Immersive Ink

"Whoa!" Olaf exclaims, "That's some tale! I wish now, I'd have been with you."

"As to a rest...didn't we find a place we thought we could be safe in last time we were here?" Olaf asks, "If we did, we might want to make our way back to it and rest up."

"I hate to leave Gustave out there somewhere in the hands of those Wolfmen and Evil Priests and whatever Desmond found, though." Olaf grimaces than adds pointing up toward the surface, "He'd have to be up there, though, wouldn't he?"

"This is most interesting," Ulric says as he studies the ring. "May I hold it for a short while?" he asks Armando. "If I can decipher the riddle then I may be able to put this ring to some good use. I believe that it can be used to create items from nothing. For a short time at least."

"As for a place to rest, there was the sanctuary beneath the infirmary. The place where our resourceful friend ran into his evil double."

"As Josiane said, most of our magic is expended and now two of our warriors are almost too weak to walk. If we are to locate Gustave we must be able to defend ourselves."

"Ulric is right. The secret passage to the Reliquary is in the second room of the infirmary, where I bumped into that thing. I ditched my cloak and bow when I ran, in an effort to lose it. I wouldn't mind getting those back."

Using his dagger again, Desmond points out a few more details on the map, "It looks like someone or some thing cleared a path in the first room of the infirmary. Don't know if it was that thing making it his home of if the wolf men priests were doing something there. I didn't get a chance to recheck the library and I didn't get to check the hallway past the infirmary or go down the stairs before you get to the library."

Abbey Entrance... "S" indicates the stairway down
"H" indicates a door

Armando hands the ring to Ulric and joins Desmond/Mondes to hear his tale.

"Astonishing, Master Halfling! So you too investigated the 'kennel' — I suspect I heard your fairy before I departed. So, no sign of Gustave? Perhaps he has been taken to the Infirmary — a grim thought indeed!"

"This work is bravely done, my friend," says Josiane, smiling warmly at Desmond, (and even managing a vaguely-approving nod in Mondes' direction, while mentally reminding herself to locate some soap at an early opportunity and wash out the latter's foul mouth).

She takes a quick glance at the cover of the book. Does the writing appear to be Empyrean? She will also ask if she might see the gems Desmond found.

"We now at least know where Lord Gustave is not," she continues; "But by the Saint,the idea that he might have been taken to the infirmary sits evil with me, given what we found there last. I - "

She stops suddenly, blinks a couple of times, then slaps a hand to her head in disbelief.

"The Saint forgive me my idle wits! The Speculem! Lord Ulric, The Queerious Speculem ! Might we not use that to locate our lost friend?"

Desmond complies, pulling the small wooden box out of his pack and opening it up to reveal the large gemstones contained within.

coffee wrote:Dieter takes the sword.

A whole bunch of talking goes on, but Dieter hardly hears. He has eyes only for the sword.

The moment bag slips off it he knows its something special. Something old, yet still fiery and young. Something made of a craft rarely ever seen nowadays--leastwise not by regular die-hard fighting men.

He takes it in his fist and feels nothing beyond a deep sense of satisfaction at the weight, and keenness, and balance, and movement of the sword. And respect for the craftsmen who could have fashioned it. If he weren't mistaken, he reckons he feels an equal sense of satisfaction from the sword in return, and moreover he certainly feels it guiding his hand through a few lazy loops in the air, shifting its own weight through the motion to make it more perfect--as if the sword knows what to do!

waysoftheearth wrote:

coffee wrote:Dieter takes the sword.

A whole bunch of talking goes on, but Dieter hardly hears. He has eyes only for the sword.

The moment bag slips off it he knows its something special. Something old, yet still fiery and young. Something made of a craft rarely ever seen nowadays--leastwise not by regular die-hard fighting men.

He takes it in his fist and feels nothing beyond a deep sense of satisfaction at the weight, and keenness, and balance, and movement of the sword. And respect for the craftsmen who could have fashioned it. If he weren't mistaken, he reckons he feels an equal sense of satisfaction from the sword in return, and moreover he certainly feels it guiding his hand through a few lazy loops in the air, shifting its own weight through the motion to make it more perfect--as if the sword knows what to do!

Dieter hefts the sword and smiles.

Highbough is just about to stop Dieter from grabbing the sword when he is completely surprised and interrupted by the sudden return of Desmond/Mondes! He listens carefully to hobbit's tale, smiling and nodding at first, then with a puzzled expression, and then a scowl coming over his long face.

"Fools! You had a valuable prisoner and hostage in a cage, and you let the fairy go?!?"

Seeing the hurt expression on at least one of the hobbit faces, his stern look softens.

"What am I saying? No free spirit of nature should be humiliated and held captive. Look at this old Elf, Taurnorn they used to call me in the days I was young and free. I would not be fighting here by your side today had you not freed this prisoner from his shackles. On the self-evident virtues of freedom and independence I think we all can agree: from holy Josiane, to you Desmond, to my young friend Wen, and even crazy old Highbough! Heh, heh, heh."

waysoftheearth wrote:mushgnome wrote:

danhem wrote:"It seems that we are not alone," he says on seeing the hunched figure chained to the wall. "Do you know this one Pelenwin?"

Ulric moves to get a better look at the person. "My friend, are you well?"

The venerable Elf chained to the wall does not, unfortunately, look well at all. He is clearly malnourished, dehydrated, and wracked with pain. Yet, his eyes burn bright with the fires of rage.

This mysterious cipher points his chin towards one of the back passageways and croaks, in the Common tongue, "It went... that way!"

He spits on the floor and unleashes a barrage of ancient and hateful words. Anyone in earshot who understands Elvish will hear of the brutal revenge he plans against his Ogrish captors, if these strangers will please release him.

Now the ancient Elf, grown in power, has journeyed deep into the belly of the Desecrated Abbey, and the shadows below stir as he draws near. He retreats into his dark cloak and leans upon the Ire Spear in tripod stance, conserving his energy, waiting to see what the others will do.

"The weird thing with the faerie - I mean, aside from her being in a cage in a privy - is what she said to me. She wouldn't believe I was there to help her. She thought I was just toying with her and said I should go on back to my mistress, that she wouldn't ever talk."

Desmond shrugs, "No idea who she meant, though I guess it could have been this Saint Cairie person we've heard so much about. I wonder what they were trying to find out. You suppose they needed some sort of information for one of their rituals?"