Post by Dead Greyhawk on Aug 29, 2007 20:10:05 GMT -5
The time of leisure weighs on Raven, and his curiosity begins to get the better of him. Several weeks have passed since the interrogation of the priest. Has the skeletal creature moved? Can Dell still see through its eyes? It has already seen Raven and Otto, so allowing it to see Raven again can't hurt, can it?
Raven broaches the subject with Dell. Dell quickly agrees, almost as if he wanted to try out the circlet again, but needed the smallest of nudges to do so. Once more a second layer of vision overlaps his own. Rather than the dank innards of a cavern and tunnel, a starry night appears in sight. The creature strides through the night, its deathless pace unswayed by needs like food and water. Instead, it lumbers on ceaselessly.
Dell looks about, trying to see a landmark or image that will identify the location for him. From the night sky, it is plain that the creature is nearby, perhaps slightly to the north, as the constellations occupy similar heights and positions. No landmarks come to sight, but rather fearsome foes! A small band of shadowy warriors, translucent forms clad in dull armor, lope behind the skeletal creature like soldiers following their officer. Dell counts almost a dozen of the creatures before a searing pain lances through his head, constricting around his brain like a lasso of fire.
Dell whips off the circlet and stares at Raven. "Well, did I do strange things?" asks Dell. Raven nods. "He's got company as well," says Dell. "Let's try to avoid him. It's a big world."
The date for Cedrus's return comes and goes. The Company is more frustrated than worried. Cedrus is a capable priest and can take care of himself, but they have arranged with him to meet in Longspear. Dell especially wishes to see him, since he carries Dell's magical pouch, full of gemstones. Day after day pass though, with neither word nor sight of Cedrus.
One day, as Raven and Otto exit their regular meeting with Sir Highrider and the others, Richard Coldheart draws them aside into a small meeting room. "If you have the time," begins Coldheart, "I have a man who wishes to speak with a capable band of adventurers who are able to see their way to the right of things. He is well connected, this man, and I would not wish to waste his, or your, time."
Raven thinks and pauses a moment. "We are always willing to entertain new offers of employment," responds Raven, "but we are discerning gentlemen. Discretion is key, and, if we can not assist, we will at least not be a waste of his time."
Coldheart stares ironly at the two warriors, each of whom are likely his equal or better on the field of battle. "Very well. Gren's Place tomorrow at noon. He will know you by sight," barks Coldheart, as he turns and exits the room.
Raven knows of Gren's Place, a dismal dive by the docks frequented only by sailors, and generally not prosperous ones at that. With the battle and the need for boats to ship supplies across the Javan, Raven would be surprised if anyone would be present there. “Perhaps a good place for a meeting, if you didn't want anyone to see it,” he muses.
Indeed, Gren's Place is deserted at noon when Raven and Otto enter. They take an uncomfortable seat at a table that faces the door, and soon after noon a man enters, dressed in traveling clothes and wearing a broad cloak and hat. He strides directly to the two of them and joins them at the table. He sits, like the others, facing the door, and his eyes dart around the empty bar, ceaselessly looking and watching. He introduces himself as Thomas Louvaine, a courier for greater powers. Thomas Louvaine seems to be competent enough, though not as experienced as the two warriors he has joined. He leans in close to the others, as if to ensure that he will not be overheard by the nonexistent other patrons.
"You must not tell another soul what I am about to tell you," says Thomas Louvaine quietly. "The King is missing, presumed lost. Some say a great orb has eaten him in his bed. Others claim he is ill. A rare few say he is in hiding, directing his counselors in a gambit to unravel a conspiracy. I am told by unimpeachable sources that a great black sphere exists within Niole Dra, hidden in the palace, and that it centers on the royal suites." Otto and Raven take the news stoically, perhaps inured to the notion of leaders of men simply disappearing off the face of the Oerth. Thomas relates that great pressures exist in the royal court, with some of the feudal lords agitating for the appearance of the King. In this vacuum of power, the March Lord, Robert Mortimer, ruler of the Grand March, vassal to King Skotti, seeks to increase his influence. He plans to force the daughter of the King, Jessa, into a marriage of his arrangement, becoming the power behind the throne. "Those who are true to the throne see that he must be stopped," urges Louvaine, "but his well-seasoned troops and the Knights of the Watch must remain in support of the crown. This is, as you might expect, a difficult needle to thread. I search for a competent group of trustworthy men and women who can penetrate the March Lord's keep, take Mortimer from his very bed, and spirit him into Keoland, where it shall be made plain to him how vulnerable he truly is. He can then be returned to his lands, properly chastened."
Otto and Raven see several problems, such as how the group that does this action will likely be persecuted by the March Lord and that penetrating a fortified castle without slaying many of Lord Mortimer's men might be a challenge, to say the least. Thomas Louvaine reassures them that maps and guides can be provided, but it is plain that Otto especially has deep reservations about taking on such a job. Raven tells Thomas Louvaine that they must speak with their mages and priests who would take part, but that they will send word through Richard Coldheart as to their decision. Thomas Louvaine seems somewhat disappointed, as if he expected the leaders of the Company to have met with him and made a decision, but accepts Raven's answer, merely pressing him to be timely. The two warriors rise and leave, letting Thomas Louvaine depart on his own.
Dell, meanwhile, struggles with his own demons. Ever since the end of the battle, when in the final moments all was in chaos, he has hoarded away from the others the withered hand born by the golden-clad priest. The hand, a blackened, horrible thing, certainly can not be an agent of weal, and Dell is well aware of this. On the other hand, his use of Nerullite holy amulets and other questionable items had brought him surprisingly positive results. The helm, for example, taken in secret from the Nerullite shrine had provided him with the ability to see these insights in an orderly manner, rather than relying on intuition as he had done for so long. Part of Dell wants to take out the hand and search it for its secrets, discern whether it can act as a fetish for magics he can wield. His magic abilities seem restricted to him, possibly because of his heritage, but occasionally he sees great insights in the works of others, men of the woodland gods, practitioners of illusion and misdirection. The hand might provide a similar opportunity for him into the priestly realm. Keeping his magical gloves on his hands, Dell often draws the hand out of its sack, still wrapped in cloth, and studies it. As much as he dreads it, he equally dreads not studying it.
That day, Dell is alone, the Wheat Field mainly devoid of all but its Hextorite guards. All morning Dell stares at the limb wrapped as it is in cloth like a babe in swaddling clothes. In a moment of inspiration, or will, he sweeps it back into its sack and leaves the inn. His destination is the Temple of Light, where, like with the Nerullite holy symbols, perhaps they can deal with this vile creation.
The Holy Wedge is a mass of broken buildings and destroyed masonry, but construction is feverishly underway. Sir Highrider has all of the militia hauling and assembling gross structures for the city walls, while other men have been hired by the various priesthoods to rebuild the destroyed temples. The Temple of Light, intentionally wrecked by the priesthood, is a makeshift structure at best, a wooden building only framed on its sides squatting on the site of what was once an airy temple.
Dell has no difficulties entering the temple, seeing Maximilian nearby, aiding in directing the workers rebuilding the great stairs. High Priest Abernathy Wernack is within the temple, and Maximilian is certain that Abernathy would be pleased to see Dell, one of those key in fighting for the city, immediately. Indeed, Dell merely gives his name to an acolyte and Abernathy soon appears. Dell is hesitant about pulling out a withered, blackened arm in full view of everyone, so he quietly whispers to Abernathy about the need for privacy. The two of them head to the rear of the Temple, where several small rooms have been built.
Dell is somewhat coy in his discussion with Abernathy. He speaks vaguely, somewhat in circles, and implies that he has something of value that is possibly evil that he wishes to be rid of. Abernathy confidently claims that the priesthood is used to dealing with such evil and has many rituals of purification. Abernathy eyes Dell, thinking that perhaps Dell has been adversely affected by disease or curse, and reminds him that Pelor sees all. "The Light of Pelor shines down on us all, Dell," patronizes Abernathy. "He sees all there is to see. Whatever it is, it can not be so bad that Pelor can not shed light upon it."
"You think you can handle this, huh?" cries Dell, a manic panic upon him. "Alright then, see what I've got!" Dell pulls out the withered, blackened arm from his bag, the cloth flopping down over his gloved hand, fully revealing the cruelly clawed hand and blackened, withered forearm. As Abernathy Wernack gasps in surprise, the hand snaps and grasps, like a living creature, and then lunges at the High Priest's face. Its long fingernails poke through Abernathy Wernack’s eye with a horrifying squelching sound, and its thumb loops through his cheek, grasping Abernathy's face by the cheekbone. Dell gapes and screams in horror as the hand thrashes about while he holds its forearm, Abernathy flung from side to side by its incredible strength. Coming to his senses, Dell tries to pull the arm and hand back, away from the High Priest, before it burrows a finger into Abernathy Wernack’s brain. He succeeds, pulling a full quarter of Abernathy Wernack’s face off of his head in doing so. The hand twitches and darts about, an eye still impaled on one finger, a cheekbone firmly grasped. Abernathy Wernack collapses to the ground, bleeding profusely.
The screams of Abernathy Wernack, not a young man to start with and having suffered a horrible wound, and Dell bring in acolytes and guards from the Temple. As the hand throws Abernathy Wernack’s face at the first acolyte to enter the room, the poor boy screams and falls to the ground, thus narrowly avoiding a grisly fate. Dell screams as well and rushes from the room into the Temple proper. The hand darts and snaps at the Pelorites as Dell flees the scene, the hand obscenely grasping every step of the way. Dell's last vision is of a startled Maximilian running for the rear of the Temple.
Dell runs for the Wheat Field as fast as he possibly can, not bothering to cover the hand, which becomes remarkably quiescent once Dell has left the Temple of Pelor. The Hextorites look surprised as Dell bolts between them into the inn, holding a disembodied hand in one hand, but little fazes their jaded mind. "Help! Aiighhh! Help!" screams Dell as he runs for his room.
"Tima! Oleg! Hold the door! Slay any who try to pass. Arms! Arms! Hextor calls you to die!" shouts Cathmandius. Pfiffwin, sitting on the balcony of the common room outside of his door, watching over the Company's belongings, oddly enough, jumps to his feet. Shaking off a moment of lethargy that had come over him, certainly not asleep on watch, he snaps to a decision.
Pfiffwin reaches into the belt pouch on his left side, grasping one of the small, smooth pebbles inside of it. With a quick flick of the wrist, he pulls the pebble free and tosses it over the balcony railing towards the base of the stairs. A blur of darkness flies past him as the stone sucks the light from the air nearby. Pfiffwin's aim is near perfect, and most of the common room and especially the stairs are plunged into pitch blackness. Loud crashing sounds are heard below, along with a high-pitched scream, suddenly cut off.
Raven struggles through the darkness towards the stairs. He can hear Dell, normally light footed, hammer up the stairs, howling as he goes. Raven bounces off of an armor-clad form and nearly trips as he skids through some strange material coating the floor, but he finally reaches the stairs. Looking down, he sees his boots covered with a greyish material that he unfortunately recognizes as someone's pulped brain. Raven takes the stairs three at a time.
He barrels through the door of Dell's room to find him sitting on the floor, holding the hand in front of him. The brains on the hand and blood on Dell’s clothing is more visible this close, and Raven is quickly aware that all is not well.
"Abernathy! Eyeballs and fingernails! Blood everywhere and cheek!" babbles Dell. "I didn't know you could do that to a man! Squish! It went squish!" he continues, clearly on the verge of a major breakdown.
Behind him, Raven can hear the sounds of heavy footfalls, Cathmandius probably chasing after them. Raven turns to face the priest of Hextor, to ask him what he knows, but Cathmandius acts first. Cathmandius's face is contorted with rage at what has happened in the common room below. With a clenched fist and a bellowed word, Cathmandius clamps Raven in Hextor's might. Pfiffwin fades into the shadows of the balcony, watching with wide eyes at the scene unfolding before him.
"Dell," says Cathmandius in an oily, ingratiating tone totally disjointed from his facial expression, "you look like you've had a bad day. Why don't we all just relax and think happy thoughts. Put down the hand, and we'll drink a round of wine together." Dell will have nothing to do with Cathmandius, and alternates between a hysterical giggling and a crafty glare, as if contemplating the best way to rip Cathmandius's face off. "It seems like bad things have happened, but really, it can all be easily repaired," continues Cathmandius, who keeps quite a distance between himself and Dell.
Raven seethes in Hextor's grasp as Cathmandius continues to try, unsuccessfully, to convince Dell to do his bidding. One of Cathmandius's men, a brute with a great six pointed arrow branded on one cheek, comes up through the darkness to confer with the priest, but Cathmandius drags him out of Dell's sight and sends him away with only a few snarled words. Minutes pass and Raven can feel Hextor's binding weakening. Cathmandius seems well attuned to the passing of time, and, as Raven suddenly regains mobility, Cathmandius makes the grasping motion once more.
Raven puts all his will into resisting the evil god's grasp, and it pays off. "Do that again, and I will slay you and your men," menaces Raven, staring down Cathmandius. "Tell me what I need to know."
"Your man has already started your winnowing of the faithful. Did you not see what is left of Misha down below? Dell struggles with something horrible, and he has already accessed its might. He must have worked with it in secret for years, or, by the look of things, bathed it in the blood of might," says Cathmandius, the sweat beginning to trickle down his scalp. "The darkness is just the start of what he might do."
"We have a gnome trickster," argues Raven. "You've seen him. He's likely the cause of the darkness. Tell me more about what's happening with Dell." Cathmandius loses his affect for a moment. Raven sees the inner Cathmandius for a moment, and he grows very cold. The priest of Hextor is a hard, hard man.
"Tima!" yells Cathmandius. "A gnome is here, menacing us. A minor trickster with globes of darkness. Find and kill it. Make an example of it." Cathmandius never breaks eye contact with Raven as he yells his orders out. "Your gnome should never have attacked us," declares Cathmandius. "His life is especially forfeit."
Pfiffwin, barely fifteen feet from warrior and the priest, hears his death sentence spoken. With a quick gesture and several glottal words, he transforms himself into a wispy, black form, a mimicry of a wraith's form. Squeezing under the door to the room and then out the window, he flees into the city, searching for Otto and protection.
"Your man needs to put the hand down on the cloth I will lay out in front of him or very bad things will happen," says Cathmandius slowly while looking at Dell. Dell looks up at Raven. Raven looks at Cathmandius. Cathmandius is already unfolding a cloth into a large circle on the floor. The cloth gives the illusion of depth, as if a great pit had appeared in the floor of the room, though that, of course, would be impossible. "Convince him," urges Cathmandius, "if he can't put it down, it bodes ill for him and for us."
"Dell, you heard the man," says Raven. "Put the hand on the cloth."
From the common room below comes a great bellowing, a rhythmic, repetitive shout. Raven cocks his head and listens for a moment. The sounds suddenly resolve; the Hextorites chant the name of their awful god.
"The Keepers of the Peace must have come," says Cathmandius. "We are running out of time." Cathmandius reaches down onto, and then into, the cloth and gropes for something. Dell hisses and draws up the hand, and Raven steps back, his hands going for longbow and arrow. Cathmandius pulls up his hand, showing them both a bright, red apple. "No tricks, just a place to put it," coos Cathmandius to Dell.
Dell looks as if he is in agony. The struggle on his face is monumental, as if he fights himself, and each blow is a brutal one. Finally, Dell's hand opens, and the blackened, withered hand lands on the edge of the cloth. It twitches and grasps, as if alive for a moment, and then teeters over the edge, disappearing from sight, as if it had fallen into a great pit. Cathmandius quickly bends down and begins folding the cloth again. "What's happened?" asks Raven of the priest.
Cathmandius continues rapidly folding the cloth, not looking away from his handiwork. "Your man had the Hand of Vecna and has used it to sacrifice someone or something of power," says Cathmandius. "He must not have succeeded, or he would not have been able to give it up. Either he, or we, would have been necessarily slain if he had fully grasped its power."
Dell sits in shock. The Hand of Vecna! So close to so much power, but also to so much death. Dell is seriously torn over losing the Hand. "I think I may have killed the High Priest of Pelor. I didn’t mean to. It was all the Hand," confesses Dell, coherent once again. "They'll come for me."
Raven looks at him in dismay. "We'll clear it up, but I don't want to fight our way through the city. We hand you over, and then we get you back," he says.
Cathmandius nods. "I'll tell my men," he says, and departs the room, bellowing down to his men. Indeed the Keepers of the Peace want Dell, and they want him badly. Diego, who has fortunately returned to the Wheat Field, and Raven escort Dell to the keep, making certain that no accidents occur to him along the way. Many hours are spent explaining what happened and waiting for news about Abernathy. While Abernathy, through the quick actions of Maximilian, has been kept alive, the horrible wound resists magical healing and has become putrescent. Many days of care and watch lie before the venerable high priest, and thus an equal number face Dell in his confinement.
Raven returns to the Wheat Field to find that the Hextorites are no longer present. Otto stands in the middle of the common room, armored and with his bastard sword drawn. "They left moments before I got here," relates Otto. "Pfiffwin found me in the practice yards and told me of their threats. Good riddence to bad rubbish!" Cathmandius, his leman, and his men have left Longspear only minutes after Dell was taken by the Keepers of the Peace. When they learn, instead, of Dell's misadventure and the Hextorite's possession of some evil artifact, their relief flees.
"We need to make certain that Abernathy Wernack pulls through and that the Governor is well disposed to us. Everyone pitch in," says Raven. "Find something useful to do and do it." The priests' role is obvious, and Winthrop assists in the defense of the city with his abilities. The others take guard duties and try to make their value known. Raven and Otto settle down to do what they do least well: socialize. Raven makes the rounds of the various merchant families, talking to them about the Company. Otto tries to ingratiate himself with the militia and the remains of Richard Coldheart's men.
Several days later, Otto is awoken by a horrible banging sound. Having met with Killain Anvilsplitter and his men until early in the morning, drinking dwarven ale to keep the voice fresh, banging is the last thing Otto wishes to here. Diego stands outside his door. "You'll want to go outside, now," says Diego, gesturing with the stick. Otto stumbles out into the early morning light, the streets still mainly empty, though the sounds of heavy labor start already.
Outside of the Wheat Field are an unlikely pair, a man clad in leather armor with a wooden shield across his back and a medium-sized grizzly bear. They lounge insouciantly in the street. "Ah, you must be Otto," says the man, extending a hand. "Cedrus's description was perfect. I am Herbert, sent to assist you." The man's delivery is flawless, and he has an easy manner about him. How he was able to get a bear across the Javan and into the city is a mystery, especially a bear of this size.
"Otto," says Otto, carefully shaking the man's hand. "Bear's called what?"
"Hmmm," hems Herbert, "Eats Salmon is probably close enough. He seemed very impressed by you. He claims to have heard stories about the Company of the Blue Sun and about you, though I can't imagine how. In any case, he's pleased to be here as well." Herbert turns to Eats Salmon and points at Otto. Eats Salmon climbs up on his rear legs and lets out what one hopes is a pleased roar.
"Hugging isn't necessary," says Otto, wincing slightly at the sound. "Nice to meet you both. Diego, find space for Herbert inside. Outside for the bear, but not near the stables. Talk to the Keepers of the Peace, so there's no mistakes." Diego nods and heads off.
"Who do you worship?" asks Otto.
"Phyton," answers Herbert.
"I worship the molten fire goddess of the mountains, Joramy," says Otto. "We travel with a formerly blind seeress, an avenger, several thieves, and an ascetic. Get used to contradiction. Stay true to yourself and all will be well in the end. By the way, don't tell the archers you worship the agriculture god; they hate him and think he's a front for the Reaper." Herbert seems to uncertainly ponder Otto's words as they enter the Wheat Field.
Raven broaches the subject with Dell. Dell quickly agrees, almost as if he wanted to try out the circlet again, but needed the smallest of nudges to do so. Once more a second layer of vision overlaps his own. Rather than the dank innards of a cavern and tunnel, a starry night appears in sight. The creature strides through the night, its deathless pace unswayed by needs like food and water. Instead, it lumbers on ceaselessly.
Dell looks about, trying to see a landmark or image that will identify the location for him. From the night sky, it is plain that the creature is nearby, perhaps slightly to the north, as the constellations occupy similar heights and positions. No landmarks come to sight, but rather fearsome foes! A small band of shadowy warriors, translucent forms clad in dull armor, lope behind the skeletal creature like soldiers following their officer. Dell counts almost a dozen of the creatures before a searing pain lances through his head, constricting around his brain like a lasso of fire.
Dell whips off the circlet and stares at Raven. "Well, did I do strange things?" asks Dell. Raven nods. "He's got company as well," says Dell. "Let's try to avoid him. It's a big world."
The date for Cedrus's return comes and goes. The Company is more frustrated than worried. Cedrus is a capable priest and can take care of himself, but they have arranged with him to meet in Longspear. Dell especially wishes to see him, since he carries Dell's magical pouch, full of gemstones. Day after day pass though, with neither word nor sight of Cedrus.
One day, as Raven and Otto exit their regular meeting with Sir Highrider and the others, Richard Coldheart draws them aside into a small meeting room. "If you have the time," begins Coldheart, "I have a man who wishes to speak with a capable band of adventurers who are able to see their way to the right of things. He is well connected, this man, and I would not wish to waste his, or your, time."
Raven thinks and pauses a moment. "We are always willing to entertain new offers of employment," responds Raven, "but we are discerning gentlemen. Discretion is key, and, if we can not assist, we will at least not be a waste of his time."
Coldheart stares ironly at the two warriors, each of whom are likely his equal or better on the field of battle. "Very well. Gren's Place tomorrow at noon. He will know you by sight," barks Coldheart, as he turns and exits the room.
Raven knows of Gren's Place, a dismal dive by the docks frequented only by sailors, and generally not prosperous ones at that. With the battle and the need for boats to ship supplies across the Javan, Raven would be surprised if anyone would be present there. “Perhaps a good place for a meeting, if you didn't want anyone to see it,” he muses.
Indeed, Gren's Place is deserted at noon when Raven and Otto enter. They take an uncomfortable seat at a table that faces the door, and soon after noon a man enters, dressed in traveling clothes and wearing a broad cloak and hat. He strides directly to the two of them and joins them at the table. He sits, like the others, facing the door, and his eyes dart around the empty bar, ceaselessly looking and watching. He introduces himself as Thomas Louvaine, a courier for greater powers. Thomas Louvaine seems to be competent enough, though not as experienced as the two warriors he has joined. He leans in close to the others, as if to ensure that he will not be overheard by the nonexistent other patrons.
"You must not tell another soul what I am about to tell you," says Thomas Louvaine quietly. "The King is missing, presumed lost. Some say a great orb has eaten him in his bed. Others claim he is ill. A rare few say he is in hiding, directing his counselors in a gambit to unravel a conspiracy. I am told by unimpeachable sources that a great black sphere exists within Niole Dra, hidden in the palace, and that it centers on the royal suites." Otto and Raven take the news stoically, perhaps inured to the notion of leaders of men simply disappearing off the face of the Oerth. Thomas relates that great pressures exist in the royal court, with some of the feudal lords agitating for the appearance of the King. In this vacuum of power, the March Lord, Robert Mortimer, ruler of the Grand March, vassal to King Skotti, seeks to increase his influence. He plans to force the daughter of the King, Jessa, into a marriage of his arrangement, becoming the power behind the throne. "Those who are true to the throne see that he must be stopped," urges Louvaine, "but his well-seasoned troops and the Knights of the Watch must remain in support of the crown. This is, as you might expect, a difficult needle to thread. I search for a competent group of trustworthy men and women who can penetrate the March Lord's keep, take Mortimer from his very bed, and spirit him into Keoland, where it shall be made plain to him how vulnerable he truly is. He can then be returned to his lands, properly chastened."
Otto and Raven see several problems, such as how the group that does this action will likely be persecuted by the March Lord and that penetrating a fortified castle without slaying many of Lord Mortimer's men might be a challenge, to say the least. Thomas Louvaine reassures them that maps and guides can be provided, but it is plain that Otto especially has deep reservations about taking on such a job. Raven tells Thomas Louvaine that they must speak with their mages and priests who would take part, but that they will send word through Richard Coldheart as to their decision. Thomas Louvaine seems somewhat disappointed, as if he expected the leaders of the Company to have met with him and made a decision, but accepts Raven's answer, merely pressing him to be timely. The two warriors rise and leave, letting Thomas Louvaine depart on his own.
Dell, meanwhile, struggles with his own demons. Ever since the end of the battle, when in the final moments all was in chaos, he has hoarded away from the others the withered hand born by the golden-clad priest. The hand, a blackened, horrible thing, certainly can not be an agent of weal, and Dell is well aware of this. On the other hand, his use of Nerullite holy amulets and other questionable items had brought him surprisingly positive results. The helm, for example, taken in secret from the Nerullite shrine had provided him with the ability to see these insights in an orderly manner, rather than relying on intuition as he had done for so long. Part of Dell wants to take out the hand and search it for its secrets, discern whether it can act as a fetish for magics he can wield. His magic abilities seem restricted to him, possibly because of his heritage, but occasionally he sees great insights in the works of others, men of the woodland gods, practitioners of illusion and misdirection. The hand might provide a similar opportunity for him into the priestly realm. Keeping his magical gloves on his hands, Dell often draws the hand out of its sack, still wrapped in cloth, and studies it. As much as he dreads it, he equally dreads not studying it.
That day, Dell is alone, the Wheat Field mainly devoid of all but its Hextorite guards. All morning Dell stares at the limb wrapped as it is in cloth like a babe in swaddling clothes. In a moment of inspiration, or will, he sweeps it back into its sack and leaves the inn. His destination is the Temple of Light, where, like with the Nerullite holy symbols, perhaps they can deal with this vile creation.
The Holy Wedge is a mass of broken buildings and destroyed masonry, but construction is feverishly underway. Sir Highrider has all of the militia hauling and assembling gross structures for the city walls, while other men have been hired by the various priesthoods to rebuild the destroyed temples. The Temple of Light, intentionally wrecked by the priesthood, is a makeshift structure at best, a wooden building only framed on its sides squatting on the site of what was once an airy temple.
Dell has no difficulties entering the temple, seeing Maximilian nearby, aiding in directing the workers rebuilding the great stairs. High Priest Abernathy Wernack is within the temple, and Maximilian is certain that Abernathy would be pleased to see Dell, one of those key in fighting for the city, immediately. Indeed, Dell merely gives his name to an acolyte and Abernathy soon appears. Dell is hesitant about pulling out a withered, blackened arm in full view of everyone, so he quietly whispers to Abernathy about the need for privacy. The two of them head to the rear of the Temple, where several small rooms have been built.
Dell is somewhat coy in his discussion with Abernathy. He speaks vaguely, somewhat in circles, and implies that he has something of value that is possibly evil that he wishes to be rid of. Abernathy confidently claims that the priesthood is used to dealing with such evil and has many rituals of purification. Abernathy eyes Dell, thinking that perhaps Dell has been adversely affected by disease or curse, and reminds him that Pelor sees all. "The Light of Pelor shines down on us all, Dell," patronizes Abernathy. "He sees all there is to see. Whatever it is, it can not be so bad that Pelor can not shed light upon it."
"You think you can handle this, huh?" cries Dell, a manic panic upon him. "Alright then, see what I've got!" Dell pulls out the withered, blackened arm from his bag, the cloth flopping down over his gloved hand, fully revealing the cruelly clawed hand and blackened, withered forearm. As Abernathy Wernack gasps in surprise, the hand snaps and grasps, like a living creature, and then lunges at the High Priest's face. Its long fingernails poke through Abernathy Wernack’s eye with a horrifying squelching sound, and its thumb loops through his cheek, grasping Abernathy's face by the cheekbone. Dell gapes and screams in horror as the hand thrashes about while he holds its forearm, Abernathy flung from side to side by its incredible strength. Coming to his senses, Dell tries to pull the arm and hand back, away from the High Priest, before it burrows a finger into Abernathy Wernack’s brain. He succeeds, pulling a full quarter of Abernathy Wernack’s face off of his head in doing so. The hand twitches and darts about, an eye still impaled on one finger, a cheekbone firmly grasped. Abernathy Wernack collapses to the ground, bleeding profusely.
The screams of Abernathy Wernack, not a young man to start with and having suffered a horrible wound, and Dell bring in acolytes and guards from the Temple. As the hand throws Abernathy Wernack’s face at the first acolyte to enter the room, the poor boy screams and falls to the ground, thus narrowly avoiding a grisly fate. Dell screams as well and rushes from the room into the Temple proper. The hand darts and snaps at the Pelorites as Dell flees the scene, the hand obscenely grasping every step of the way. Dell's last vision is of a startled Maximilian running for the rear of the Temple.
Dell runs for the Wheat Field as fast as he possibly can, not bothering to cover the hand, which becomes remarkably quiescent once Dell has left the Temple of Pelor. The Hextorites look surprised as Dell bolts between them into the inn, holding a disembodied hand in one hand, but little fazes their jaded mind. "Help! Aiighhh! Help!" screams Dell as he runs for his room.
"Tima! Oleg! Hold the door! Slay any who try to pass. Arms! Arms! Hextor calls you to die!" shouts Cathmandius. Pfiffwin, sitting on the balcony of the common room outside of his door, watching over the Company's belongings, oddly enough, jumps to his feet. Shaking off a moment of lethargy that had come over him, certainly not asleep on watch, he snaps to a decision.
Pfiffwin reaches into the belt pouch on his left side, grasping one of the small, smooth pebbles inside of it. With a quick flick of the wrist, he pulls the pebble free and tosses it over the balcony railing towards the base of the stairs. A blur of darkness flies past him as the stone sucks the light from the air nearby. Pfiffwin's aim is near perfect, and most of the common room and especially the stairs are plunged into pitch blackness. Loud crashing sounds are heard below, along with a high-pitched scream, suddenly cut off.
Raven struggles through the darkness towards the stairs. He can hear Dell, normally light footed, hammer up the stairs, howling as he goes. Raven bounces off of an armor-clad form and nearly trips as he skids through some strange material coating the floor, but he finally reaches the stairs. Looking down, he sees his boots covered with a greyish material that he unfortunately recognizes as someone's pulped brain. Raven takes the stairs three at a time.
He barrels through the door of Dell's room to find him sitting on the floor, holding the hand in front of him. The brains on the hand and blood on Dell’s clothing is more visible this close, and Raven is quickly aware that all is not well.
"Abernathy! Eyeballs and fingernails! Blood everywhere and cheek!" babbles Dell. "I didn't know you could do that to a man! Squish! It went squish!" he continues, clearly on the verge of a major breakdown.
Behind him, Raven can hear the sounds of heavy footfalls, Cathmandius probably chasing after them. Raven turns to face the priest of Hextor, to ask him what he knows, but Cathmandius acts first. Cathmandius's face is contorted with rage at what has happened in the common room below. With a clenched fist and a bellowed word, Cathmandius clamps Raven in Hextor's might. Pfiffwin fades into the shadows of the balcony, watching with wide eyes at the scene unfolding before him.
"Dell," says Cathmandius in an oily, ingratiating tone totally disjointed from his facial expression, "you look like you've had a bad day. Why don't we all just relax and think happy thoughts. Put down the hand, and we'll drink a round of wine together." Dell will have nothing to do with Cathmandius, and alternates between a hysterical giggling and a crafty glare, as if contemplating the best way to rip Cathmandius's face off. "It seems like bad things have happened, but really, it can all be easily repaired," continues Cathmandius, who keeps quite a distance between himself and Dell.
Raven seethes in Hextor's grasp as Cathmandius continues to try, unsuccessfully, to convince Dell to do his bidding. One of Cathmandius's men, a brute with a great six pointed arrow branded on one cheek, comes up through the darkness to confer with the priest, but Cathmandius drags him out of Dell's sight and sends him away with only a few snarled words. Minutes pass and Raven can feel Hextor's binding weakening. Cathmandius seems well attuned to the passing of time, and, as Raven suddenly regains mobility, Cathmandius makes the grasping motion once more.
Raven puts all his will into resisting the evil god's grasp, and it pays off. "Do that again, and I will slay you and your men," menaces Raven, staring down Cathmandius. "Tell me what I need to know."
"Your man has already started your winnowing of the faithful. Did you not see what is left of Misha down below? Dell struggles with something horrible, and he has already accessed its might. He must have worked with it in secret for years, or, by the look of things, bathed it in the blood of might," says Cathmandius, the sweat beginning to trickle down his scalp. "The darkness is just the start of what he might do."
"We have a gnome trickster," argues Raven. "You've seen him. He's likely the cause of the darkness. Tell me more about what's happening with Dell." Cathmandius loses his affect for a moment. Raven sees the inner Cathmandius for a moment, and he grows very cold. The priest of Hextor is a hard, hard man.
"Tima!" yells Cathmandius. "A gnome is here, menacing us. A minor trickster with globes of darkness. Find and kill it. Make an example of it." Cathmandius never breaks eye contact with Raven as he yells his orders out. "Your gnome should never have attacked us," declares Cathmandius. "His life is especially forfeit."
Pfiffwin, barely fifteen feet from warrior and the priest, hears his death sentence spoken. With a quick gesture and several glottal words, he transforms himself into a wispy, black form, a mimicry of a wraith's form. Squeezing under the door to the room and then out the window, he flees into the city, searching for Otto and protection.
"Your man needs to put the hand down on the cloth I will lay out in front of him or very bad things will happen," says Cathmandius slowly while looking at Dell. Dell looks up at Raven. Raven looks at Cathmandius. Cathmandius is already unfolding a cloth into a large circle on the floor. The cloth gives the illusion of depth, as if a great pit had appeared in the floor of the room, though that, of course, would be impossible. "Convince him," urges Cathmandius, "if he can't put it down, it bodes ill for him and for us."
"Dell, you heard the man," says Raven. "Put the hand on the cloth."
From the common room below comes a great bellowing, a rhythmic, repetitive shout. Raven cocks his head and listens for a moment. The sounds suddenly resolve; the Hextorites chant the name of their awful god.
"The Keepers of the Peace must have come," says Cathmandius. "We are running out of time." Cathmandius reaches down onto, and then into, the cloth and gropes for something. Dell hisses and draws up the hand, and Raven steps back, his hands going for longbow and arrow. Cathmandius pulls up his hand, showing them both a bright, red apple. "No tricks, just a place to put it," coos Cathmandius to Dell.
Dell looks as if he is in agony. The struggle on his face is monumental, as if he fights himself, and each blow is a brutal one. Finally, Dell's hand opens, and the blackened, withered hand lands on the edge of the cloth. It twitches and grasps, as if alive for a moment, and then teeters over the edge, disappearing from sight, as if it had fallen into a great pit. Cathmandius quickly bends down and begins folding the cloth again. "What's happened?" asks Raven of the priest.
Cathmandius continues rapidly folding the cloth, not looking away from his handiwork. "Your man had the Hand of Vecna and has used it to sacrifice someone or something of power," says Cathmandius. "He must not have succeeded, or he would not have been able to give it up. Either he, or we, would have been necessarily slain if he had fully grasped its power."
Dell sits in shock. The Hand of Vecna! So close to so much power, but also to so much death. Dell is seriously torn over losing the Hand. "I think I may have killed the High Priest of Pelor. I didn’t mean to. It was all the Hand," confesses Dell, coherent once again. "They'll come for me."
Raven looks at him in dismay. "We'll clear it up, but I don't want to fight our way through the city. We hand you over, and then we get you back," he says.
Cathmandius nods. "I'll tell my men," he says, and departs the room, bellowing down to his men. Indeed the Keepers of the Peace want Dell, and they want him badly. Diego, who has fortunately returned to the Wheat Field, and Raven escort Dell to the keep, making certain that no accidents occur to him along the way. Many hours are spent explaining what happened and waiting for news about Abernathy. While Abernathy, through the quick actions of Maximilian, has been kept alive, the horrible wound resists magical healing and has become putrescent. Many days of care and watch lie before the venerable high priest, and thus an equal number face Dell in his confinement.
Raven returns to the Wheat Field to find that the Hextorites are no longer present. Otto stands in the middle of the common room, armored and with his bastard sword drawn. "They left moments before I got here," relates Otto. "Pfiffwin found me in the practice yards and told me of their threats. Good riddence to bad rubbish!" Cathmandius, his leman, and his men have left Longspear only minutes after Dell was taken by the Keepers of the Peace. When they learn, instead, of Dell's misadventure and the Hextorite's possession of some evil artifact, their relief flees.
"We need to make certain that Abernathy Wernack pulls through and that the Governor is well disposed to us. Everyone pitch in," says Raven. "Find something useful to do and do it." The priests' role is obvious, and Winthrop assists in the defense of the city with his abilities. The others take guard duties and try to make their value known. Raven and Otto settle down to do what they do least well: socialize. Raven makes the rounds of the various merchant families, talking to them about the Company. Otto tries to ingratiate himself with the militia and the remains of Richard Coldheart's men.
Several days later, Otto is awoken by a horrible banging sound. Having met with Killain Anvilsplitter and his men until early in the morning, drinking dwarven ale to keep the voice fresh, banging is the last thing Otto wishes to here. Diego stands outside his door. "You'll want to go outside, now," says Diego, gesturing with the stick. Otto stumbles out into the early morning light, the streets still mainly empty, though the sounds of heavy labor start already.
Outside of the Wheat Field are an unlikely pair, a man clad in leather armor with a wooden shield across his back and a medium-sized grizzly bear. They lounge insouciantly in the street. "Ah, you must be Otto," says the man, extending a hand. "Cedrus's description was perfect. I am Herbert, sent to assist you." The man's delivery is flawless, and he has an easy manner about him. How he was able to get a bear across the Javan and into the city is a mystery, especially a bear of this size.
"Otto," says Otto, carefully shaking the man's hand. "Bear's called what?"
"Hmmm," hems Herbert, "Eats Salmon is probably close enough. He seemed very impressed by you. He claims to have heard stories about the Company of the Blue Sun and about you, though I can't imagine how. In any case, he's pleased to be here as well." Herbert turns to Eats Salmon and points at Otto. Eats Salmon climbs up on his rear legs and lets out what one hopes is a pleased roar.
"Hugging isn't necessary," says Otto, wincing slightly at the sound. "Nice to meet you both. Diego, find space for Herbert inside. Outside for the bear, but not near the stables. Talk to the Keepers of the Peace, so there's no mistakes." Diego nods and heads off.
"Who do you worship?" asks Otto.
"Phyton," answers Herbert.
"I worship the molten fire goddess of the mountains, Joramy," says Otto. "We travel with a formerly blind seeress, an avenger, several thieves, and an ascetic. Get used to contradiction. Stay true to yourself and all will be well in the end. By the way, don't tell the archers you worship the agriculture god; they hate him and think he's a front for the Reaper." Herbert seems to uncertainly ponder Otto's words as they enter the Wheat Field.
