the rest of the world that foreign emotions were simply that. Foreign.

However, even to one such as Kinareth, a warrior trained and educated he could tell something was wrong. The tone of voice and expression on Saehenine’s face told him as much.

“How unfortunate exactly?” This was not going to be good.
“once again I’ve allowed people to come too close!” He thought. Although Aia and himself had not been the friendliest of people in the group they had also shown mutual respect to one another and he had grown to enjoy her quick wit and genial mood, even if she had grown more introverted as the journey had progressed.

He snorted.
“Should they be more “unfortunate” than the burns I incurred then truly you have me worried.”

“Good Gods was that a joke?”

Saehenine gave a thin-lipped smiled at Kinareth's poor attempt at humour. Leaning forward slightly she closely scrutinised his expression before answering; he seemed genuinely concerned for the Senyth girl, and appeared to have realised that his remark was inappropriate so she simply had to put it down him trying to cope with the idea that tragedy may have befallen one of his companions.

"I will be frank with you, Kinareth," she said at last.

"Aia Senyth has been possessed by a Daemon Lord. A powerful one at that, known as Lamont. She has been forcibly taken by a faction of the Black Traders led by a woman known as The Mistress, a practioner of Old Magic, who wishes to use Lamont's powers to further her own agenda."

Saehenine paused to let that sink in.

"Any questions?"

*******

Much to her dislike, Laurel soon found herself travelling with Berul slung over her saddle, bound and gagged. Although she had planned to leave him to his fate, he had given her a reason to keep him alive at least for now: he had worked with the Mistress, if not for her. He knew things. Things that might give them a small advantage.

And he could always be used to distract any daemons they might come across in the wastelands.

The Heroes weren't happy with the arrangements, but they understood her reasonings. They were just hoping for a daemon to appear sooner rather than later.