June 2002 – Rehash (This rehash encompasses multiple sessions)
A little more than two weeks past, in the 824th
year since the Devastation that brought the Ken Empire to ashes, a non-descript
group of naïve adventurers crossed the Troos and
headed into the
Then the Eldren came, and the Flower of the North
For our focus is on non-descript naïve adventurers, and though their tale may be of interest to none, it is our task to depict it. It’s a living.
Misled by the Duke’s man, Brax,
our heroes penetrated farther into the
Perhaps weary, perhaps overly trusting, perhaps even
more naïve than has been indicated previously, perhaps just a bunch of
freaking…ahem…the chronicles do not say why they chose to trust Yosh, only of the consequence. Never again would our heroes
take the word of any being in the
But do not disparage our brave band. Yosh had prepared them for the village…a collection of
invalids and cripples, driven from
Did the chronicles mention they were naïve? Just checking…
But how were our heroes to know of the Cult of Tharizdun? Historians and other non-productive types tell us that the Cult amused even the Imperial academics and other Imperial non-productive types. With their god magically chained and enslaved like all the others by the Penta of the Emperor, the Cult yet persisted. After the Devastation, the Cult fed on the hordes of lost souls as ferociously as a starving non-descript naïve adventurer devours his last maggot-ridden piece of salt pork…that is to say, with great effectiveness. Even in these enlightened times, rumors of the Cult persist, and the crippled are looked at askance. An entire village of maimed folk were looked at quite askancely…but our brave band was a trusting sort, and soon found themselves in the clutches of the Cult.
Dross’s mistrust, though scathingly impolite, was surprisingly well thought out…waking to find his comrades sleeping deeply, he sought to free his fellows, but though valiant simply could not handle the single surprised cripple he battled. Things looked grim for our stalwart adventurers as they awoke, disarmed, chained to wooden crosses. Before them, the entire village, chanting, following Geoff as he led a ceremony that described all too clearly…indeed, in armor-soiling detail, had our heroes armor not been taken…what would become of our brave band. They were to be maimed, slowly, carefully, with love. In time, they would realize the Truth of their Worth, the Cultists promised. This chronicle does not record what the brave band thought of their worth at that time, but we can project they were somewhat nervous.
The chronicles also do not tell all of how our
heroes escaped certain maiming…all that is known for sure is that devout Seanee was the first to free himself.
When Geoff fell for the final time, Yosh blinked and cursed in a most ingracious manner, proclaiming that he had been charmed, and was a Royal Blademaster. Archimedes, examining the scorch marks on Yosh and other comrade’s chests from his own magic missiles, concurred and declared him a good egg. Their morale broken, the Cultists ran, abandoning the strongly walled blockhouse to our brave band. Or, more accurately, crawled, scuttled, limped, etc.
A tense standoff ensued, and though historians will never write of it, the battle between a hundred crippled invalids and a few non-descript naïve adventurers was epic in nature. The cold tactics of Yosh, the sly maneuverings of Dross, the stoic bravery of Seanee, the mental power of Leviticus, the deadly stealth of Tenax, the wanton destructiveness of Archimedes…the helpless lurching about of the crippled Cultists…all played an equal role. A much greater role was played by the recovery of our stalwart band’s equipment and the release of the imprisoned Ambrosian priest Mir…but in the end, our heroes knew victory.
Not to be forgotten though is the surprise role of the crashing charge of elite Ambrosian knights, who tore through the Cultists as if they were crippled, defenseless invalids, driving them pell-mell from the field when our heroes were surrounded and in bad straits. But of more import?
Very few put any faith in the tale, but it is said that as Archimedes sprayed fog over the battlefield, a female figure was seen flying away in the light of burning buildings. It is said that fey Tenax himself confronted the cackling Sylvie, and before his eyes she did transform from an evil old hag into an Eldren demon, winged and profane in her delight at the slaughter.
But few put much stock in the tales of non-descript naïve adventurers, for they are prone to boastfulness and exaggeration.
Seventeen days in the
Above all, our brave band is pleased to still have
eyes with which to see such sights, ears to hear the sounds, and Yosh’s ale to at least attempt to drown the memories of the