| Logs |
2001 October 20
| Inizii |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Inizii Logs |
Night and Fog
╨╧рб▒с > ■ + , ■ * ▄еh Wр e ЩH чS ЩE R j R j jR jR jR jR ░H └R └R └R └R └R └R ╩R └R -S 1 рR рR рR рR рR рR рR рR S S S S S S S ^S X ╢S 1 -S jR рR % & рR рR рR рR -S рR jR jR рR рR рR рR рR рR jR рR jR рR S @аR╪НК┴jR КR 6 jR jR jR jR рR S рR - рRDarkness. Full, rich, ominous. Then, it seems to wane, the lights of candles and of the moon streaming into the hallway, just outside Kyrel's room in 'The Fierce Kobold'. It seems to be gloomier, but the muted sounds and smells of the taproom comes from downstairs.
Kyrel sighs and stretches, lighting another candle as the darkness gets depressing. I used to like the night. Damned vampires... Kiri shifts overhead and chirrips curiously. "I know. Let's go downstairs and get something to drink, shall we?"
The air smells of food, of the fire that wards off the chill night, though both the heat and the cold seem detached, just for a moment, until the taproom comes into view. Its full, perhaps a quarter of the town in tonight. The bartender is wiping glasses and serving drinks... but something seems off. Not easily noticed, or apparent, but something nags at his feelings, perhaps a faint prickling at the back of the neck.
Kyrel orders an ale for himself and a drumstick to share with his familiar. He finds a spot near the wall and sits down, trying to decide what feels wrong. His half-brother's departure has left an empty spot by his side, but somehow there seems to be more to his disquietude than that. He amuses Kiri by throwing shreds of chicken into the air for the bat to snatch. Most of the other patrons ignore Kiri's antics, having had months to grow used to them.
Irievyre returns with the mug of ale, setting it down. A smile crosses her face briefly, before she wanders off through the bar. Even as he takes the mug to take his first swallow, something catches his eye within it. The foam, bits still clinging to the liquid, swirls about the top. A circle of pale white forms, while above it, the broken, almost misty, shape of a crescent appears over the full disc.
Kyrel blinks at his ale, staring at the top of the mug halfway to his lips for a long moment. The crescent and disc hold their shapes for a full ten seconds before dissolving back into random bits of suds, and he puts down the ale untasted. Now that was weird. I wonder.... maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something. He resolves to try a clairvoyance spell when he goes back to his room, just to see what might turn up.
The symbol is easily recognizable from his memory; the mark of illusions, the mystic patron, lord of dreams, symbol of Sashelas, god of the People - his mother's people, at least. The feeling of overwhelming forboding, of some ominous wrong is still there, even through the meal. Kiri's chirps start to wane, the bat even ceasing to talk mentally, as if the mood had even infected him, had brought the enchanted animal to quiet depression.
Kyrel ponders, mentally shrugging and drinking the ale as he considers what to do next. Is He try to send me a warning? A message? I'll have to go talk to the priests. None of them are fellow worshippers, but they might be able to tell me something...
At some point, subtly at first, a new smell seems to tickle the half-elf's nostrils. Yet, it grows in intensity, becoming prominent: Death. The utter dread of sorrow spiced with the unmistakable stench of carrion. Yet the patrons keep talking, drinking, singing, gaming, seeming unaware even as the stench grows to gag the half-elf.
Kyrel finishes his ale and stands, wrapping his cloak around himself and calling Kiri down as he heads toward the door. The miasma is growing, and no one else seems to notice it. I either need to clear my head, or talk to someone about this. Something is wrong.
As if he'd always been there, Tomals stands in the doorway, looking deathly pale, his face overcast with a tinge of grey. Blotches of purple and red run up his arms, almost like claw marks. The boy stumbles out the door, the sounds of coughing, almost a hissing wheeze spilling from lungs, as he rocks out the door, plunging into the night.
Kyrel stops for a moment in shock as the ... apparition? ... precedes him through the door. He races out after it, telling Kiri to get ready to scout.
There seems to be no need; Tomals has stopped just outside. The boy doubled over, the bare skin of his arms, face, and neck ashen under the markings. Then, as some felled tree, the young spellcaster begins to sway, ready to topple.
Kyrel kneels beside the boy, even as he tells Kiri to take High Sentry. "Tomals? What happened to you?" He reaches toward the youngster's wrist to search for a pulse.
The boy is limp, lifeless... and, then, the half elf spots something. The eyes. Almost a putrid green amber, clouded with madness, the pupils shrunken drasticly, appearing to be slitted like a cat's.
At closer examination, the marks don't appear to be cuts so much as blotches and lines on the skin. The boy is burning with fever, in any event, so Kyrel heaves him up and starts carrying him toward the Temple. Maybe the priests can deal with this, whatever it is.
Even as the half-elf makes his way to the temple, that earlier ominous sense, the feeling of despair, returns, seeming to come in waves, now, like some twisted beacon, emanating from the fields beyond the town. The streets, the houses, even the temple are dark, cold, full of shadow.
Kyrel pounds on the door, trying to rouse one of the caretakers at least. It's not like them to lock the place up. People get sick at night....
Nothing answers him but echoes. The sound of the heavy thumps taunts him as the reverbate without response. The weight in the illusionist's arms start to lighten, as the waves of discord, of desecration continue to pour from the fields, as if calling, daring.
Kyrel props Tomals against the door of the Temple .. maybe he'll be safe, at least, on consecrated ground... and calls Kiri to take point. He casts Flight and leaves the ground, flying over the town and its surrounding farms, trying to see where the waves of despair are coming from. As the mage takes flight, as he moves over the fields, two things become apparent. One, these don't seem to be the same crops as the people of Tarlbren plant; their season of planting is waning, and these plants look fresh, as if before a harvest...or, the outer edges do, at the very least. As the mage moves over the edge of the field, before his eyes, lines within the crops, some wheat or corn, begin to wither, to melt and decay in on themselves. Two outer lines, beginning an arc of a circle, and diagonals.
Kyrel blinks as the out-of-season crops begin to melt into a circle-and-pentagram centered on the town, and he heads for the edge least formed, trying to escape before he's trapped inside.
As the mage flies faster, it seems to keep up. But, instead of a pentagram, instead of five points, it's seven...with an extra line. As the mage draws closer to the edge of the fields, the forest, the eighth point is spotted, right next to another, almost overlapping. A small flash, a blackish red fire. As the fires die, whispers, teasing, sinister, play in the half-elf's ears. The sound of a flapping wing, the rustle of air, and fear, evil incarnate, the beacon seems to flood from behind the mage itself, as a wicked laugh, spears the air behind his flight.
Kyrel turns to face the laughter, trying to locate his tormentor. "Show yourself! Where are you?!?" And, it does so. A shadow befouls the night, the moon's silver rays illuminating something not of this world. A wreath of purple fire, speckled with sickening green, hovers over onyx horns. A body like some succubus, temptress fiend, yet somehow it's definitely not that. Wings of sheer darkness spread, the body tinted dark - not the darkness of the night, but simply wrong, with highlights of near black ameythst, deep emerald streaking its features. Another laugh, the abyssal form drawing closer, slowly.
Kyrel tries fire against the apparition, Burning Hands slashing flame against the darkness. What is this thing?
With a wave of the hand of the entity, the fire shifts, its essence changing. Not a fan any longer, the arcane flames twist, circling the fiend. Its hand reaches forth, as the color-streaked dark body draws nearer, clawed fingertips brushing his cheek. Instantly, pain and nausea sweeps through his body, blisters covering the fingers of Kyrel's profession, hands swelling to the point that agile fingers cannot work their Art...
Kyrel starts, sitting bolt upright in bed. Hands claw upward, almost pawing at the air...and then, the realization that they're not swollen, that there is no sinister, hellish being. Cold sweat, hot panting, stomach still fluttering, his nerves shot with a moment of exhilaration and remnant fear. On the ceiling, Kiri chirrips, surprised, yet sensing the climax to Kyrel's torrid emotions through the night. Light, pre-dawn, peeks through the Inn window.
Kyrel shudders with the reaction, the realization that it was a dream. But ... what did it mean. I'd better talk to the priests. Maybe they'll have some ideas. It did start off with Sashelas' symbols.
The memory is already starting to fade a little, and the half-elf grabs some paper and jots down what he can still remember of it before it's all gone. Not that I want to remember that nightmare, but it might be important.
The temple bells ring, signfying the early morning, that the church is wide awake, to get others in the town to follow suit. The morning sun is just starting to warm the grass, as the half elf slips into the open door, an acolyte greets cheerfully, if not a bit tiredly.
Kyrel nods to the acolyte. "Morning. I had a very odd dream last night. Who should I talk to about interpreting it?"
He chuckles. "Perhaps a diviner? A mystic? Perhaps the cook; he might've slipped you some bad cheese." A playful grin. "To tell you the truth... Er... The Bookmaster, sir Kyrel.
Kyrel grins back. "Is he busy?"
The acolyte taps his chin. "Yes... He's likely finishing his morning prayers, right about now..."
Kyrel chuckles. "I'm not busy. Let him know I'd like to see him when he's done."
"Of course. Please, have a seat in the chapel, and I'll let him know." He smiles. "The alter is dedicated to Oghma, yes, but he opens his doors to all goodly religions. It is simply our way, to offer assistance to those seeking knowledge and aid. It would be no trouble, if you offered your words in our chapel... although, we may not have any of the proper holy symbols, if you wanted that...
Kyrel nods as he enters the chapel. "Not to worry... I've got my own." He bows to the altar - Oghma is a god of knowledge, after all, and therefore one that all mages respect - and pulls the disc and crescent medallion out from under his shirt. Are you listening, Lord? As a warning, that was both alarming and obscure. I hope things get clearer before it's too late.
After several minutes, an aging gentleman in robes of somber colors steps into the room, rubbing faintly at his blonde beard. "Ah!" He calls, cheeringly, spotting the half elf...and then pausing, suddenly noting his position. Being one of the cloth, and at the very least a respectful man, he can understand to leave people be, when they wish to speak to the higher powers.
Kyrel blinks, thinking he's getting an answer for a moment, then grins to himself. Well, thanks for the warning, anyway. You know where to find me if you want to talk to me. He gets up and greets the old cleric. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I had a very odd dream last night, and I wanted to ask you if there was anything in it that sounded prophetic."
He briefly describes it, referring to his notes... the diseased Tomals, the abandoned town and temple, the distorted, almost hidden, octagram and the disease-causing demon.
He smiles, nodding in understanding. "Of course... Dreams? Hmmm." He tugs lightly at his beard. "I see..." His face grows dower. "Well, come with me... My knowledge of the darker gods isn't as full as you might think. Follow me..." The priest turns, moving out of the chapel, and into a library. Although it's small, perhaps forty feet by forty feet, the room has several stacks, not to mention shelves in several rows. Despite being located in a small town, the church is dedicated.
Kyrel says, "Any little bit might help. The dream started with Sashelas' symbol, so I think it was a warning He sent. If nothing else, you might recognize a pattern if it's aimed here at Tarlbren rather than at me in particular."
A nod. He moves into the sections, and runs his fingers over the bindings. "Let's see... Ah!" He removes a volume from the shelves. "This is actually more of a book for healers, studies and observations on diseases...however, there might be something in here that might help. To my office? I would simply care to keep quiet, within the library.."
Kyrel nods. "And this does not need to be common knowledge just yet, either."
The priest leads Kyrel into his chambers, closing the door. "Now, likely you will not find out all the knowledge on this, here, or by me. The goddess I am thinking off... she is not a threat, to our church. I do know the order that are bitter enemies to her, though. They would likely have all the information on it." He sets the book down upon a writing desk, turning page after page carefully.
Kyrel waits for the elder priest to find the reference he's looking for, not disturbing him while he searches. Kiri crawls out of his usual spot in the half-elf's tunic and perches on his shoulder to watch.
"Ah." He turns the book over, so that the half-elf can get an easy look. On the page is etched a triangle, at each corner, a round, almost 'bottle' like flame. "The symbol of Talona. Mistress of Poison, Plague, Pain, and Suffering. As you can imagine, since I believe you had a paladin of the order, Ilmater and her are always at odds."
Kyrel chuckles. "Bodan. He's not the brightest candle in the chandelier, but his heart's in the right place. He's planning to stay on here in Tarlbren for a while, I think."
A nod. "I believe he's helping reconstruct one of the homes that was nearly destroyed. Definitely a man dedicated to his calling. If he doesn't know, and I don't think he will have a lot for you, the port city of Seleguant, south of here, has a large temple dedicated to the Suffering Lord. True, they have a few smaller chapels, for other goodly deities, but Ilmater is the patron to the city."
Kyrel nods. "And he suggested that someone take the orphaned boy there, if I remember. Derleth and I may be headed that way ourselves, and we'll offer take him along if we do."
The high priest tips his head. "Hm? I believe Derleth had mentioned the boy himself asking to go there... I wasn't aware that Bodan had mentioned it... But," He shrugs his head, giving a rueful grin. "With age, the memory distorts itself. Anyways, if it has to do with disease, then this," He taps the symbol, "Is a likely place to at least look. If it's not her, then it could be something infernal, or magical... I've never heard of such a sickness you described, but I'm not the most skilled and experienced healer."
Kyrel says, "I suspect that the Mistress of Disease could come up with new ones if she wanted to. I'll keep this in mind, and Ilmater's main temple certainly sounds like a place to look."
He chuckles. "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance... We don't have a lot on the Plague Maiden, but I hope I've atleast planted the very seed to a new tree of understanding and learning."
Kyrel chuckles. "You pointed me in a direction to look. That's more than I knew when I came here, and that was the whole point of the exercise. Thanks for taking the time to look it up for me."
A warm smile offered, under the amber beard. "A pleasure. Anything, to lead you down the path. Do you happen to need anything else?"
Kyrel thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. "Nothing that comes to mind. Is there anything I could do for you? I'm going to be spending some time brewing up a few potions... I could do one or two for you at the same time, if you'd like. Flight, or invisibility, I think."
With a wave of his hand, the priest dismisses the notion. "I appreciate the offer, but I have no need for them. Except for the incident with the undead, and those ogres, this village has seen very little trouble. I can't say I have much use for a thing..."
Kyrel says, "Ebrek is ... not destroyed, but we came very close and we did kill his minions. He'll have trouble doing much now that the folks here know about him, and I think he'll have fled. Bodan's going to get that gem of his remounted, just in case - it might be effective against him. He was certainly going to a lot of trouble to get it back from us.... If you do change your mind, let me know. It never hurts to have something as backup, after all. "
Nodding, the Bookmaster smiles. "Indeed, you have a point. Although, I doubt either would be incredibly effective...unless said potion were used to follow the mists. However, the milita that you trained are capable, I think, of at least slowing him down; now that it's known what is afoot, I believe most will know to put garlic on their doors, if someone turns up missing, and others go to hunt.
Kyrel grins. "Knowledge is the best power of all, isn't it?"
A chuckle. "It most certainly is. Anything else? Otherwise, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for morning meal." He offers a smile.
Kyrel stands. "Of course, of course. You know where to find me." He bows to the cleric and takes his leave.
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