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Author Topic: Ghosts of the Past  (Read 50719 times)

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Online Laurna

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #165 on: January 15, 2018, 12:35:19 am »
((Par for the course)) :-\

Offline Evie

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #166 on: January 15, 2018, 12:51:54 am »
((OK, let's try to set up this scene, shall we?

First, rolling for my guards (2d6 x 4, v#4|2r8x3w05):
G1--3 & 5 -success
G2--1 & 1 (uh oh!)
G3--5 & 2 -success
G4--4 & 4 (better luck next time)

Rolling for my thugs (1d6 x 2.  IIRC, their leader is already dead, so these two are less well trained, hence the 1d6 rolls.  V#15203r4zxk):
Thug who killed Kieran--4 (hah!)
Thug who attacked Columcil--6 (oops!)

Guards 1 and 2 are going after Kieran's attacker. Roll to see which side gets initiative. 1 to 3=Thug, 4 to 6=Guards.  Result=1. V#3xx7t00p42.

Guards 3 & 4 are going after Columcil's attacker, same initiative roll criteria. Rolled a 5. V#2gz9w29kb4. 

One more roll--did that guard who rolled snake eyes end up injuring one of his own comrades with that attack?  1d6 test roll. 1 to 3=Yes, 4 to 6=No. Rolled a 6. *sigh of relief!*

And now I'm going to save draft before writing the scene so I won't do something stupid and lose all this again! *dark muttering*))

Three guards burst into the room just in time to see their comrade slain, his blood spurting across the stone floor.  With mutual cries of rage, they sprang into action.  One of the guards leapt towards their leader, who was already facing down Kieran's killer, sword in hand, but before either of them could strike him down, the killer swung his weapon in a wild arc, attempting to strike down the man facing him with cold fury, but his swing was uncontrolled and he missed, if only narrowly.  The guard entering the conflict struck with zealous anger and with his full strength behind the swing, but in his grief over Kieran's death he missed his target entirely, instead slamming the edge of his blade into the wall behind the thug's head. The thug's startled leap away from the vengeful guard who'd nearly decapitated him proved to be the distraction needed for the leader of the guard to get in a solid blow of his own. The thug screamed in dismay as his weapon arm suddenly went numb, pierced to the bone on the guard leader's sword point.

Nearby, the other two guards coming through the door launched themselves at the other thug standing over the fallen priest. The first of the guards to reach them swung out at the brigand, who nimbly stepped just out of range of his sword swing before closing on him, landing a glancing blow on the guard's shoulder before the guard's companion managed to make it to his side to dispatch the foe with a killing blow.

The wounded guard turned his attention to Father Columcil, standing protectively over him as his friend who had just slain the thug at their feet turned to assist their other comrades. They surrounded the one remaining brigand, weapons prepared to strike him down if he tried any further attacks.

"My Lord," the guard leader said, "Shall we keep this one alive for questioning?"
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Online Laurna

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #167 on: January 15, 2018, 02:12:40 am »
“Tie him up!” Wash said in a dangerous voice.

He cast his gaze about the room. There was nothing to be done for the old guardsman Kieran. A ping of regret made the knight suck in his breath.  A younger guard, who obviously knew the older man, leaned over and closed the vacant eyes.

Wash then looked over the room to find Columcil sitting against the wall. Their eyes meet, “I don’t suppose you could lend me a hand?” the priest asked with a half cocked smile. The priest eased his back to the wall, his hand holding his robe tightly around his thigh.  The smile morphed to a half grimace mixed with a laugh. “Thought you were never coming.”

Washburn took the three long steps to knell at the priest’s side. “Almost didn’t, but hay, I’ve gotten to like you, old man. I know I should have let you taken those four on by yourself, I mean, I see you were holding your own there for a bit. But honestly don’t do that again, not without me at least being somewhere nearby. I didn't expect you to come back here, you know.” Wash shook his head with a faint smile. “Not that I was much help. Let me see if I can be better help to you now. Let me ease your pain, than let me help you with your focus.”

The amber eyes gave the Corwyn knight the go ahead. Wash placed one hand on Columcil’s wrist and one over his forehead. He steadied his mind and wished the priest’s torchered nerves to ease. To release the pain.  ((Power trait 1d6 success is a 4,5,or 6.  Rolled 4,Verification Number: 2rxfz25pkj)) Wash let his shields fall away, he felt Columcil’s shields, with their sense of familiarity; they too fell away. What followed was a shallow Rapport, smooth enough under the circumstances. Wash as a knight had helped his injured fellows in the field with this same ability. He knew how to help men sleep and how to ease their pain. This was a little different, however, Columcil needed to stay awake. The priest needed energy to find his own balance. Wash had been a recipient of the man’s Healing abilities only a couple hours before.  He owed the man a debt and he would pay it anyway that he could.

Show me what you need me to do, he sent in mind speech across the link.

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #168 on: January 15, 2018, 10:40:43 am »
Darcy Cameron stretched, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders.  He had stood many watches in his life, but the feeling that something might happen and not knowing what it would be was beginning to take its toll on his nerves.  Maybe he would check on Simon at the back gate.  Again.

Darcy moved in that general direction, but when he reached the infirmary, he saw through the open door that Lady Aliset was resting on one of the cots.  He decided not to disturb her; so far as he could tell Simon had been bearing up well and Darcy had no real cause to be concerned.

He changed his direction and strolled toward the main gate.  The labourer, now known to Darcy by the odd name of Patch, stood up from the chair he had been sitting on.

A sharp knock sounded on the gate.  “Who goes there?” Patch called out.

It was a member of the watch sent by Sir Washburn to update Darcy on what had happened in the town below.  Darcy was glad to hear that Sir Washburn was unhurt, and Father Columcil was recovering.  Darcy asked the man to let Sir Washburn know that they were still secure, and they would remain vigilant until they received further instructions from him.

One of the sisters came out from the nun’s dormitory and walked over to the bell tower.  It was probably time for the last of the night offices, but Darcy had lost track of time and was not sure if it was the last or the first of the next day.  Such things were a little outside his areas of expertise.  He thought briefly of suggesting they dispense with the bell ringing but changed his mind.  He could not think of a good reason to not return to a small degree of normalcy.

He watched as the sisters, including the infirmarian and her assistant, filed into the church.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Offline revanne

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #169 on: January 15, 2018, 04:22:08 pm »
Father Columcil had leant back against the rough stone of the wall, his emotional state almost as bad as the physical pain he was suffering. He had seen death before, many times, sometimes hard, painful death. But he had never before taken a life, and he had never, even for the few condemned men he had accompanied to the gallows, seen life taken with such vindictive enjoyment as poor Kieran's had been. But Sir Washburn was looking over towards him and, besides, he needed all his energies to focus on his own physical healing. He put his emotional and spiritual turmoil into the part of his mind where he kept that which was confided to him under the seal of the confessional and drew a mental veil over it, then turned to greet the knight with a smile, even managing a joke.

He was surprised at the warmth of the other's tone and at the gentleness of his touch; even more surprised at the ease with which the other's mind enfolded his as he felt renewed energy flow into him. Maybe he could even share what he felt as he healed. Close as their minds were it seemed natural to speak directly into the other's thoughts.

Place your hands on mine, and allow yourself to sense the energies. ((rolled to see if Columcil can mindspeak Washburn since they are in rapport 1d6 4,5,6 is "yes", 4 2r8xz1hjmw - yes!))

If Washburn was surprised by his use of mindspeech he made no sign but obeyed as Columcil pushed aside his gathered robe and placed his hands into the wound in his thigh. He focused on the torn blood vessels and sinews being rejoined and then withdrew his hands a little to allow the skin to knit. (( 2d6 3+6=9 17c4jvw8mp)) Then he slid his hands down his leg but the wound there though painful was little more than a scratch and required but little healing. Throughout it all he was aware of Washburn's hands on his and the touch of the other's mind and as ever the sense of another presence touching his at the moment of healing.

Columcil shook the skirts of his habit down and as he did so Washburn's touch gently withdrew from his mind. It crossed Columcil's mind to wonder whether he had been foolish to allow so close a touch from one so nearly related if he were to protect the secret of his parentage but without the energy so generously given he doubted that he would have had the strength to heal himself. This whole journey was taking a direction so far out of his hands that he would be best simply to trust that he was being led.

Turning to Washburn he said simply "Bless you, my son". Then more formally, "I'm rather out of my depth here, my lord, what happens now? Do you suppose it is safe to try and join Darcy and the Lady Aliset in the nunnery." He smiled and added, glancing down at the mess of clotted blood that was now the skirts of his robe, "I hope their Laundress will be as able and as welcoming as the Infirmarian."

Let God rise up, let his enemies be scattered;
    let those who hate him flee before him.
As smoke is driven away, so drive them away;
    as wax melts before the fire,
    let the wicked perish before God.
(Psalm 68 vv1-2)

Online Laurna

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #170 on: January 16, 2018, 05:09:28 am »
Wash starred a long while at the folds of cloth caked in drying blood. His hand been where the cloth now lay.  Only a few moments ago, blood had oozed from a cut, a cut that had severed skin and muscle of the Priest’s upper leg.  He had never followed a Healer in Rapport before. He had given energy to help a family member find the proper balance, yet he had always been the rascal baby brother, the fighter, the protector, the ornery one. No one had taken him in hand and showed him the mechanisms of Healing.  Even sitting here having witnessed it, he didn’t understand it. What he sensed more than anything was a deep trance which opened a place deep in the Healer’s mind, deeper than normal Rapport, deeper than spell workings, a place he had never thought existed before.  He tried to follow how Columcil did it. The Priest was evoking energies that were fiercely strong, yet delicately held in balance. Wash lost his identity  in that moment. One moment he was merely a vessel to draw upon...

((02:07 laurna This is a test of the rolling system on the chat board, but I am also testing 1d6 to see if Wash felt how Columcil could do Healing. This will not go toward the success/ failures for Healer. Yet if it is a success it will open Wash up to the possibility of Healing. If it doesn't succeeded, he will wait to try at an other time.
02:08 laurna !roll 1d6
02:08 derynibot 6 == 6
02:10 laurna Now that is AWESOME, Bynw you see this right. LOL! love it! P.S This does not count other than to awaken a feeling that Wash has the Healing gift deep inside.))
((Love you, Derynibot))

And… and… the next moment… a sensation bewildering and intoxicating sent his head to reeling. Something shook, something opened, and… and...  what followed...  a need to sooth away the other’s pain… a strong need.

He was so overwhelmed by just that feeling, he missed the delicate balance that Columcil used to accomplish his task.  He missed it all. He was dazed and breathless as the Healer moved his hand to the second wound. Wash just sat back, unable to help with that. And then the robes were thrown back over the leg, the leg that was whole.  Columcil was talking something about Darcy and Aliset, something about a laundress and an Infirmarian.

Wash pulled himself to sit up straight. Now was not the time to show his weakness. Wash realized their small corner of the room was the only place of some calm.

Guards and town’s men, men of authority, were crowding into the gate house. Someone was yelling off orders, another was cursing at the man tied up, and and there was general swearing in disgust at the bodies of the dead as they covered. The exception was the old guard Kieran. His body was carried away on the cot with care by six guardsman. The others were left where they lay.

Pretty soon eyes were moving to Wash and Columcil to ask questions, questions neither man had the energy to answer. Better to get some rest and tackle that problem with a clearer head.

“Yes, we need to find Aliset and Darcy. Can you stand?” He asked, finding the energy to stand himself. He bent over with a strong hand and pulled the priest to his feet.  The two escaped the gate house before the town constable had seen them go. 

They made the best pace they could manage uphill in the dark. Columcil carried his staff and Washburn his bear blade. Both bloodied in appearance, the townsfolk let them go, no one dared to stop them. 

They didn’t get lost this time.  The men before the nunnery gate stopped them only long enough for Wash to yell out. “In the name of Lord Morgan, I ask that you permit us entry within. I must see that our companions are safe.”
« Last Edit: January 16, 2018, 05:17:27 am by Laurna »

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #171 on: January 16, 2018, 09:26:35 am »
“In the name of Lord Morgan, I ask that you permit us entry within.  I must see that our companions are safe.”

At the sound of the voice outside the Nunnery’s gate, Darcy Cameron sprinted across the courtyard.  Patch was moving to open the gate, but Darcy laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Sir Washburn,” he called through the gate.  “Is it only you and Father Columcil?”

“Aye, Darcy,” the knight replied.  “We are alone except for the guards stationed outside.”  Darcy could be annoying, but Washburn would not fault his caution.

Darcy nodded, and Patch opened the gate, closing it quickly behind the two dishevelled men once they were through.

“Sweet Jesu,” Darcy said, taken aback for a moment.  “You look awful.  Did you leave anyone alive?”

“Glad to see you as well, Master Darcy.”  Washburn grinned. “You don’t look that much better.”

Darcy sheathed his sword and rubbed his hand along the several days of stubble on his jaw.  Loose, pale strands of hair from his border braid stirred in the faint breeze.  He held out his hand, grasping Sir Washburn’ elbow as the other man grasped his.  Next Father Columcil.

“How fares Lady Aliset?”  Washburn asked.

“Follow me and ask her yourself.”  Darcy lead them across the courtyard to the open infirmary door.  Lady Aliset was standing in the doorway, and the look of joy on her face at the site of her companions nearly stopped Darcy’s heart.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Offline Evie

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #172 on: January 16, 2018, 01:39:58 pm »
It was all Aliset could do not to launch herself across the courtyard and shower hugs and kisses on her approaching companions--and Master Darcy too, for that matter--from sheer relief at seeing them all together again, not to mention safe and relatively sound, if rather the worse for wear by all appearances.  Their bloodied and torn clothing spoke of dangers perhaps only barely survived, yet neither of them appeared to be injured now, so Aliset surmised that Father Columcil must have used his Healing gift on himself as well as perhaps on the good knight as well.  Surely all that blood had not simply come from their enemies, much as she might wish it?

But as she crossed the courtyard, she managed to maintain a proper sense of decorum, only her joyful smile belying her feelings. It would hardly do for her to scare poor Father Columcil back through the gates to seek refuge in the village from such feminine assaults, after all, and Aliset was certain the Reverend Mother would take a dim view of such an unseemly display towards men unrelated to her by bonds of blood or marriage.   Indeed she had already expressed a reluctance to allow Aliset to continue her journey with them unchaperoned on the morrow, and had offered to send a couple of the more matronly nuns along to serve as a more suitable escort for her upon their departure. Aliset's protests that haste was needed, an escort of nuns would both slow her party down and endanger the good sisters, and that Father Columcil, respectable priest that he was, would surely serve as a fit chaperone, had all fallen upon deaf ears until Aliset had been forced to reveal her means of disguise to the Reverend Mother in the privacy of the good abbess's study.  Afterwards, the abbess had grudgingly relented, allowing that if Aliset kept to a man's form for the rest of her journey, that ought to suffice to keep virtue and reputation untarnished until she arrived in Rhemuth.

But those watchful eyes were on her even now, so as Aliset reached her companions, she favored them with nothing more than a demure smile and polite inclination of her head in welcoming greeting.  "You are well come, my friends!  Come inside and rest.  I've arranged for some light fare, since I'm certain you must be hungry after our journey and all your recent exertions, and your clothing must needs be laundered and mended, if not replaced, before we can travel further." She grinned. "Don't worry, I've managed to secure a few clean tunics for you to change into.  I can't promise they'll fit properly, but at least you've been saved the need to wear nuns' habits while your clothes dry."
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Offline revanne

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #173 on: January 16, 2018, 04:19:31 pm »
As the fight in the gate house drew to a close and it was clear that the loyalists had been defeated, one of the guard slipped quietly out of the room as others were pouring in and let himself out quietly through the postern in the barred gate. He shut it quietly behind him; he knew of a way back in where the town wall backed onto a garbage strewn alley, little overlooked and even less traversed, though he doubted that would be using it. Some he knew would call him and his fellows separatists and traitors, but he preferred to name things as they were, if only to himself. They were loyalists; loyal to the ancient house of Meara, to the memory of Ithel strung up like a common felon, without trial, by the accursed Haldane so near to here that it was a wonder his ghost did not walk, and loyal now to his blood and the man who would see Ithel's grand-daughter rightfully crowned.

Not that those he had left behind deserved the title - useless as they had proved to be. Let them do as they would with Tomas, there was little enough that he could tell and at least those who had died had taken Kieran with them, old fool with his craven allegiance. The priest too seemed to be on the point of death, good riddance to him.

Besides he had worries enough of his own - he must contact his lord and face what surely would be his rage at being thwarted once again. As he walked towards those encamped just within the thickets at the side of the road he held his hands out to show that he bore no weapon but his demeanour was not one of submission. Showing the token common to those who served Grand-Duke Valerian and casting his eye somewhat disdainfully upon the ones shown in return, he spoke brusquely.

"It has not gone well. I shall need one of you to lend me energy to seek further instruction, and it is to be hoped, for all our sakes, forgiveness, though I do not say that we shall find it. Come! Quickly!" he ordered as those to whom he spoke huddled together in consternation, "It matters not who it is." With every word the manner of a subordinate was dropping from him, but he offered no explanation as to who he was or how he came to be a guard in such a town. It was enough that he was clearly Deryni and in touch with Grand Duke Valerian for the others to obey without question. It was likely their hope of mercy lay with him.

At a nod from the band's leader a man stepped out and allowed himself to be led away and seated not ungently with his back against the bole of a tree. The Deryni laid his hand on the other's forehead until his head nodded on his breast, then settled himself on the ground and pulled the other against him. Sinking into trance he reached out with his thoughts until he reached the one he sought and, with as much humble remorse as he could put into his mental tone, he made his report.

It was some while until he returned to the band now gathered anxiously together and they were reassured neither by the whiteness of his face nor the absence of their comrade. His voice, however, was somewhat softer as he said, "He will sleep until morning but he will take no harm." He would now be relying on these men for his safety, after all. He continued, "Well we are not dead yet, but there are to be no more mistakes. We are to withdraw from sight of the town keeping watch until we see how and when those his excellency seeks leave. The girl is to be taken alive, but we have bigger prey. Corwyn's brat is there and my lord wants him alive at all costs. The Haldane would pay dearly for his safe return.

« Last Edit: January 17, 2018, 03:20:53 pm by revanne »
Let God rise up, let his enemies be scattered;
    let those who hate him flee before him.
As smoke is driven away, so drive them away;
    as wax melts before the fire,
    let the wicked perish before God.
(Psalm 68 vv1-2)

Online Bynw

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #174 on: January 16, 2018, 05:41:47 pm »
Grand Duke Valerian sat at a great desk contemplating what was in store for the future. Speaking his mind out loud into the shadows as he did. "It doesn't really matter if Oswald's men manage to capture the girl or not. Our agents in the Rheumth Court will tell us what happens to the girl and her lands when it is decided. Even loosing them back to the Haldane can be part of the plan. Let him win a few so he feels like he still has control of Meara. The Haldane will not know of our involvement. But." He says standing up and pacing the floor. "But, the Duke of Corywn's brother. Now that is a prize worth having indeed."

"Go by Portal to make that happen." The Grand Duke speaks again to the shadows in the room. "And this time take the Merasha with you for your crossbow. Rob him and any other Deryni that gets in our way of their power. Take no chances. Hit them all with a bolt or two. Even a human will loose his edge while under the influence."

The shadow moves wordlessly out of the room while Grand Duke Valerian returns to his desk and gazes out the window overlooking the courtyard in thought.
« Last Edit: January 16, 2018, 05:43:44 pm by Bynw »

Offline Evie

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #175 on: January 16, 2018, 06:13:23 pm »
((Hit us with one or two crossbow bolts rather than just regular arrows shot from a longbow?  Dang, that man hates us! LOL!))
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline Jerusha

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #176 on: January 17, 2018, 09:49:17 pm »
Darcy Cameron carefully poured the warm water over Sir Washburn’s head.  The Deryni knight, sitting in the tub of bath water, enjoyed the warmth as the soap was rinsed off of his body.  He stood up, stepped out of the tub and accepted the rough, clean towel Darcy held out for him.

“You’ll go next, Father?” Darcy asked.

“You go ahead,” Father Columcil said generously.

They were in the room the nuns usually used for their own ablutions.  Patch had carried in several bucket of steaming water, filling up the wooden tub.  He had also brought a large basket for their dirty clothes.

Darcy did not hesitate.  He stripped off hose, shirt and breeches, tossing them into the basket.  As he stepped into the tub, both of his companions noted the numerous scars across his back.

“Discipline at sea must have been harsh,” Father Columcil said gently.

“Not so much,” Darcy replied.  “Half of them were from my stepfather.”

“Is that why you ran away to sea?” Columcil asked.

Darcy barked a sharp, bitter laugh.  “The bastard sold me to sea.”

Washburn started to say something, but Columcil shook his head.  He had heard of such things before.  Sometimes general talk, sometimes under the seal of the confessional.

Darcy hesitated for a moment, grasping the worn leather pouch on the cord around his neck.  It would not do to get it soaked with water.

“I’ll hold it for you,” Father Columcil offered.

Darcy hesitated for several long moments.  Then he removed the pouch and handed it to the priest. “Sorry, Father, but it’s not mine.  I made a vow to a dying man to deliver it to a nephew in Desse.” Father Columcil noted the small, tarnished silver ring hanging from a newer silver chain around Darcy's neck that he did not remove.

“I can respect that,” replied Columcil.  “It will be safe with me,”

Darcy lowered himself into the water.  With a practised move, he untied his border braid, ran his fingers through it to set the pale hair free, and dunked his head under the water.

Washburn felt a pang of envy.

Columcil held the pouch in his hand.  He could feel square cubes inside the leather.

Darcy surfaced, water streaming from his hair.

“Do you know what is inside this pouch?” Columcil asked carefully.

“Aye, funny dice.” Darcy said.

“You looked inside?” Washburn asked.

“Of course,” Darcy replied. “I want to know if I’m carrying anything that might get me killed.” He scooped a handful of soft soap and scrubbed.

“May I have a look?”  Columcil asked.

Darcy hesitated a moment in his scrubbing, but could not think of a reason to deny the request.  He nodded agreement.

Columcil opened the pouch and poured the contents into his hand.  Four obsidian cubes and four ivory cubes tumbled out.

“Ward cubes! Washburn exclaimed, and forgetting himself, engulfed Darcy in the bucket of rinse water.

“Hey!” Darcy sputtered.  “Have a care, man!”

“Sorry,” Washburn said.

“What are ward cubes?” Darcy asked cautiously.

Columcil fingered the cubes in his hand.  They were old, very old.  He could feel a faint tingle of power. “They enable powerful ritual magic,” he said.  Darcy gave him a blank look.

“Was the man who entrusted these to you Deryni?’ Comuncil asked carefully.

“Aye,” Darcy replied.  “They belonged to the Quartermaster.  I knew he was Deryni, but I don’t’ think many others knew.  The Captain might have, but it was not a question I was going to ask.”  Darcy stepped out of the wash tub and accepted a towel from Washburn.
 
“Darcy, this could help us greatly if we are in need.  Will you let us use them if we need to?”

Darcy considered for a moment, dimly remembering something odd the Quartermaster once said. He could not quite it remember it clearly.  “If they are needed to get Lady Aliset to Rhemuth, use them as needed.”

Columcil nodded, returned the ward cubes to the pouch, and handed it back to Darcy.

“You’re next, Father,” Darcy said, stepping away from the tub.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Offline revanne

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #177 on: January 18, 2018, 02:42:59 am »
((Lovely little episode, Jerusha))
Let God rise up, let his enemies be scattered;
    let those who hate him flee before him.
As smoke is driven away, so drive them away;
    as wax melts before the fire,
    let the wicked perish before God.
(Psalm 68 vv1-2)

Online Laurna

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #178 on: January 18, 2018, 05:18:40 am »
Senses open-- pathways searching-- time progressing-- no response.

An ancient family relic which had passed from generation to generation was cupped front and back between his palms. This large coin-like pendant was one of the few original Saint Camber medals to survive from the time of Camber’s first canonization; it was two and a half centuries old. Its power was subtle, not easily recognized by someone who was not of the family line. For a descendant of Camber, such as Alaric had been ( Duchess Richenda had discovered that connection in their family line back when Kelric was just a babe), this silver medal held knowledge and powers that opened pathways that few other spell-casted objects could achieve. Kelric touched the face engraved on the medal’s surface. Using his focus, he centered down to search deeper. His brother once again was not contacting him during their scheduled Rapport. Compline had come and gone. It had been three days since they had last made contact.  They had agreed a week ago that every three days they would make contact at the hour of nine. Kelric felt blind about what was going on. His brother should have more respect than to leave him dangling like this.  The distance between them was great, too great for any one person to make. Kelric centered deeper….

((01:20 laurna Hello Bynw, I am here to make a dice roll.
01:24 laurna It is just after compline, Kelric is casting out with his Saint Camber Medal to make a scheduled contact with Wash. Only Wash is occupied in combat in the gate house, 2d6 roll to see if he can sense anything from his brother.
01:25 laurna !roll 2d6
01:25 derynibot 3, 6 == 9
01:25 laurna I love these dice.))

...fleeting sensations: rage and exhaustion... fleeting images: a flash of a sword, a dagger slicing flesh, blood pooling on the floor under the fallen man, rage at a man who dodged away… “Kel”... another man, a priest by the look of him, taking a wound in the leg... “Kel”... anger flared, unable to prevent the wounding of a friend… “Kelric, come quickly!”

An anxious feminine voice broke his trance. The urgency of his wife’s Mind Speech caused Kelric to turn his full focus upon his beloved. “It fell!” she called desperately, “I can’t get them out! Help us!”  The vision she sent was of the twins’ bed, the mattress lying askew against the floor. The heavy canopy and curtains crumpled down over something that moved underneath.
 
The Duke of Cowyn ran faster through the family’s residential rooms of Coroth Castle than he ever had before. He shoved the door aside which led through to the children’s playroom. His youngest boys’ room was across from the entrance, the door wide open. Araxandra Haldane Morgan was standing there, one arm up, straining to hold the broken canopy rail; her other hand searching beneath the fabric for a squirming, crying child. From the amount of movement seen,  both the boys must be trapped underneath.

“Oh Lord!” Kelric exclaimed, grabbing with both hands the crossrail that Araxa could no long hold high. Seemingly uncaring for her own safety if the canopy should fall, the duchess dove headlong into the fabric pile, pulling forth one crying child. She placed him at his father’s feet and then reached back into the fabric, farther this time to come up moments later with their second twin boy. Alain’s face was smeared in blood from a cut over his left eye. He didn’t cry; only his arms wrapped firm around his mother’s neck showed his distress.  Araxa enfolded him in her arms. Speaking softly to him, she carried him over to the hearth and the settle before it, nestling down onto the cushioned seat to comfort her six year old.

“Is that all” Kelric asked, afraid to let the canopy fall too soon. “Bisket! Get Bisket too,” Alain yelled over his mother’s shoulder. That would be the new puppy’s fate to be in the middle of this mess, mayhaps he had been the catalyst to this disaster.

Kelric turned his mind’s eye to find the black and gold bundle of fur. Sure enough, his psychic senses touched on the puppy’s fear, “Come to papa,” Kelric called, using his talent at establishing animal rapport. One hand let go of the beam, lifting the fabric up in time to see a black nose appear. “Duncan, pull Bisket free, save him for papa.” The boy at his feet stopped sniffling and pulled at the puppy’s front legs until the dog was free.  With a sigh of relief, Kelric let the canopy rail down.  It made a final crash as it came to rest upon the floor. The duke scooped his six-year-old son up into his arms. He paced quickly over to the settle, noticing just then his elderly mother, the Dowager Duchess Richenda, enter the room. She had his two younger daughters under each of her arms. Richenda reached Araxa’s side at the same time Kelric did, taking the uninjured grandson from him into her arms.  The boy was getting to be a big boy, almost too big to carry for a lady in her sixties. She settled on the far end of the settle, keeping the boy in her lap, soothing his fears.

Kelric’s fingers touched Alain’s forehead. The duke, who had inherited so much from his father, had inherited his Healing gift as well.  He was shaking a little to see his son injured, but Araxa was already soothing her young Alain with her words and bringing down his pain so his papa could clean the blood away and see the full length of the gash. Kelirc as quick to fall into his Healer’s trance, it rarely failed him after so many years of experience. His wife and his mother were there to help if that was needed. Neither lady could use the Healing powers themselves, yet both were as familiar with the power as if they could. The briefest sense of another’s hands and the boy was whole, resting his head down, letting his mother encase him within her caring arms.

“That old ducal bed should have been tossed long ago.” Richenda sighed. “Nineteen years ago, I had them remove it from my room. I could not sleep in it, I just couldn’t, the memories….” The dowager enfolded the three grandchildren in her arms.

Araxandra looked shamefaced. “It was the only bed big enough, with the two boys growing so fast. I am sorry, maman Richenda.” 

“We’ll have a new one built for them, stronger than that old beechwood. At least my family is safe.”

Though the dowager was sure her words were true, her son sunk down to his knees before her. “Maman, I fear that not all the family is safe.”

“Not safe? Your four are here before me. Your two eldest are at Rhemuth, part of the King’s household. Nothing could have happened to them.”

“Kenric and Kelsonie are fine. It’s not my children that I worry for, but rather my brother. Wash was in a fight tonight, somewhere on the Mearan border. It looked far more serious than a brawl.”

“Show me!” Richenda requested, her hands grasping her son’s wrist, her shields dropping away. Kelric revealed all that he had seen, showing her also how her youngest son had gladly accepted the quest to go to Meara to escort a baron’s surviving daughter to Rhemuth to make her plea with the king for her murdered family and captured lands. 

“How could I refuse a friend’s dying request? I know, I know, I only heard Lord Alister in a dream, but I did hear him. He needed his sister to be saved from the man who had giving him his death wound. I couldn’t save Alister, but Wash was closer than I was. He could reach Aliset far sooner than anyone else I could send.  He knows what is at stake. He will see her honorably to the gates of Rhemuth.”

“We’re going to Rhemuth!” the dowager declared suddenly. “All of us!” She nodded to the whole ducal family.

“Maman, the Rhafallia II isn’t due in port for another two days,” her son said.

‘Not by ship, by Portal. The three of us can bring the children though. I want my whole family together. I don’t know why, but I feel a storm is brewing. It is not a good feeling.” The lady’s blue eyes had a haunted look, like she had just seen a ghost walk before her as she stared at the bed curtains that were crumpled in a heap. Curtains that at one time had been a part of her happiest days. 
« Last Edit: January 20, 2018, 04:53:56 pm by Laurna »

Offline Evie

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #179 on: January 18, 2018, 10:43:16 am »
Aliset sat on her bed in the small chamber the abbess had thoughtfully provided for her apart from her male companions in the guesthouse.  In her hands was a goblet of wine, although thus far it had remained untouched. She stared into its depths, watching the flicker of nearby firelight shimmer on its dark surface as she focused intently, attempting to conjure up a vision of those remaining pursuers who meant her and her fellowship harm.

((Test to see if Aliset can scry for enemies.

Evie    !roll 2d6
@derynibot    5, 1 == 6 ))

As she watched, the surface of the wine began to shimmer, the firelight replaced by a vision of another fire...a bonfire?  She sensed it was nearby.  Was that the silhouette of the village walls she could see in the distance?  Aliset attempted to get a closer look at the men she could see seated around the fire. She got a vague impression of faces in the firelight's glow before the scene shifted.

Another man, darkly handsome. She had seen this face before, when she'd gained impressions from the dead man's amulet, and seeing it again made her recoil in revulsion at the evil she sensed from him.  He was speaking to another man, giving orders from the look of things, although she could not hear him. The other man turned to leave.

((Check to see if Valerian senses her attempt
!roll 2d6
2, 3 == 5

Check to see if Aliset sees anything else
!roll 2d6
2, 1 == 3 ))

Sensing the handsome man's power, Aliset feared he might detect her scrying and attempt to track it back to its source, so she quickly returned her consciousness to the here and now, downing the contents of the wine goblet.
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

 

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