Post by Milo Brightmane on Jul 15, 2019 15:49:49 GMT
Milo peered at the shattered chunks of metal that sat on a worktop. They had a dark lustre to them, and shimmered threateningly in the light from the forge. The route to finding them had been a strange one, but it had started with a letter.
"Please come to the Sea shank, it’s urgent! Master is in trouble!" it had read, and was signed Abd El Aziz, a name Milo hadn't recognised. Running back outside he had shouted to the messenger - "Hoy! Who gave you this letter?" "Some goblin," had come the reply. "Works for that weird mage Mystigon I think."
Milo had not seen hide nor hair of Mystigon since the trip to the underwater city of Zeyshel, but looking up at the carefully carved sign for the Hammerfall he remembered the human with the tattooed face who had created it for him. He had packed a bag for Port Ffirst and set off immediately.
On arrival at the Cavernous Seashank he had recognised a few individuals from previous excursions - a dwarf of icy blue complexion named Doddil, Igrainne the half-drow he had become acquainted with on the run-up to the Amaranthiad, and Jacinta, the little halfling ranger who, it turned out, had received an identical letter to Milo. Their catching up was interupted by the sound of affray outside the Seashank - the soft thump of blows landing, and squeals of pain. Moving outside to see what could be done, they found a group of three men taking turns to kick at a form curled up in the dirt while the others cheered and jeered. The sight had made Milo furious, but Jacinta had made the first move, expertly loosing a dagger into the ground between the group and what they could now see was a tiny goblin. As Jacinta had told them to leave the goblin alone, Milo had moved up beside her and offered a second option - "Or perhaps you would like to try it on someone your own size?" Jacinta was no taller than the goblin, and Milo himself was a foot shorter than the men, but the sight of two heavily armed adventurers had convinced the attackers their time was better spent somewhere else. Or perhap it was the growing size of the group which stood with the two rescuers - the noise of the fight had also caught the attention of an albino tiefling who introduced herself as Code, and a woman in a heavy cloak and some kind of snake-skin scarf or wrap, who had said only her name, Ixcel, and who appeared human, but had the most alarming slitted yellow eyes.
A strange one, that, thought Milo, but not with any great conviction. Most in this place were strange in their own way. Anyway, he had to figure out this metal. After some experimentation with hammers, chisels and punches, he had determined that it was roughly as hard as his usual steel, perhaps a little harder. He placed the broken pieces into a crucible, in order to melt them down before casting, and placed the crucible in the fire. But half an hour passed. An hour. The shards of metal remained stubbornly solid and whole. Removing the crucible from the forge, Milo could feel the blazing heat emanating from its sides, but passing a hand over the top of the bowl the temperature was no warmer than any other part of the room, if anything slightly cooler. Slowly, Milo reached a bare hand into the bowl, waiting for the increase in heat that would prove some progress was being made. But it never came. Hesistantly the smith tapped a lump of metal with the end of his finger, then picked it up. Holding it out in front of him it was cold in his rough palm, as if it had never entered the forge.
It had transpired that the goblin was Abd El Aziz himself, who had been on his way to meet whoever had responded to his letters. He was disappointed that only two had come, but perked up when the others in the little group had offered to help. He explained that Mystigon had become very withdrawn of late, the timing coinciding with attacks by little devillish creatures on their shared house. He led them away to the outskirts of town, where the small house was. As they approached it they could see indeed that little red and black imps were flying around outside, cackling and loosing balls of fire at the building. There seemed to be some kind of magical shield around the house though, as the fire faded away before it was a foot from the walls. The imps were too far for Milo to do anything without drawing their attention, but as the group discussed whether to try to reach the house stealthily or to simply attack the imps, Ixcel seemed preoccupied, concentrating on one of the imps, not saying a word, though her strange scaled scarf shifted, revealing itself to be a great snake. That imp suddenly glanced around, as if someone had called it, before chattering madly to the others before they whirled around and around and vanished. The imps gone, they proceeded to the house, and were greeting by Abd El Aziz's scared crying children.
The inside had a stale smell, like the inside of a chest locked for centuries, and the odour only become stronger as they reached Mystigon's room. They found him crouched in a corner, muttering absently to himself, over and over again "Find the angel in the bark. The angel in the bark." Someone had said perhaps he was talking about the Angelbark woods. Abd El Aziz explained that Mystigon had begun slipping into this kind of waking dream after an encounter with a shop keeper a few weeks back, a pet shop owner he claimed, during his lucid moments, a voice had forced him to attack. Eventually he would talk only to the tiny pig, Murph, he had stolen from the pet shop, and since the imp attacks began a week ago, not even that. Now he was pale and drawn, deep shadows under his eyes showed a lack of sleep, and they noted the sharp angles of his face from lack of food. They tried to shake him out of his stupor, calling his name, snapping fingers at him, but he didn't even seem to know they were there. Milo had even attempted a spell which would protect against the influence of evil beings, but Mystigon seemed to be outside its limitations. The most strange change they noted was a heavy leather glove on his right hand, fingerless but wrapped in dark chains. As they discussed the meaning of the glove, and Mystigon's state, reasoning that he must be using his full concentration to maintain the shield which protected the house, they realised that the room had gone deathly quiet. Mystigon had stopped his rambling mutter. As a low rumble began, the mage jumped up and grabbed the nearest person, Doddil, and screamed in his face one word - "RUN!" At which point the exterior wall of the room exploded inward, and imps flooded in through the ragged hole.
The lack of heat would make things difficult, thought Milo, but not impossible. He knew how to cold forge, though you usually started with a single cast ingot, and of something softer than steel. It would take an immense amount of maintained pressure to fuse these pieces into a single block. It was possible that he could use the blessing of Moradin to transmute it into a bar, or even directly into a simple weapon. But this steel had come from a creature of the Nine Hells, and he wasn't sure what using such holy magic on it would do. It might destroy it utterly, or simply alter its properties beyond the point where it would be distinguishable from any other steel. No, he would have to do this the old fashioned way - with sweat, time... and a big hammer.
The fight with the imps had been brief but busy. Initially the little devils had made a bee-line for Mystigon, but when the group stepped in they had been easily distracted. While some were content to scratch and claw and bite at the group, others attempted to release the same small balls of fire they had witnessed earlier. However the fire throwers apparently had little control over their own magic, as a number of them only managed to explode the fire into their own faces. The party permformed well with Ixcel releasing a spray of poison at one of the imps, while the tiefling Code ran one through with her rapier. Milo caught one squarely with his warhammer and sent it crashing into the wall, the impact finishing it, before casting a spell of sanctuary on Mystigon, now silent and still again. In total they killed six or seven imps, the last of which threw itself into Ixcel before exploding in a fiery burst. Ixcel hadn't seemed too badly hurt, but her snake companion, presumably summoned by magic rather than a natural beast, faded away. In a sweep of the room the party turned up a number of papers, most written by Mystigon himself in a frenzied scrawl. A story about a man who had sold himself to a devil in return for great power, but when he rejected that devil his power waned along with his life, and he died still searching for help from the gods. A paper on which was written about an angel in the woods north of Daring Heights, a guardian figure called Will, and in Mystigon's own hand "perhaps he can help". Finally, a rough map, showing pathways through trees to a clearing.
They agreed that they should waste no time. Mystigon was put on his horse Mira, which Abd El Aziz brought around, and the little goblin family were taken to the Flourished Hook to stay for a few days, until the large hole in their wall could be fixed. One of the brothers that owns the Hook was extremly reticent to let goblins stay, but after some stern looks and Abd El being very free with Mystigon's gold, they were given a room. The goblin presented the group with a large amount of gold for agreeing to help, which all but Jacinta and Milo shared out. Then the group began towards the Angelbark Woods. It took around a day to reach the edge of the woods, and they agreed to rest up before venturing in. As Milo and Igrainne were being woken up for the final watch of the night, a cruel, mocking voice began to emanate from the chained glove on Mystigon's hand. "You will not take what belongs to me," it said, "what is rightfully mine." Ixcel asked for the name of the entity, but it simply laughed at her. "My imps were weak, but you will not defeat my Champion. He gains on you even now, and he will retrieve what I am owed." The voice faded away but, looking out over the landscape between the Woods and Port Ffirst, Code drew our attention to a figure on horseback rising over a hillock. It was a long way off, but it was large enough that we could make out the greatsword slung to one side, and the large horned helmet. It was an easy decision to keep moving, despite the lack of sleep.
As Milo worked the metal lumps rhythmically into a single piece his shoulder muscles knotted with the repetition of the heavy hammer blows, and sweat beaded and ran down his face. He let his mind wander from the monotony of the hammering, and thought of that first day of travel, north along the coast before turning inwards towards the Woods. He had been approached by Ixcel, the woman with the strange eyes and small patches of scales on the back of her hands. She had asked him "Are you a man of faith?" He had nodded, yes he certainly was, he was a follower of the great Moradin. And she hadn't known the name! Where could she be from? It was very rare to encounter even a non-Dwarf who didn't know who Moradin was. It would be like not knowing of Corellon, or Pelor. Ixcel had asked whether his faith was welcomed where he was from, was he accepted? He had assured her yes, even the dwarves who weren't in direct service to Moradin worshiped him as the Father of all dwarves, Forger of Souls. At least in Citadel Adbar. He wasn't sure where Doddil was from, but he felt it was unlikely his people worshiped the same gods. If he ran into Doddil again he would have to ask him. Thinking back on that conversation though, he paused in his hammering. Was Ixcel not free in her faith? Was that why she had come to Kantas? She had said that while she had faith she also had questions. Was it those questions that meant she was on this new continent, half way around the world? So much he should have asked, but at the time he had been too self-conscious to ask, or perhaps too caught up in extoling the values of Moradin. I should listen more, he thought, and talk less. He returned to the work, tendons in his arms tensed like lyre strings.
They had worked their way through the wild paths between the tall trees, following the sketched map found at the house. As they moved on during the day Milo could feel the air around them change. It felt more pure, lighter, it almost sparkled. He knew this divine energy, felt it flow through him whenever he cast spells, but had never before felt so large an area so suffused with it. Igrainne paused and bent down to touch the forest floor, eyes closed. Then she stood up, and pointed only a little off from the way they had been walking. "There's some kind of celestial presence that way," she said. "Not far." But looking at the others in the group Milo and Igrainne could see that the day's trek on top of an interupted night's sleep had left them close to exhausted. So they agreed to rest once more before the final push. They kept a close watch on Mystigon, but he remained silent, as did the chained glove. During his watch Milo heard a faint clanking on the edge of hearing - the sound of plate armour moving and shifting - far off, but getting steadily closer.
Once everyone was rested, they continued. It was less than an hour before they broke out into a wide clearing, perhaps 250 feet across. They placed Mystigon roughly in the centre, and Jacinta began calling for Will, calling for his help. To their amazement Mystigon spoke, albeit weakly. "He won't come like that," he said, then reached out for a stick. Slowly and carefully he drew a symbol on the floor, arcane and complex, then he pointed out six trees around the periphery of the clearing. "Scratch it in," he whispered. Each one went to a tree and began to scratch the complicated symbol into the bark, sharp angles and long sweeping curves interlaced with ancient runes. They were barely half way into the ritual when the temperature in the clearing dropped like a stone, their blood felt like ice. Turning, they could see the hulking figure of a knight in dark armour stepping down from its horse, face covered by a great horned helmet.
It walked across the clearing towards Mystigon, covering the distance seemingly in no time. A fear passed through them all like they had never felt before, the certainty of death if they even so much as moved. Mystigon, however, watched the knight approach him with calmness, and even smiled at the group who had brought him there. At that point they realised that the ritual and the symbol meant nothing - Mystigon had simply been trying to get them as far away from him as possible. The knight reached down to the mage on the floor, gripping the tattoo which ran down one side of Mystigon's face before tearing it out of the skin. Blood sprayed out, and Mystigon screamed in pain. Next was the glove, until this point apparently fused to Mystigon's arm. But the knight simply crushed down on the mage's arm, and tore away the gloved hand entirely. Jacinta managed to break from the overwhelming sense of fear and loose an arrow, but the figure continued to batter Mystigon's limp body. Milo had watched all this in terror, but felt within him Moradin's strength. Stepping forward he released from his warhammer a beam of bright radiant energy, the closest connection he had yet felt to his god. It struck the knight cleanly in the chest, leaving a residual holy glow. The knight turned towards Milo and from his back opened two enormous leathery wings. As it flew, Milo released another radiant beam, but the erratic movement of the knight sent the beam clear past it, dwindling into the air. Landing in front of Milo it slashed at him with its greatsword, leaving Milo's shield arm jarred and in pain. In desperation Milo conjured the symbol of the All Father, an anvil topped with flame all made of spectral material, to fall on the knight, before running to it and attacking directly, but the huge knight's shield stopped the attack short. Glancing around the clearing Milo could see the others breaking out of their fear and running towards Mystigon for healing, running towards each other, running towards him. Then in the corner, where the knight had entered, Milo saw a figure walking.
Tall and lithe, this figure was as beautiful as the knight was terrifying, an angel with skin of bark and wings of branches and leaves. It plucked a branch from its own side which it ran its hand down, straightening and sharpening into a javelin, which with great ease it launched through the air. Straighter than an arrow or crossbow bolt it flew, breaking through the knight's shoulder, devastating one of its wings and leaving chunks of smoking flesh on the forest floor. The knight roared in pain, then flew on its one remaining wing towards the angel figure. Milo released one more bolt of radiant energy between its shoulder blades before Jacinta loosed an arrow which found one of the eye holes in its helmet. The knight dropped its sword, which buried itself into the ground, then shook, its armour crumbling around it, until the whole body collapsed and melted away, leaving only the helmet and a pile of dark metal shards. The angel Will nodded at them silently, before moving over to Mystigon, unconscious in the centre of the clearing. It passed its hand over what remained of his arm, and over the empty socket in his face, healing wounds but leaving deep scars. Mystigon slowly stood up, and quietly spoke with the angel, too quiet for any of them there to hear. He bowed, then the angel turned and disappeared back into the trees.
What would come of this venture, Milo wondered as he admired the newly crafted dagger, a week of back-breaking work later. Mystigon had done no further magic on the way back to Port Ffirst. Had he lost his power in exchange for keeping his life? Or had he come to some kind of arrangement with the angel? He would not speak of it to anyone. Milo assumed they would find out in good time, which was fine. He was a patient dwarf, and there was always work to be getting on with.
