Episode 2: The Rage of War

Tendrils of worry sprouted from the cleric's very first sentence,  twining around her heart and threatening to choke her up.   "Why even ask for help if you're just going to skitter away?"

Through sheer happenstance, Helden is the person with whom she has spent the most time since the war by far; it went Helden, Kho'nan and Veil, and then their fellow Aberrants. Now Veil was destroyed and Helden had left without so much as a Khyber-blasted note. She lets outrage and disdain burn away the creeping worry and hurt that that are beginning to smother her carefully tended sangfroid.

"I would say let him sort himself out but there is a real risk of him infecting others, and the world can only bear so many idiots," she rakes her gaze across the room, making clear she would take being against going after the warpriest as a sign that Helden's idiocy was indeed contagious.

Oraam cringes at the mans news. He hadn't known Helden long, but from their few interactions he seemed a strong, stalwart ally. To hear news like this was a real blow to the good spirit Oraam was in.

"Must have been pretty bad for him to leave like that."

At Izar and Kho'nan's insistence, Oraam nods as well and says "Well, I guess we know what we're doing next. Let's go save him."

The medic shakes his head, "I'd be happy to show you his bed in the medic tent, but, please, don't presume he left of his own will. The first turn of the curse is often painful, emotionally intense, and uncontrolled. By this time, he's run his course and is likely sleeping off the trauma. If we don't cure him before he exits the Silverwood, the Silver Flame would likely find him, and execute him. so long as he doesn't run afoul of a squad of Pure Flame zealots. If you do wish to save your friend, you must make haste." Galinndan raises a hand to object, but quickly deflates when he sees the resolve behind Kho'nan's gaze. "O-of course, friends. We have less capable squads for our needs."

The medic leads you all to the field hospital, a humble and well-stocked canvas home for a grid of cots and a handful of healers. Of the few occupied cots you spy on the way in, the soldiers therein sport mostly cosmetic injuries or working accidents. The medic stops, points to a cot with a nasty gash from a set of claws, then bows and steps away from you all, punctuating his exit with a quick "Take all the time you need."

Kho'nan surveys the area, trying to find an exit route that Helden may have taken...

Survival Check:

Oraam grimaces at the sight of the cot. "I think I agree with that medic guy. Looks like he may not have had complete control of himself."

Oraam raises his voice to address the room and asks "Did any of you see/hear anything abnormal last night? I'm asking because of that." He says, pointing at the now-werewolf scratching post.

"Yes well, do write us up a mission brief including how to contact the squad that you do end up sending. If it does not take too long to find Helden, we might yet be able to offer support." Allowing herself to indulge in a parting shot, she continues in the same slightly put upon, matter-of-fact tone, "Oh, and for the record, true though it might be, 'less capable squads' is an expression that you will be wanting to keep to yourself' - bad for morale, eh? There's a good man." And when Galinndan's gits sulked, they became exceptionally annoying and potentially dangerous.

At the field hospital, Izar ignores memories of the war in favor of looking for anything that might help them track Helden down. When Oraam makes his query, she stops to scrutinise the injured soldiers and to wait for their respective replies; the claw marks were unlikely to have been made without drawing some attention.

Galinndan deflates at Izar's comment. "Of course. Well, don't tell the other troops they're not accomplished veterans then. For their sake."

The medic's tent is quiet for a few moments before one man sits up as his greasy brown hair falls over his eyes. As he looks towards you, you can see a large, heavy burn pattern swelling his face and eyes. He speaks in an impossibly gritty tone, taking long pauses to suck in labored breaths "Aye... Well, saw is one thing, but my ears are still good... He just kept praying to keep fighting. He muttered it... over and over. Then he seemed to get mad, got up and stormed out right past me. I caught him saying something... about... the healers back home. Hope that helps."

Kho'nan locks eyes with the man and gives him a single nod. The information was helpful... well it would be if he could remember where Helden was from.

He made a mental note, finished his search more in his own head than actually paying attention to his surroundings, and then exited the medical tent. He waited for the others to finish, lost in his own thoughts outside.

Oraam nods at the information given by the man. He'll ask both Kho'nan and Izar something along the lines of:

"Where is 'back home' for Helden? Is it anywhere near here or are we talking an impossible distance to cover before he turned?"

After taking the time to get the man's name (rank,etc.) and to thank him, Izar heads out of the tent.  If once this is resolved, the man is still in recovery, she would offer to use what little healing magic she knew, but until then, every resource would have to be closely rationed.

"We should head to the shore. I cannot remember how far east into Karrnath he's from, but whether its Korth or some flyspeck village at the foot of the Ironroot whose entire industry is based on pluri-annual post-landslide reconstuction, Helden will have to cross the Sound."

And if they could get to Helden before having to enter a country known for its massive forests, bitter winters, and slavering hordes of the undead, all the better.

Karrnath. That was it.

"Aye," Kho'nan agreed, his voice as gravelly as the rocks upon the mountainside.

"Grab your gear an'let's get movin'." He headed off toward his lodging area to gear up. Inside of him, The Beast stirred.

Ssssssooooooonnn.... we feed....

Oraam nods along with the plan. He travels back to the mailroom/combined lodgings he has, sending out any messages he needs and grabbing his gear.

"Time for a road trip."

You each collect your belongings and reconvene at the medic tent. With the thought of divining Helden's location, you make your way between the canvas tents and move about the soldiers handling their daily tasks, until you find a collection of disassembled armors, rusted blades, and many glowing, floating, or fizzling magic-assisted devices. The artificer is an honored member of any post, an incredibly versatile craftsmage. From minor repairs to enchantments and spells, the artificer is charged with fueling magical superiority to every country's war machine. A young man blasts rust from a blade with a wand emitting powerfully focused purple light. The wand sputters out, so he holds it up to the sun for a moment. "If it's weapons, leave them there and I'll fix them up." The man says lightly, before a crystal lattice from within his wand begins to glow yellow in the sunlight.

Kho'nan says nothing. He stands stoutly with what everyone has come to see as his battle dress; there's a thick set of furs over his shoulders, upon which his traveling back sits. He has on his simple cloth shirt underneath, with a buckler on his left arm. His heavy, triple leather belt is firmly fastened around his waist with the screaming dwarf visage of his clan's namesake as a buckle.

Finally, his traditional blue and black kilt hangs off his waist. The heavy chained weapon - the Dorn Dergar - hangs idly at his neck.

It wasn't that he had nothing to say, but he knew that Izar was bet equipped to handle this task.

As with most Artificer workshops, the creativity, cleverness, and pragmatism on display does not leave the bard indifferent. She has (ever vaguer) recollections of the wonders of her homeland Cyre and what craftsmages could do when given leave to prioritize the civil over the military; for all the good that it did in the end.

Tucking away her bitter sadness, Izar greets the artificer instead with the demeanor of a senior officer who is about to make a request but does not see the need to be unpleasant about it as of yet.

"We need to locate a weapon: the warhammer of the priest, Helden, who travels with us. Finding that specific hammer is time senstive and will have a direct impact on current military operations. Can you be of assistance?"

While not their only option, this is one of their better ones. With every conversation, every moment taken to ready themselves, the lead that Helden had on them is growing. Whatever time could be saved by not having to scour the shoreline in vain might make the difference in whether or not they find him on their side of the Sound.

Oraam nods to the artificer, an acknowledgement of their prior meetings. His eyes wander around the area, looking at all the projects the man is currently undertaking.

When his eyes meet quite a few of the items, he thinks That's not how I would have done it...


Providing his input after Izar's question, he says "Your help would be much appreciated, Aleric." He glances to his party members after this, hoping to help spur this along.

Earlier

Tracing his fingers over the claw marks, Jorian notes clumps of white hairs. Plucking a strand, he studies the coarse fur, before raising it to his nostrils. Vermin…large by the size of the follicles. Given the circumstances, there was no question who they belonged to. Helden must have been turning, and rapidly. Jorian meticulously follows the trail without a word, confident the group would leave him to his task. Stopping just outside the camp, Jorian notes the tracks of his mark, and the direction they continue in… 

Present

Tracking his party down was a simple enough task. One does not need to be too versed in the skills of tracking to follow the trail of his eclectic comrades. Entering the Artificer workshop, Jorian speaks in his usual tense, straight forward tone.

“I have your friend’s trail.”

Kho'nan turned to Jorian and headed outside without waiting for the Artificer to respond to Iz.

They'd get the information, but Kho'nan wanted to get started as quickly as possible.

"Where's he headed?" He asks Jorian cooly.

Aleric continues to watch the crystal network charge in his wand, nodding to Izar as she speaks. "Sure, but those sorts of things cost. Got a few Gal's? (gold coins) I'll do it for five." He smiles back before he sees Oraam "Ah, my fellow enchanter! Of course, I'll cast the spell for two Galifars. Call it the comrade discount." While he awaits the counting of coin, he retrieves a wooden board from behind a flap of his tent. Upon it, an array of glass beads are embedded, each indicating a different distance or direction.

"Built this after I kept losing my peening hammer. What a coincidence." Aleric chuckles as he collects the reagents to cast the spell. He stops when Jorian and Kho'nan step aside, watching the two converse. "Well, maybe it's better we wait for them."

Jorian motions to the South East. His Hunting and tracking skills honed by the shifting sands of The Blade, the ranger turned privateer had little trouble finding Helden’s trail in their current terrain.

“Your friend moves towards Thaliost. The terrain is forgiving which will prove useful for maintaining his trail, but we should move quickly”

Kho'nan nods. Jorian was a damn sight better at tracking than he was, and likely would ever be, so he trusted the man's wisdom. He walked back inside.

"Go'a trail," his heavy brogue accent roughed out. The two inside looked as if they were in the middle of a negotiation so he waited to see if they'd gotten anymore info. But it was clear from his body language that he expected to be moving off soon.

If Aleric had anything to say, he needed to spit it out.

Under different circumstances, Izar would have pounced on Aleric's willingness to drop his price to talk him into lowering it more. What simple, petty fun it would have been to apply unwavering, convivial pressure to the artificer until the casting came with concessions that he would not have made to his ailing mother on her death bed.

Jorian and Kho'nan's aside forestalls the fleecing, and when the latter indicates that they have Helden's trail, even the idea of trying to get more than their coin's worth felt like the indulgence of a spendthrift; they simply did not have the time to spare.  Placing the requested pair of coins in front of Aleric, she asks how long it will take to cast the spell. "We've a lead and I'd sooner not lose it." Her words are far more clipped and curt than when they first entered.

"Oraam, go with Jorian and Kho'nan,"  she says before turning to said dwarf.  "Keep on his trail, I'll catch up." The sooner they found Helden, the sooner she could be rid of the invasive worry that was aggressively taking root in every fiber of her being despite her best efforts.

Aleric takes the coin and tucks it into a small pouch on his belt. "But a moment my financially-favorable friend." He bubbles out with a smile to Izar. He waits for a moment for Izar to speak to Oraam before he begins to pour arcane energy into the wooden tablet, chanting a few draconic words of power as he does so.

Oraam exits the shade of the tent as the darkness fills with arcane tinged chanting. "Right behind you." He says just a little more promptly than necessary, seconds before the glass beads bathe the canvas walls with a familiar purple light... before all grow dim.

Aleric frowns, "Well... Sorry. Helden's hammer, wherever it is, is already too far to locate with this spell. I do hope you find your friend. If you go now, do send one of you back to say what becomes of him."

Kho'nan gives Izar a nod and exits without a word. He fills in Jorian and moves out, letting the ranger take point.

The arcane magics which had limned every reflective surface of Izar's gear with purple disappears, leaving in its wake an afterimage, which likewise fades as the bard's eyes resolve the idea that the absence of purple did not in fact mean the presence of orange.

The presence of Aleric's frown however, is indicative of the absence of results, and is thus met with an impatient moue.  

Murcurie wrote:

"Well... Sorry. Helden's hammer, wherever it is, is already too far to locate with this spell.

Infuriated by the waste of both time and coin, she is barely listening as he explains why the spell did not work.

Murcurie wrote:

"I do hope you find your friend. If you go now, do send one of you back to say what becomes of him."

 With a steadying sigh, she smothers the fury that threatens to mar her calm albeit annoyed visage. "Thank you."  A promise to let Aleric know what became of Helden does not follow the simple expression of gratitude, although she does make the effort to make the thanks sound sincere. Her own frustration notwitstanding, there is no good reason to be on poor terms with the alchemist.

Squinting against the day's brightness as she exits the tent, Izar sends Kho'nan a message to let the group know that the casting was for nought and then picks up her pace to catch up with them.

"Jorian, it would seem that we are entirely in your hands," she says with flippant nonchalance. "As we seem to be out of options. Not that I doubt your skills, however it is discomforting to no longer have the possibility of divination should the current trail not lead to Helden for any number of reasons.  It really is the school most apt for our current needs. Though perhaps a transmutation..." She falls silent for a time.  Then, miming truncated versions of a spell's somatic component while nodding to herself, she murmurs, "Yes if need be, though it is less than ideal. Ideal... Ha! You know what would be ideal? Not having to go look for Helden blasted-thick'ead Thul. It had a nice ring to it. An idea comes to mind, one that tickles her enough that it almost started to make up for how mad she is At Helden for disappearing: once they found him, she would re-baptise him to Thick'ead Thul. She would make the metonym Thick'ead stick.
Once they found him.
Because they were going to find him.
They had to.

Oraam is visibly annoyed at the spell not working, though he holds his tongue. He moves out, letting the tracker take the lead. "Bunch of help that nerd was, huh?" he says during the walk.

Kho'nan receives the message as he moves with his old friend. The tiniest of grins, imperceivable to even a trained eye, breaks at his mouth before quickly being pushed back down. Izar's way with words was something else.

He grunts at Jorian as the swashbuckler worked, like a dog with a bone. "Spell's fucked. Up to ye to get us to 'im."

He sends back a brief mental thought to Izar: Catch up - easy t'follow.

With that, he bends down and makes a long line in the ground with his Khukri before sheathing it and moving on.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Jorian’s mouth. While he had  little interaction with the changling thus far, their charms were impossible to deny.  Izaar was many things, but their gift of the tongue was beyond impressive. Jorian had never met a wordsmith of this caliber before, and he was beginning to believe none could hold a candle to the creature in his company.

Jorian speaks to Izaar in a tone of jest.

“While it is not of your own volition, I am honored to hold your lives in my hands. Rest assured that I would think twice before squandering them haphazardly for personal gain.”

Nodding in affirmation to Khonan’s comment about the spell, Jorian couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved. All tools had their uses, including the Arcane and Devine, but Jorian was far more comfortable trusting his own tracking skills, especially when trailing a living mark.

”He will not have gained much distance on us. I trust your judgement Kho’nan, but I ask nonetheless, are all in our company prepared to do what must be done should he be too far gone?”

His eyes rapidly scanning their surroundings, the group had no need for a stealth approach. Based on the size of the group, and the nature of their mark, the creature would inevitably be aware of its current status as prey. Nevertheless, Jorian’s primary objective objective outside of tracking the creature was to make sure the tables did not turn unexpectedly.

By instinct, Kho'nan had almost said that the boy would be the weak link, but then he thought better of it. If anything, Oraam had showed a side to him on their last meeting that bordered on psychopathy. It was completely unexpected at the time, but the Dwarf had tucked it away as a reminder that not all beers can be judged by their brewer.

Or was that saying the other way around?

He shook off the thought.

...only for a more violent one to emerge.

~~~ We will kill it sssssssoooo that we can fffeeeeassssssssstttt. He alwayssss wasss ssssslowwwing usss down.... Beasssst. ~~~

Quiet! Kho'nan mentally snapped back and realized that silence had come over his mind once more.

"Aye. W'll get the job done, whatever need be."

Together, the four Aberrants make their way through the Silver Wood. Jorian moves first through the forest, eyeing every broken twig and shed bark in the wood before a simple grunt or remark would carry you through to the next piece of woodland detritus. The morning waxes to day, the scent of thick brush and pine waft upon the breeze, still onward you press. Your stomachs begin to remind you of how long you've searched for your friend; and as the hunger begins to sap your strength, you wonder how much more of this forest you'll need to trek before you find him. With the lead he had and the time it's taking to follow, Helden may well arrive at Thaliost before you catch him. From there, he need only a Ferryman's ticket before he is beyond your reach.

The hunger in his stomach made The Beast come out more often. It was the typical borderline insane ramblings about killing and eating and things of that nature, but it was making Kho'nan grumpier than usual. With the entire group in tow, he waited for Jorian to take a moment before addressing them.

"It's no'fast enough. We need'ta be quicker. Jorian?" His gravelly voice was low but direct.

Jorian takes a knee, his eyes scanning the tree-line as he rummages through his pack, finally producing a palm full of small beads. The beads of nourishment as they were unceremoniously called, had come in handy much sooner than he expected. On his own, the tracker might gain on their mark, but as a group he knew they would  never be faster than the were-beast at a continuous pace. Without mounts, their chances of closing the gap were tied to their ability to move while the creature slept.

“Rest is no option if we want to keep pace, but we may stave off hunger with these.” Jorian points to Kho’nan’s stomach. “Perhaps a little dull for his taste, but they will keep us satiated for the time being”.

He holds his hand out, offering one of the tiny pearls to each member of the group.

“This one we track…this…Helen. She has purpose in Thaliost?”

Oraam takes the pearl, eating it quickly.

"Used to eat these during those all-night study sessions. Easier than getting up and going to the dining hall."

Looking around at the forest, he lets out a sigh. "For some reason, I think we may be at Helden's whim. We're far behind, and if we really want to catch up we'd need to get some pep in our step, and ignore our need for sleep. He emphasizes Helden to subtly attempt to correct Jorian, not knowing the man well enough to bluntly contradict him.

"With that being said, I'm willing to do what we need to do to catch up."

Kho'nan takes the beads with a nod and immediately eats. He was almost immediately met by a roar of anger from The Beast within. It wanted meat; bloody meat. It got a wheat-ball. He understood its anger but promised to only eat these for the next fortnight if it didn't shut up.

The threat seemed to work.

"Aye, a right proper healer, Helen is. Be good to have 'em back. Swings a hammer well enough."

Kho'nan grunted in agreement at Oraam's willingness to do what needed to be done. Fatigue or no, they needed to make some serious moves to close the distance.

"Thank you." Deftly repeating the truncated somatic gesticulation that she had made earlier while keeping the bead between her left index and middle finders, Izar sighs.  "If it comes to it, I can decrease the likelihood of the trip exhausting us. Of course I would rather not expend the most potent of my abilities on such a thing. But sometimes needs must," she punctuates the last sentence by popping the nourishing orb into her mouth. She masticates slowly, quietly enjoying the tacky yielding of the bead to the intractable pressure of her teeth.  The bead of nourishment was a marvel that she only rarely had occasion to eat in her childhood. Where others tended to bemoan its blandness, she had immediately fallen in love the curious, chewy texture which brought with it satiety.

Caught up momentarily in nostalgia, the bard does not notice her foot doing the same in a protruding root system until she is stumbling forward with a gasp.  Her bid to stay on her feet, though ungracious from beginning to end, is ultimately successful.

Kho'nan was listening to Izar intently when he noticed her walking straight for a root. He took a quick hop over and extended his thick arms, grabbing the changeling surprisingly gingerly as she fell. He bore his ice blue eyes into her for just a moment before propping her back onto her feet a little more hard than he meant to.

The tattoos on his cheeks tried to cover up what could have been blushing, but were a bit too slow.

"Careful, Princess." He gruffly spouted out before moving toward Jorian once again.

With her footing lost, the weight of her gear seems to be propelling her towards the ground.  She has just enough time to chide herself for indulging in useless nostalgia before her descent is halted by Kho'nan's solid form.  

Being so distracted as to end up tripping is embarrassing enough, but to find herself clinging to him for dear life is nigh on unbearable. Too stupidly stubborn to give in to mortification however, Izar meets the ice blue gaze, even as her own face grows hot.

Iron and Metal wrote:

"Careful, Princess." He gruffly spouted out before moving toward Jorian once again.

"Yes. Of course.  It simply would not do to take your ability to be remarkably celeritous for granted," she declares with performative regality as Kho'nan walks away.

*That was very gallant. Thank you.* The cantrip carries the words away to their intended recipient before she can change her mind.

Kho'nan resisted the urge to say the first thing that came to his mind, and the tiny fleeting spark of excitement he felt at the message made it a real feat indeed.

~~~ You're goinnnnng sssssssssooooftttt ~~~ In his mind the second message was accented with a menacing laugh. Kho'nan wasn't sure who he was more frustrated at in that moment - himself or the symbiont.

We take care of our own, he replied mentally, and neutrally, to Izar.

Even still, the tiniest hint of a smile played at his lips.

Oraam watches the interaction between the two with a look of quiet bewilderment before quickly wiping it off his face.
Was that a blush? On Mr. Kho'nan? No... I must be imagining things.

Shaking his head, he catches up with the group. "So... Does anybody have any fun travel or adventure stories? I used to make them up to pass the time in the more boring lectures on arcane theory. You don't really actually need to know most of it, they just like to prepare you for every possible field. So even though I have no interest in illusion, I had to...." Unless stopped, Oraam continues to regurgitate the endless lectures on magical matters he had attended, losing himself as he is prone to do.