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Turn 161.0: The Standard and Bandman of Ironlast

Posted: 9/11/01

Hannibal wastes much of the day to himself, wondering if he had angered Emma for not bidding her good night. He had had a wonderful night up until he let his emotions get the best of him. Glancing over at the two, riding side by side, a feeling of jealousy and mixed with shame overcame him. Did Emma feel the same way for him as he did for her or was it just the moment? Was Skandor disappointed with him? Would trust become an issue again in the Six or would they get through it all? Finally seizing the courage, Hannibal urged his horse ahead and alongside Emma, opposite Skandor.

For most of the journey, Skandor is quiet, his eyes roaming the surrounding countryside, looking for signs of friend or foe. His mind mulls over the preceding evening's events, with Hannibal especially, but also with Eloharin's new "identity." Both El and Hannibal seem so...different now. For the better? For the worse? Who's to say?

Soon, Hannibal comes trotting up alongside Emma, on the other side of her. Skandor looks pointedly at Hannibal, nodding towards his companion. Hannibal's horse remains close by Emma, and Skandor senses that he would have a word with her...alone. Without a word, Skandor slows his horse so that Emma and Hannibal move on ahead. Skandor drops his position back about four or five horse-lengths to give the two some privacy.

Nodding to the paladin and waiting for his attentions to be turned elsewhere, Hannibal finally spoke. "I am sorry for leaving so suddenly last night, I guess I just needed some air?" he lied, deciding that a small lie now was better than the truth and possibly a larger confrontation. "I wanted you to know that I had a good time last night and wanted to thank you...it’s been some time since I've had a chance to do any of that."

"Always take time to enjoy the spoils of life," Emma smiles, reaching across to pat Hannibal's arm, "I had a wonderful time. And I did wonder where you had gone...but the Hatheans kept me quite occupied. I'm not sure they'd have allowed you to cut-in on them even if you had stayed.

"Perhaps another dance sometime?" she suggests.

Hannibal felt clumsy and awkward again, like he had in the caves earlier and on the training fields the day before. He could no longer hide the feelings he had for Emma from himself, but he could still shield them from her, at least until he felt the time was right. Hannibal allowed himself a deep breath of fresh air, invigorating after the countless days of spelunking in the chambers beneath El-Balans. Catching a whiff of Emma’s scent only further cements his feelings and at that very moment, riding along at the fringes of civilization, Hannibal felt like a King!

Emma keeps her horse next to Hannibal's for much of the remainder of that day's riding. She is somewhat surprised that he doesn't retreat back to the rear of the party or scout ahead like he sometimes does. But she doesn't complain at all. It feels good to see him in such good spirits and she takes the time to chat and joke with him. The heavy conversations about religion don't come to mind at all. Just good friendly discussion and camaraderie.

Elloharin spends a busy day on his horse. He trots along side Crayne, discussing what they had observed from Covarc's book. After a while, when the conversation has died down, Elloharin allows his dusty roan to drift back toward the back of the party. The severe trauma of the past few days had jogged something loose in his head, and his mind was busy sifting through a vast expanse of memory. He watches the countryside pleasantly before he realizes he is singing.

The road and the trees, and the brook and the bees

The toad by the keys, and the rook in the trees.

A traveler's life is a lonely one!

The dance and the ball, and the music of the hall

The prance and the call, and the frolic of the ball

Oh the courtier's life is a merry one!

The sword and the shield, and the battle and the field

The lord and who must yield, and the rattle armor wields

Oh the soldier's life is a daring one!

The quill and the pen, and the heart and the yen

Heart's chill, knowing when, and the fart of the fen

Oh the poet's life is a smelly one!

Oh of all these lives

And of all their earthly wives

I say to myself I have chosen the best

For when I feel entrenched, I turn my eyes to west

For the traveler's life is a lonely one!

For the traveler's life is a merry one!

For the traveler's life is a daring one!

For the traveler's life,

Oh the traveler's life,

Oh, oh, oh, oh oh, uh oh,

Oh the traveler's life is a smelly one!

He finishes on a grand note. He sings in Common. The tongue of this land. He recalled hearing the tune not so long ago. On his trip east. It had been sung by a group of human soldiers on a recruiting mission. He'd lain in the bushes until they'd gone past. He hadn't realized till now that he'd remembered the entire tune! He goes on whistling the tune idly, until Storm finally glowers at him to stop.

"A humorous song, El," Emma calls out from near the front of their column, "But hardly an Elvish one, I imagine. It's good to see you in better spirits.

"In fact," she says, turning to look around at most of the group, "I daresay we haven't been this happy and relaxed in ages. But I'm glad we're there now." She positively beams with enthusiasm. "These are the times that make the dark ones worth it."

Skandor smiles towards El, and nods once. "Well sung, friend Eloharin. Well sung indeed."

Upon the arrival at Fort Ironlast, Elloharin notes the exchange between the paladin and the Standard, but doesn't think on it. Politics are so much prattle to him. He looks forward to having more time with Crayne to pour over Covarc's book.

The battlements of Ironlast are formidable indeed. Elven fortresses did not look like this. He was not sure whether or not the difference connotated a superiority in design or simply a different design? To begin, Elvish stone masons imbued their rocks with magic from the earth, they worked each stone with their minds, with their thoughts, and with their hands. Certainly not with a chisel. In this way, Elvish castles tended to grow like flowers rather than lurch like towers.

He murmurs to Crayne softly, "It is said that Redaroleen Alar Cai took a millennium to be built. That's the city where I lived before I came here. These battlements must have been put up in hours."

Crayne smiles at the elf's comment, "I have heard many a tale of how skilled your race are in architecture. Ever since I was young I used to dream of such places. To visit an elven city has always been on my agenda and some day I hope that I will have that privilege.

"Old Halbraden my mentor always used to talk to me about his travels into elven territory and the marvels of the elven race. I suppose that is one of the reasons why I turned to the elven language which is beautiful in itself--so much more fluent than the common language."

Crayne pauses for a moment and then continues, "As ugly as these walls must be to you Elloharin we are safe for the moment. I do not like to offend our guests but I suggest the both of us forgo this party they have invited us to attend. After all, we will still be adequately represented by the rest of the Six and I feel it is to time to see what this book of Covarc contains and memorise some spells for the journey ahead. We will need all the help we can get when venturing into the Kingdom of Caerloon.

And besides which too much partying is not good for the head!" Crayne says.

"What say you Elloharin?"

Elloharin looks back to Crayne, smiling, and nods. "I say we shall."

"I's be starvin'! Them's priest fellers in the desert can cook arright, but it ain't be no good ol' soldier's food. That be more to my likin'!" Storm bellows as they all start to walk away to get ready for dinner. He doesn't see the Standard pull aside Skandor, as he instead makes his way to Captain Bandman's side.

He taps the man a little roughly on the shoulder, but not overly hard. "Eh...." he stumbles for the words, then decides on the direct question. "What ye know o' the dwarves? They's...eh...be tradin' with the King again?" He hadn't really remembered the dwarven situation while down in the catacombs, but seeing the organized human fort of Ironlast sparked the memory of the dwarven tensions. He hopes this fort Captain could tell him the latest news.

Bandman scratches his chin for a moment. Then he looks down to Storm, who eagerly awaits an answer to his question. "Storm I can't say I have heard anything of the sort. But then again, whenever there is news, we are always the last to know..."

Busy with a number of thoughts about Standard Torek, Emma blindly follows Sceant to her room. She rubs the saddle soreness from her body and changes out of her travelling clothes and into something more presentable. She looks at her battered chain mail and considers donning it as would be the Anhurian custom. But in a moment of rebelliousness, she leaves the armor behind and wears a nice gown instead. She's almost tempted to wear the Hathean dress once again. The priests of El-Balans had been nice enough to send it with her, a gift from one caste to another...but more importantly an gesture of friendship that reached outside of the religious circles of Rinder. But to wear that dress might incite Standard Torek to report less favorably about her to High Priest Towers. And yes, she knows he'll have more to say than just what transpired in the Ancient Chambers beneath El-Balans.

'This whole assignment is beginning to feel more and more like a test,' she thinks, 'But what they don't realize is that I'm the one testing their sincerity...not the other way around.' Convinced of her opinions, Emma prays once more to Anhur, thanking him for a safe journey and seeking his continued guidance and support in the days ahead.

Meanwhile, outside, Standard Torek questions Skandor. "The High Priest is most interested to hear of Emmalya's recent behavior, and whether her...independent...tendencies have been tempered by her experiences in the field. As the Sword Bearer assigned to her charge, what say you on this matter?"

The paladin knew that this day would eventually come, but he did not expect it so...suddenly. He clearly remembers all those days ago, as he stood before his superiors, having never met the esteemed Emmalya Serralund of Seden. She had been described to him as somewhat of a "radical," with religious beliefs that "bordered on the blasphemous," and who possessed ideas about the pantheon which were "unorthodox."

His superiors had assigned him to "keep an eye on her"...in his naivete, Skandor believed that they meant her health and well-being. But as he had been quickly made aware of, some of their superiors were more interested in "getting dirt" on her.

But why? Was she a threat? What sort of actions was she performing that could be considered "blasphemous, radical, and unorthodox?" Skandor knew he had to be careful here. Something he says now could come back to haunt him...or worse still, haunt Emma. The game of politics was oftimes more dangerous than battlefield maneuvers, he knew.

"Sir," Skandor began solemnly, without sign of hesitation or favoritism. "The Lady Emma has performed quite admirably while I have been in her company. She is one of the leaders of our small band, if not the primary decision-maker amongst our companions. Her decisions have been tempered with wisdom and faith. Her actions have been valorous, a true testament to..."

But Torek was not hearing what he wanted to hear, as he raises a hand to interrupt. "I am sure her combat abilities are adequate, Sword Bearer. But I do not wish to hear about that. Tell me about her...faith. Tell me about her attitude towards the Almighty, her religious behavior."

Skandor stiffens. He recalls in his mind the various times in which Emma seemed "religiously distant," how he had felt for her and her apparently low spiritual moments. He knew he could not lie...but there was nothing wrong with answering the question directly, and only the question at hand.

"In my eyes, she has adhered to all the tenets of our faith, Standard Torek. She has lead our prayers, she has performed the daily rituals without fail. She and I oftimes alternate leading such rituals, in an effort to keep both of our spiritual souls honed and ready, lest we be called by Him to make the ultimate sacrifice. Her words have been true to Our General, and her power has grown, a gift from Him, final proof that she serves dutifully in His eyes. Simply put," Skandor pauses, daring to look Standard Torek in the eye, "She is the spiritual rock of Rinder's Six."

Quickly, though, Skandor's eyes again were looking downward, as was common for those of lesser station amongst the priesthood. Standard Torek sighs deeply. Disappointed? Frustrated? Bored? Skandor could not tell. Finally, though, he speaks.

"I see."

Another long pause. Skandor felt nothing, he cleared his mind of all other thoughts and concerns. He was in the company of a Standard. To show any emotion other than respect could be construed as a lack of it.

"And what about you, Skandor?" Torek finally asks.

Skandor's demeanor remains unchanged. "I am our General's right hand. I seek to deliver justice to those deserving of His wrath. My sword is his sword, my armor is his armor, my life is his life. I live only to serve, and serve only to gain greater glory in His name."

Another long, awkward moment of silence.

Torek's nose twitches, and he takes another deep breath. "Very well, Skandor. You may join your companions now. I might have need to speak with you again before you depart. And," he paused, his voice lowering slightly, "You might again be called upon in the future to report on the Lady Emma's current...spiritual awareness. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Standard," Skandor replies instantly.

"And not a word to her about this, Sword Bearer," Torek adds.

"Of course not, Standard," Skandor replies just as quickly.

"You are dismissed," Torek says, as he turns away from the Sword Bearer, crossing his hands together behind his back.

Skandor bows slightly, stiffly, and quickly makes his way towards where his companions are gathered.

As the others go to dinner, Crayne and Elloharin choose to stay behind, requesting that one of the attending soldiers bring them each a plate of food while they work at a nearby table, by lanternlight. The sit side by side, with the book flat on the table before them. Carefully, Crayne reaches and opens the book, a small plume of dust escaping as he softly drops the cover to the table.

"This must not be his entire collection," Crayne states as he flips gently through the pages. "The book is too short. I suspect these are some of his carefully chosen spells, for use away from his library or lab."

"Or the school," El adds, to which Crayne nods.

"Still," Crayne continues in an instructive tone, "the spells contained here, those which Covarc chose to bring with him on dangerous quests and adventures, could prove very useful. And powerful. Let us see..." His voice trails off as he leans in over the page, squinting his eyes and deciphering the text.

"That there is the Feather FAll spell, I believe," El says, smiling.

Crayne nods, noting how quickly the elf was able to read the arcane symbols...and recognize them. "Yes, I believe it is!" Then, Crayne turns the page, moving on to the next spell. This one is more difficult, Crayne can tell right away. The symbols are more complex, with careful brush-strokes forming each character on the page. And the spell continues for two more pages. "Lianc'onet..." Crayne whispers, reading the symbols slowly.

"...Beyan jeh'gnoru..." El does the same, deciphering in a slow process.

The two sit, reading the new spell carefully. It takes a good fifteen minutes to read the whole thing, at which point Crayne announces. "This, here, must be the spell he used to create that bolt of lightning. A very potent spell, indeed!"

"Shall we copy it, then?" El asks.

"Yes," Crayne says with a hint of excitement. "It will take some time, but we will do it..."

As she sits at the dinner table, a chill runs down Emma's spine. The sight of a Standard unnerves her more than a little. As bearers of much of the caste's might, she knows that Torek easily outranks the position she and Skandor hold.

'What brings him here?' she wonders to herself, 'Did Towers anticipate our arrival or is this just coincidence? The war with Caerloon must be very important to them for a Standard to be on the front lines. And the Ring of Fire Command would prove a potent weapon to turn this garrison into a staging point for a counter-offensive into Caerloon territory.'

Hannibal’s interest was peaked now. Not only was it one of Emma’s caste, but the two didn't seem to be particularly comfortable with one another. Maybe it was the life of a thief that made such observations possible but Hannibal could almost always spot tension where others found none. He grinned to himself at the irony! Just months ago he would have given anything to wear the standard of a lord or knight and now it was as a thief that he had accomplished so much.

Quietly he observed Torek, watching the man for any sign of trouble. Call it habit but Hannibal rarely trusted other initially, not even clerics were exempt from this practice which had saved his neck from the executioner’s block on more than one occasion.

Emma warns Captain Bandman about the activity to the west at El-Balans. "We encountered the son of a Caerloon general there as well as two formidable Red Dragon renegades," she explains, "Though we vanquished most of them and prepared a reasonable defense for the Hatheans, they may need your support if the conflict grows.

"Also," she continues, "If you could send a message to my father in Seden through the normal lines of communication, I would greatly appreciate it. Just a letter to let him know I am safe and doing the will of Rinder and Anhur among some very fine companions."

Storm stuffs his face quite fully at dinner, letting go loud belches yet remaining oblivious to any strange looks or comments from anyone else. When he finally finishes he leans way back in his chair, slouching and putting a dirty boot on the table surface by his plate. He cups his hands behind his head, quite sublime. A good dinner was always needed after a day of travel.

Then Emma gets around to asking questions about the road ahead. "Captain? What can you tell us about the border that Lieutenant Sceant left unsaid?" she asks, "We have intentions of crossing into enemy territory and could benefit from any information that your deep reconnaissance might have uncovered. How are the politics of the Caerloon subject states holding up these days?"

"As I'm sure you know," Captain Bandman begins to reply, "activity on the border has been increasing over the last few months. It used to be occasional raids and skirmishes, but we have seen large troop movements, including whole divisions of Orcs. The lost of Mitchend was unfortunate, but within the last week or so, a force carrying the flags of Rinder and the Great House of Adela has taken up position there, so as to plug the whole opened up in our defensive line by the loss of Mitchend. The major north-sound road connects Rinder and Caerloon through there, so it was crucial that we reassert ourselves in that area."

Bandman pushes a piece of meat around on his plate for a moment. "Around here, things have been fairly quiet. We had a small group of Caerloon soldiers--what must have been an elite group--slip by a few weeks ago. We never caught up with them, unfortunately. They were headed north, moving quickly, and judging from the size of their packs and the rations they carried, I estimated that they were headed all the way up to Raimead. But if we haven't heard anything from them in the last few weeks, they could have been intercepted by Sir Bryant's men. I hear Bryant has begun to revive the mythical Cavaliers, and that the soldier he's put in charge of that operation is a take-no-prisoners kind of commander." He chuckles. "Well, he'd have to be, if the Cavaliers are going to be as good as legend says they once were.

"The scout reports from the east have warned us about a few new fresh divisions of Orcs crossing over into northern Caerloon, but as far as we know they haven't struck yet. There was a small battle at Dillend--following the fort's recapture, which I understand you had a hand in--but fortunately enough reinforcements arrived before the battle began that the fort stood strong and our casualties were relatively light. They've got a mage there, some don't like him much and apparently he's got a bit of a checkered past, but he's helped secure that fort so I suppose I can't complain."

Emma looks to the empty seat where Crayne was supposed to sit. He would have been interested in the reputation of Dire Luthor.

"Politically?" Bandman continues, "Politically things are tight in Caerloon. My best scouts tell me that Caerloon's king and military have got a tight rein on the place, and with the increased military presence in the northern third of the kingdom--where their authority has been the weakest--has kept things strongly united. The general behind this war they've started--"

"Wade," Canter interjects.

Bandman nods to Canter, "...Wade, a Baron...he's got a good plan, and it's working out well. We just haven't been able to figure it out yet. It's like, after we took back Dillend he took a few weeks to regroup. Now, that's understandable, but at some point he's gotta strike again. We just don't know where, or when. If you ask me," he takes a sip from his goblet, "I think he's stalling."

"Stalling, sir?" Sceant asks.

"Yeah, stalling. He's waiting for something. I don't know what. But I'm afraid to find out."

As the lantern oil burns low, Crayne and Elloharin finish copying Lightning Bolt into their spellbooks. With a yawn, Elloharin turns the page once more, revealing the next spell in the book. Knowing that the evening is closer to its end than its beginning, they set themselves to the task of discovering the spell and copying it.

"Another difficult one," El says, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, Elloharin. But remember that those which are more difficult to read and copy," Crayne says, "are also more powerful!" He points to the page, "look here: 'De'antvor ri'antver ka'dontvir,' thereupon halt yourself, thereupon turn yourself, and thereupon return yourself," Crayne translates.

"What does it mean?" El asks.

Crayne smiles, "Elloharin, I think we have found here the wizard's version of our friend Emma's powerful spell for dispelling magic. Imagine how useful this will be against the Red Dragon School!"

El smiles as well, realizing the almost infinite potential for this incantation. Without another word, the two set to the task of copying this latest gem into their own books.

During the dinner, Skandor remains quiet, eats in full-out military style (fast, though not tossing food about the place), and then remains quiet throughout any following discussion. He listens to questions and answers, but avoids the gaze of the Standard for as long as possible. As soon as things are "finished", he excuses himself.

The Standard, also silent for most of the meal, looks up as Skandor excuses himself. "Sword Bearer," he calls.

Skandor stops, turning to face the Standard and standing tall.

"I will report favorably on your service to the caste."

With only a nod, Skandor turns and heads back to the bunk for the night.

Before retiring for the night, Emma casts Cure Moderate Wounds upon Canter, one Cure Light Wounds upon herself and Storm. The remaining Cure Light Wounds is cast upon Storm. She also casts a Divination prior to informing Standard Torek about their success at El-Balans to ask, "If I reveal the location of the Ring of Fire Command to Standard Torek, will our journey remain safe?"

The answer is difficult to hear at first, since it is the first time she is casting this more powerful spell. But soon she hears it clearly: "Those from across the river pose the larger threat; your journey was never safe."

In the morning, Emma renews her spells through prayer, rising early. The others rise soon after, as they know that the journey eastward must continue until they reach Dire Luthor at Dillend. The day begins much like the one before, riding off in the morning along the border, heading east. Soon after nightfall, the party reaches Fort Rycote, where they are similarly welcomed and offered shelter from the cold for the night.

The following day travel continues, and by nightfall they arrive at Fort Farenhead, which sits at the western edge of Faren Ridge. It was here that they spotted the Caerloon army, along with a large force of Orcs, marching many weeks ago. Now, they can see down the length of the ridge and the long slope on its southern side. The grass which was once green is now covered in a soft white blanket of snow, freshly fallen. The crisp winter air whips through the ridge, without trees to stand in its way.

The next morning Rinder's Six sets off once again, this time turning north-east, riding away from the border and through the Adela countryside toward Jilten, the small city which sits along the main north-south road leading from Merriam, over the border, and into Caerloon. This leg of the journey takes two days, so one night is spent out in the cold, camped. Still, the cold fails to dampen high spirits, and on the following afternoon, the city of Jilten appears on the white horizon.

As the sun sets, Rinder's Six arrives, riding into town from the south. The only place of activity at the moment appears to be one of three taverns, each sitting along the main road. Choosing one, Hannibal leads the group in, after being sure their horses are properly cared for and the chest of treasure is taken with them. Inside it is warm, the orange-yellow of the firelight bathing the room. A bard plays on a recorder in the corner, his hat on the floor before him, containing a few copper coins.

There are seven round tables, three of which are currently occupied with patrons: one with a group of four human men, another with a group of two human men and two human women, and a third with a group of five dwarves. Choosing one of the empty tables, the party sits, thankful to be inside and out of the cold, and finally back in civilization.

"We don't serve his kind," a gruff voice announces from behind the bar.

It takes a moment for the message to sink in. Skandor looks over his shoulder toward the bar, wondering if indeed the barkeeper was talking to them.

"His kind," the barkeeper repeats, gesturing toward Elloharin with a handful of mugs. "We don't serve 'em, we don't room 'em, and we don't seat 'em."

Crayne rises from his seat, turning to calm the barkeep. "Sir, I'm sure you understand, we are Rinder's Six and we have travelled a long way to--"

"I don't give a damn who you are or how far you've travelled. A group of his kind robbed my brother's shop and trashed my bar the following night. They've been causing trouble around these parts and I ain't having them back in here no more."

---

1. HP Status, considering EMMA's healing spells and natural healing along the journey:

Canter 44/44, Crayne 16/16, Elloharin 30/30, Emma 47/47, Hannibal 29/29, Skandor 48/48, Storm 50/50. (Everyone is now at full health.)

2. ELLOHARIN was able to get some paper (four sheets) and a scroll case from the Hatheans prior to departure (cost: 9 gp). He was also able to get a nicely bound book to copy some spell into, which cost him 18 gp. The total cost was 27 gp. El had a total of 3 gp in his personal possession, so he had to borrow 24 gp against his share of the gold recovered from the Ancient Chambers. You may add these items to your CIS, and please adjust your money as 0 cp, 0 sp, and 0 gp.

3. CRAYNE and ELLOHARIN may add Lightning Bolt (L3) and Dispel Magic (L3) to their spellbooks, copied from Covarc's book. Also, along the journey, there were able to copy Darkness 15' Radius (L2) and Hold Portal (L1) to their spellbooks.

4. CRAYNE and ELLOHARIN: Which spells will you memorize during the journey?

5. EVERYONE: How will you deal with the situation in the tavern?

6. Assuming the situation in the tavern is resolved, what are your plans the following day? If you are shopping, what will you buy? Any other tasks before heading to Dillend?

7. EVERYONE: How will you divide the treasure? How much will each character get to spend or keep, how much will be tithed to the Caste of Anhur, and how much will be donated to King Bryant? (Recall the grand total was 1,250 gp, 575 pp, plus 20 gems of assorted values [they will need to be professionally appraised].)

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