Ghosts of the Past

[revanne]

Columcil felt the gentle touch of his grandfather's mind brush his shields inviting rapport and then, as he rolled them back, an equally gentle presence within his mind enfolding and calming him, as details of the horror of Washburn's ordeal and the challenge of the task awaiting himself and Darcy were revealed, and preventing him from giving way to despair. He felt humbled as he sensed the depth of Duncan's compassion, both as man and Archbishop, and shamed as he recalled his arrogant judgement of him.  Instantly he felt the touch of the other's mind brush his with an absolution which felt like the pouring of cool water over his soul, before the contact was withdrawn.

It was with reluctance that Duncan withdrew from the rapport, easing back his mind as he drew his hand away. One day, please God not too far away, when all this was resolved he hoped to have time to share more deeply with the man who sat beside him, not as his senior nor yet his superior, but on equal terms sharing what was permissible of their common life as priests and healers. Although he had no doubt that Columcil would have been incredulous, in some ways he envied him that he had been able to fulfill his calling without the complications of rank and political life which had inevitably been his lot. But for now there were more urgent matters.

Columcil sat in silence for a moment before he spoke, concerned that what he had to say would seem a return of his previous truculence but knowing that he must speak what was in his heart.

"I kenned well I should'a ta'en ma chance ta gang this morn. I'm no wantin' ta naysay his Majesty but tha's nae a wee bitty task fer me an' Darcy, and neither of us is what you'd call well trained."

"You both think well of Washburn and that matters." Duncan left unanswered the unspoken accusation that if others had thought equally well of Alaric's younger son he might not now be in this pass and continued with barely a pause,

"God has brought you together for a purpose, I am sure of that, although I daresay that doesn't seem much help at the moment, and I can promise you my prayers. There are some other ways in which I can help too, which is why I wanted to meet here. But first I have some gifts for you."

Duncan reached into the neck of his cassock and pulled out a small amber crystal on a fine leather thong.

"Have you seen one of these before?"

"Aye, one o' the Deryni at the Seminary wi' me had one set in the crucifix on his rosary; he said it was called a shiral crystal and helped him wi' his prayers."

"That and other things. It will help you to focus your powers, especially when you seek to enter into rapport with me. It will be important that you keep in touch so that His Majesty can be informed of all that is happening. Any shiral will help you to do that, but this one is special."

Duncan's voice slowed as he spoke as though he were struggling with emotion. He took a deep breath before continuing,

"I am sure that you know something of the story of Dhugal's mother, I rather fear that it has become a favourite tale within the Duchy. You should know that I was neither as handsome nor as brave as popular legend has it, but the true tale is for another time. What matters now is that Maryse gave this to me on our wedding night and I gave it to Dhugal when I recognised and acknowledged him as my son. And now he has left it with me to give to you with the same purpose in mind. He wishes you to know that though you cannot be acknowledged publicly, at least for now, he willingly and proudly recognises you as his son and wishes you to have this as token, and as a help to you in your task."

Numbly Columcil reached out his hand to take the crystal, brought it to his lips and slipped the thong around his neck. For a long moment neither he nor Duncan were able to speak, then Duncan, blushing slightly, added.

"Before I repeat what he also asked me to tell you, I should add that Dhugal has a somewhat misplaced sense of humour and I must beg you not to take offence. He insisted that you should know that he expects you to keep to family tradition and in time to hand it on to the son you have fathered in secret."

To Duncan's relief, the shock on Columcil's face only lasted for a second then he burst out laughing,

"Aye well, yer Grace, it's as well you can tell him from yer own knowledge o' me that I'm a mouthy borderer who doesn'a do as I'm tellit."

Whether or not it had been his intention, Dhugal's words had allowed both men to gain control of their emotions and Columcil was able to keep his composure as he added simply,

"Please gi'e 'im my thanks fer the shiral, and my heartfelt thanks ta ye, too, Sir."

The "Sir" was almost Duncan's undoing, signifying the respect a man might use towards his grandfather, rather than Columcil's previous careful deference but knowing better than to draw attention to it he continued,

"I have two other gifts for you, less personal but of equal use I hope."

Duncan handed over a vial of water, carefully stoppered and sealed. "This is holy water from St Winifred's well. As you will know well it is sovereign against many evils. It will not restore a mind that has been stolen, like poor Wash's, but with God's help it can take away the effects of merasha and similar drugs. I pray that it will help you to undo at least some of the evil you will encounter."

This time Columcil simply sat and stared, thinking of how he had longed to be washed in the pure water of that holy well. Then he managed to get out,

"Are ye some sort o' mind reader?"

before realising how idiotic a remark that was and hoping he did not look as stupid as he felt. It was Duncan's turn to laugh, though it was very affectionate.

"So I have been led to believe! But have no fear, I have not read any further into your mind than you were willing to show me. Your longing for the holy places of your home is very clear, - no do not look ashamed, that longing only gives more credit to your obedience in setting it aside - and will in itself be a protection to you. But speaking of your protection, I also wish to give you this,"

Duncan got up, waving Columcil back down as he would have stood too, and went across to the vestment chest. Opening it he took out a thin white stole made of fine linen and overworked in white silk embroidery. Duncan touched the cross at the centre to his lips, then laid it in Columcil's lap. As he looked more closely he could see many symbols in the thread, including the chi-rho and alpha and omega. There were others he did not recognise but as he ran the stole through his hands, and in his turn kissed the cross in homage, he felt an overwhelming sense of protection and peace. He looked questioningly at Duncan,

"It was made for me some years ago by the Countess of Derry, who is skilled in such things, and I would like you to wear it against your skin. It will give you another layer of protection if anyone should get past your shields."

Columcil sat speechless, overwhelmed by this evidence of care for his safety from his grandfather and wondering whatever words of thanks could possibly be adequate. Duncan did not give him time to ponder, however. He gestured Columcil to rise saying,

"Protection is all well and good, but you also need to be able to get yourself, and please God others, away. It's time you learnt how to use a portal."

[Laurna]

A nosc kake arizicy--ome moc co re accenbceg ok cesceg xicwouc cwe bkesemves op a Nascek op Wealimq xwo was cwe arizicy winsez-- is cwe Weazimq arizicy op Boxek Rzovsimq. Cwe Rzovsimq op Gekymi Boxekf is  am immace arizicy poumg im a  snazz bekvemcaqe op  Weazeks. Ic is a ckaic cwac vam re basseg goxm pkon bakemc co vwizg. Rzovsing is rest zeakmeg pkon a Nascek Weazek; ome xwo vam imsckuvc, amg ip mevvessaky, ketekse ganaqe cwac cwe scugemc nay vause gukimq cwe zeakmimq bweas. Gue co cwe sekious vomseduemve op cwis arizicy, cwe sckivc Weazek's Voge of Ecwivs swouzg re agwekeg co. Rzovsimq swouzg Metek re useg xicwouc suppiviemc vause! Cwe Sxicvwimq "OPP" op a Gekmi's Boxeks is beknamemc amg vam omzy  re ketekseg ry usimq cwe sane arizicy co sxicvw cwe Gekymi  Boxeks ravs "OM"....

"Curse these words!' Washburn exclaimed. His head pounded, his eyes whirled with a sense of vertigo as he stared at the last paragraphs on the scroll. How was he supposed to focus on this drunken cursive script. The scribe, who must have been in some bizzare trance in order to make this creation, had written with thin sweeping strokes of his quill; the ink appeared like delicate wisps forming whimsical nonsense words. Like some fairy had come down and taken over the writings. Wash could only thank the heavens that he didn't suffer from poor eye sight, as had the Corwyn preceptor; old Master Tiple required a monocle to see letters on a page. In his early days of study, Wash reasoned that staring at books destroyed the ability to see and therefore he thought it wise not to study for long hours at a time. How was he to shoot a deftly placed arrow if his eyesight turned bad. Wash verbally harrumphed at the silliness of that youthful notion, then again seeing how he felt now, perhaps it wasn't so silly after all.  With his current head aching, he found himself squinting at each word.

Time to make some sense out of this... he told himself. Some words came route, the ones he had read them many times already. Some larger words required a letter to letter correcting; a few times he looked back to his shirt sleeve to be certain of the letter switch. t/c  m/n  n/m  h/w  k/s  c/v  d/g q/d  g/q  l/z  v/t  x/h  b/r  j/l  w/x f/p At every phrasing, he re-read the deciphered words to make sense of the whole that had been hidden within the nonsense.

A most kake ability-- ... one not to be attembted or tested... without the bresences of a Master of Healing... who has the ability himself--... is the Healing ability... of Bower Blocking.

Quickly rationalizing the two letter switches he had missed in the few paragraphs before this, he added r/k and p/b to his sleeve. For the word kake was rare and the word  Bower had to be Power

The Lendour knight sucked in his breath as he grasped the powerful significance of the whimsical writing. Then he froze fearing his gasp had brought attention to himself. Without moving his head, his look flickered across to his captor. Master Feyd seemed absorbed in his own reading and appeared not to have noticed. Washburn was not convinced Feyd was not watching him with his mind. Knowing it possible, Wash guarded his emotions judiciously. With a mask of frustration on his face, Wash pretended he could not make hide-nor-hair out of what he studied. Feyd would never have let him read this scroll if he had known what was written upon it.

The Blocking of Deryni Powers... is an innate ability found... in a small percentage of Healers.

Blocking... Deryni Powers...?! If he hadn't spent the last two days drugged into such a condition of having his own powers blocked, he might not have taken the words as seriously as he did. Knowing exactly how vulnerable a Deryni was in the absence of his powers and shielding, Washburn was shocked to find this ability in a Healing text. As he brushed a hand across his eyes, the same action he used when banishing fatigue, he chided himself for his stupidity, then he stopped and marveled at the faintest improvement over his headache. Was he imagining it or was his food-strike starting to give way to results. He gained hope that soon the drug's influence would ease. Rubbing the back of his neck to hide his sharpening focus, he studied the next scrambled words on the parchment. 

((Washburn spending 6XP to quickly learn the scroll. Normal is 1d6 success on 4,5,6. Adding 6XP makes for 2d6 success on 3,4,5,6. Wash thinks it is really important that he quickly learns this scroll without having to write it down. Failure means he would have to write it where someone could read it.  1x1 would be failure to read the scroll at this time.
rules: You may spend up to six Experience Points thus dropping the Test success threshold by 2 points. *NOTE* the success number cannot be lower than 3. If by spending Experience Points in this manner would lower the threshold to less than 3, then excess becomes extra dice. Example. If your Test would normally succeed on a 4 or higher and you spend 6 Experience Points it would drop it only to 3 and you would get 1 extra die to roll.
Results: 1 + 3 = 4 Verification Number: 5n5hbqb3sd. Man-oh-Man, just squeaked by. Thank you 6XP's and thank you Revanne for agreeing that I needed to spend them.))

For a few minutes Wash felt for sure he was going to fail in this task. Master Tiple would scowl at him, saying "You don't have the intelligence of a bookworm. Get out of my sight." Then there was the furled brow of Bishop Arilin as he tried to get Wash to read some esoteric Deryni Lore. The young Wash had gotten utterly frustrated and had squirmed until the Bishop of Dhassa had slapped the back of his hand with a twitch. "Master Tiple was Right" was all the Bishop had said as he slammed to book shut, removed it from Washburn's desk, and turned away never to attempt to instruct Wash again. Anger, hardened the now Washburn's determination. Damn if he was going to prove them wrong. He was going to read this thing even if it was the last thing he did. Pushing his full focus into the scroll, he began to fully read and comprehend what was hidden here.

A most rare ability-- one not to be attempted or tested without the presences of a Master of Healing who has the ability himself-- is the Healing ability of Power Blocking. The Blocking of Deryni Powers is an innate ability found in a small percentage of Healers. It is a trait that can be passed down from parent to child. Blocking is best learned from a Master Healer; one who can instruct, and if necessary, reverse damage that the student may cause during the learning phase. Due to the serious consequence of this ability, the strict Healer's Code of Ethics should be adhered to. Blocking should Never be used without sufficient cause! The Switching "OFF" of a Deryni's Powers is permanent and can only be reversed by using the same ability to switch the Deryni Powers back "ON".  The drug known as Mandragora is a preferable alternative to blocking when head injuries require treatment. Mandragora causes of immediate cessation of Deryniness. It removes all shields and resistance for the duration of the drug's effects. Mandragora directly administered into the bloodstream has the longest duration of effectiveness, as long as twenty hours. The effectiveness of Mandragora ingested in food can last as little as eight hours.  The contraindication for using the Blocking Ability rather than Mandragora is when patients require their Deryniness returned to them in less than the recovery time necessary for the drug Mandragora to leave the body.

There it was the drug he had been given. Just about eight hours since he last ate. Maybe he wasn't imagining the reawakening of his powers. Wash pushed the thought aside for fear of Master Feyd discovering it. Faster, he needed to read this last part, before that happened.

Blocking of a patient's abilities can be accomplished without broaching the patient's natural shielding. Medicines such as Meresha and Mandragora are not necessary prior to Blocking.  If the patient is violent, it is recommended that a sedative be administered first, to save the Blocking Healer from becoming physically injured during the application. The Blocking of Deryni Powers can be accomplished by entering a steady Healing Trance, reaching into the patient's mind, and using a deft touch on the proper location; place hands on the patient's forehead, move fingers back along the top of the skull until you can sense the proper location within the central portion of the mind. A Healer with the Blocking ability will Know when the correct area is found. Only gentle pressure is required to switch the patient's Deryniness "Off" and then back "On". When the Healer has remove the Deryniness from his patient, the patient will be as a human, subject to suggestion and control for the ease of Healing the injury that made Blocking necessary. A master instructor can show the Healer the proper location where Blocking of Power's occurs. Once learned, the ability can be easily and quickly performed. After training, if a Healer can not envision the proper location, than that Healer will never have the Power Blocking ability.

Stranger and stranger this Healing ability that he had only recently discovered. Washburn wondered if the Healer's schola knew about this. If anyone knew of it, the Mastistra Helana would. Most definitely a secret to be guarded with extreme care. 

((Washburn spending 10XP to learn the New Blocking Trait as described in the rules.))

As unbelievable as it all seemed, Wash had a strange notion that he could do it.  Oh, if he could just give it a test, just to see. Yes, the scroll emphasized the Healer's Code of Ethics, however, his current frame of mind didn't seem to stress any Ethical Morals. If it served a useful purpose, than why not use it. Briefly, he felt a shame that he should not think this way. He covered his face and rubbed his eyes. Through his fingers he looked side long at Master Feyd. Ethics be damned! This would assure his escape, indeed it would. Then he shook his head and rubbed his whole head in frustration. That man was full of vengeance. The consequences with messing with the assassin and his assassin horde would be dire. Imagine two hundred years of seeking restitution from the Morgan family line.

No, Feyd would not be a good subject. Wash would have to wait, holding the new ability deep in his mind behind his returning inner shields, biding his time for when he had 'Sufficient Cause!'

edited out Uncle Duncan's name. Wash does not remember family members clearly enough to recall Duncan is a Healer and his Archbishop.

[Jerusha]

Robert O'Malley looked at the young lord sitting across from him at the long table in Rhemuth's Great Hall.  Lord Darcy's mind was not on his food.  He had picked listlessly at the pieces of meat in the thick, savory stew that had been served for the evening meal.  Robert had yet to refill Lord Darcy's tankard of ale.  Robert was sure that the man had not heard a word he had said in between mouthfuls of his own stew.

"Lord Darcy," Robert ventured.  "Do you think King Kelson will give us at least 100 gold pieces for this trip?  100 each, I mean,"' Robert added for more effect.

"Hmmm?"  Darcy looked up from the spot on the table he had been staring at.  "What gold?" he asked absently.

"My lord," Robert said while shaking his head.  "You haven't heard a word I said all through dinner."

"Nay lad, I haven't," Darcy admitted sheepishly.  "Did I miss anything important?"

'Not likely," Robert replied and grinned.  "But you'd best eat up. I guarantee my cooking is not as fine as this fare."

"Well, mine isn't either, if truth be told." Darcy looked at him a moment.  "Robert, why don't you go and spend a bit of time with your mates.  I'm not fit company this evening, and you'll likely be right sick of me by the time we return.  Relax a bit now; you might not have much chance once we leave."

Robert looked at him doubtfully.  "Are you sure you won't need me?"

"I think I can manage just fine," Darcy said dryly and made a shooing gesture with his hand. "Off with you.  Make sure to attend to Lady Aliset and the scrolls before it gets too late. Meet Father Columcil and me at the stable before Lauds; I want to catch the first ferry across the river and be well on our way before dawn."

"Aye, my lord.  You can count on me."  He hesitated a moment. "Have you any message you would like for me to deliver to Lady Aliset?"

Darcy looked thoughtful and then shook his head.  "It would only make leaving harder."  Robert gave him an understanding smile, bowed and withdrew to look for his fellow squires. 

Darcy managed a wistful smile as he watched Robert leave.  He resolutely turned his attention back to his food, topping off his tankard and finishing it before rising to leave. At the end of the table he spotted a small plate of tarts.  He wondered whether Lady Aliset would prefer the raspberry tarts or the gooseberry ones.  He helped himself to one of each as he left the hall.  He still had a few loose ends to tie up and try to get what sleep he could manage before leaving Rhemuth, and Aliset, behind.

[revanne]

"What do you know about portals?" Duncan continued to Columcil.

"I ken that Deryni can move fra place ta place, but naught else. I ask yer pardon that I'm sae ignorant and wasting yer time in sich a way."

"You have no need to apologise, there is no shame is not having a skill for which you have had no need. And truth to tell, with all else that is happening it is a joy to become a teacher again." Duncan did not add the further truth that he enjoyed being in Columcil's company; he needed Columcil focused and intent, not emotional, for what would follow.

"I must ask that you lay aside any sense of inadequacy or fear of failure. You will need to focus your intent and energies carefully in what we are to do. Portals can have many hidden dangers, so what I am going to teach you is only to be used in an emergency; normally you will have to rely on your own two feet and Spean's broad back."

Columcil had paled under his weather-browned complexion, which had already ùbegun to fade in the unaccustomed indoor life which he had led since arriving in Rhemuth, and Duncan hastened to reassure him.

"What I intend to teach you should be safe enough; my warning is simply lest you be tempted to use this without dire need. Remember, too, that if you need to take Darcy with you, he is like to be unsure and nervous and you will need to provide the confidence and reassurance."

Columcil still looked unsure and Duncan was searching his own mind for an analogy which might help when inspiration struck.

"Just imagine you are calming a spooked horse, or enfolding an agitated penitent with your own calmness. I suspect you have been using Deryni powers for a long time with no idea that is what you have been doing. But I have run too far ahead, and started at the wrong end of the lesson. There is nothing at all to fear in what I will now ask you to do."

Duncan moved to a part of the sacristy where the tiles had a particular pattern, though he was careful to stand to one side and beckoned to the still apprehensive Columcil to stand with him.

"Each portal has a particular signature, a feel to the energies which is specific to it alone. There is one here, it is very ancient, going back to the days when the gifts of Deryni as priests aroused no suspicion. By the mercy of God, we no longer need to hide who we are, but it is still best that some of our ways are used with discretion. Kneel and place your hands over it, and sense the shape of the energies, opening your mind to them. Commit them to memory as you would a piece of the liturgy, allowing them to form a pattern in your mind."

Duncan chose not to see that Columcil hastily blessed himself before he did as he was bid, and knelt on the floor with his palms down. He drew a couple of deep calming breaths and almost visibly opened his mind to the pattern he obviously perceived. ((Columcil reads signature of portal using three xps 6+3+2=11 7qbtxcr2d5 )). After a while he stood up and smiled at his grandfather if a little tremuously.

"I've nae dout that there is mair ta it than this, but sae far sae guid."

"The next part should be no more difficult as we have already entered into rapport, you will need to give me a little more control that is all. Can you do that?"

Duncan turned to Columcil to see his father's mischief shining out of his eyes as he replied demurely,

"As it pleases your Grace."

Duncan muttered deliberately loud enough for Columcil to hear, "Don't push me too far!", but it was said good-humouredly and in truth he was delighted that his grandson had relaxed enough around him to tease him. He reached out, inviting the other to relax against him, this time Columcil did not seem to feel the need to invoke the Lord's protection and leant willingly into Duncan's arms. Duncan reached out with his senses to take hold of the energies and took the two of them through the short jump to the library portal. ((3+6+3=12 7k41g9576b )).

Columcil felt the world spin from under him but in little more than a heartbeat they had arrived. He staggered a bit and slipped out from his grandfather's grasp only to find himself in the far less benign grip of an archer in Haldane livery.

"Declare yourself...!" the man was beginning when he recognised Columcil's companion to be his Grace the Archbishop, and after he had made sure that Columcil was steady on his feet, dropped onto one knee and bowed his head.

"Your pardon, your Grace."

Duncan touched the man's shoulder in acknowledgement and extended his ring to be kissed before gesturing the man to stand.

"On the contrary, your vigilance is to be commended."

Duncan breathed a prayer of gratitude for the conventions of respect which had allowed him time to think. With all that had been going on he had simply failed to consider that there would be guards at the library portal, and though he could simply issue his orders it was better to have a reason for their activities. Too many unexplained comings and goings had been allowed to remain unchallenged.

"Father Columcil has permission from his Majesty to consult a healing treatise before he leaves for his parish in Cassan tomorrow, and we are taking it back to the Cathedral Sacristy."

The guard would have no more thought of challenging his Grace the Archbishop than he would have of trying to take himself through the portal but Duncan's customary courtesey to all meant that he was unsurprised at the explanation. Duncan drew Columcil into one of the library carrels and took down a scroll apparently at random, although when Columcil glanced it and saw that it was entitled Fontes Sanctae Guinfredae, he realised that there was probably very little that the man beside him did at random, and from very awe that he was descended from this man, he had to resist the urge to bless himself again.

"St Winifred's Well", he said aloud, "I shall certainly welcome a chance to look at this, your Grace and I am most grateful to his Majesty for allowing me access to his library."

Just remember it is only a pretext. You need to focus on what we are doing. I shall take you back again to the sacristy and this time you must read carefully what I am doing. Then after a decent interval you must make the jump here and back by yourself. I truly regret that there will be no time for you to get lost in that scroll but I do not want you to really lose yourself jumping between portals.

The words in Columcil's mind were spoken gently enough but it was nonetheless somewhere between a rebuke and a warning and colouring slightly he nodded to show he had understood. Holding the scroll carefully, as befitted a privileged visiting priest, he followed Duncan onto the portal square, as Duncan nodded to the guard's bow and said,

"The good father here will be returning the scroll within the hour, so please be ready for his appearance here."

This time you must read the portal signature from my mind, and follow carefully what I am doing. Although I will be leading it is much more that we are jumping together than when we came. Are you ready

Columcil found that his throat had suddenly dried up and it was all that he could do to manage a whispered "Aye, your Grace." As Duncan's mind touched his, however, he again felt a calm and focus from outside of himself and found that he could both grasp and commit to memory the information that was being offered to him.

((Columcil reads signature of library portal using 3xps 2+6+4=12 3v0z2xxrz8))

Let's go then. With that Duncan twisted the energies and, again within a heartbeat they were back in the sacristy.

"Come and sit back down."

As Columcil obeyed, Duncan's next words were far more tentative, more in the nature of a request than an order.

"It will be best if I can read what you have understood, to make sure that it is correct,"

but Columcil had already opened his hand palm up to receive the other's touch and once again they entered into rapport.

((Duncan teaches Columcil to make a portal jump 4+5=9 65bkf15pk2))

Once Duncan was satisfied that Columcil understood what he had to do, he withdrew a little but the two of them remained in silent rapport, taking strength from each other's presence. Finally, reluctantly, Duncan withdrew from the contact and said,

"Normally I would not ask you to do this without far more experience of shared jumps but we do not have the time for that. We must trust in the blessing of God and St Melangell," and so saying he stood and placing his hand on Columcil's head prayed for him, invoking a power beyond that of any Deryni magic.

"Go, my son. Trust in what you have been taught and the gifts God has given to you."

Columcil did not look at him, or speak beyond a barely audible "Amen", but went straight to the portal and within seconds was gone. The next few minutes were amongst the longest in Duncan's recent experience, and he spent them on his knees at the altar rail of the little vesting altar. Finally Columcil reappeared, without the scroll, and although he looked exhausted he was calm and even managed something of a smile. He joined Duncan at the altar rail as they both offered their prayers of thanksgiving.

((Columcil makes portal jump using 3xps 5+5+5=15 7tdhds18c6. I have been rather extravagant with xps but who knows when Columcil might need to make a quick escape and bring others with him))

Duncan smiled at him. I think we both need something to eat, and we can return to my appartments for that where I will have something brought for us. But before we eat, I have not forgotten that I have promised to hear your confession, which we can do in my private chapel, and then may I ask you to do me the honour of celebrating mass for us both.

Columcil bent his head to kiss Duncan's ring, feeling that now he was about to leave Rhemuth - and willingly too, for Washburn needed their help, poor and untrained though it was - he had finally found a reason to make him wish to stay.

(( Modified to increase the number of xps used in accordance with a clearer understanding of the rules governing their use. I still haven't quite got the hang of this as I have also used extra die rather than lowering the threshold . Just as well St Melangell was on the case as it actually works removing the extra die, assuming as seems reasonable that Columcil is skilled enough to read a portal signature on a standard 2d test and only rolls disadvantage 1d  to make the actual jump.))

[Bynw]

The day progresses into the afternoon as Feyd works on his own projects leaving Washburn to read the scroll. Washburn's frustrations at the scroll do not go unnoticed by Feyd. He is trained in the arts of observation.

Even without looking up Feyd speaks, "You will eat food now. Or I will have to use the pricker on you. The food will not be as harsh and your Powers will again just fade away just as they are slowly beginning to bloom again now. " Feyd's words were not a suggestion. They still carry the weight of command.

He looks up at Washburn. "I am taking my own risks in making you look harmless and more valuable to Valerian. So he does not see you as a threat and have you killed at the first opportunity. And if your Shields are present and detecable when he Mind Sees you. You will be a threat. The Blue Fyre that I made for you will remove any trace of the drugs and give you such clearity of mind that you have never had before. But you are needed alive and able to survive your captivity with Valerian."

Feyd goes back to his work.

[Jerusha]

Cedric Archer gulped in deep breaths of fresh air.  He had stopped trying to heave his guts up only moments before.  The dungeons of the fortress were the worst he had ever seen. 

Elwyn thumped him on his back.  "The first day is the worst.  It gets more bearable over time.  Next time we get new recruits, you'll move on to better duties. Men will soon be flocking to the queen's banner, so you won't have to wait long."  He moved off to gather a few men for the burial detail.

In general, Archer avoided dungeons whenever possible.  They did not agree with him.  The day after they had arrived with the remaining knights and horses of the queen's escort, the Captain had summoned him.

The Captain eyed him carefully as Archer gave his crisp salute.  "I hope you are not the squeamish type.  It'll be miserable for you if you are."

'Not usually," Archer replied.  "What's afoot?"

"New men start off with guard duty in the dungeons.  Builds respect for good order and discipline."  The Captain's smile was not encouraging.  "Two days on day duty, two on night duty and one off.  On the off day you'll be practicing at the butts."

"Yes, Captain," Archer said.

"Don't make the mistake of sympathising with the prisoners.  Or you'll join them."  The Captain nodded his head in dismissal.  "The guard station is on the entry floor of the keep.  Report there."

It was not unusual for dungeons to be located below the castle keep; it reduced the likelihood of prisoners escaping.  Archer was fairly sure the queen and Valerian were quartered inside the keep; at least he might have a better opportunity from the guard station to note those who entered and departed.  Provided he would not be spending all his duty time underground.

The guards posted at the heavy, fortified wooden door of the keep were not part of the small contingent that guarded the dungeons.  The dungeon guards were in a room in the back corner of the keep.  There was a table, a few stools, and a locked trunk.  Archer surmised it likely held weapons, easily accessed by the guards but not available to a prisoner.  The senior guard Archer reported to stayed in the guard room unless needed.  Archer and another man were expected to walk the corridors outside the underground cells.  They were allowed a few short breaks to come up food and drink, but never together at the same time.   Archer was encouraged to berate and torment the prisoners at will, but never to enter a cell alone. 

The heavy trap door was held open by a stout chain.  There was a gentle incline downward until it ended at a stone landing surrounding a large square hole in the floor. A sturdy wooden ladder protruded from the opening.  Archer's fellow guard, who curtly introduced himself as Piers, descended the ladder.  Archer followed.

The smell as Archer descended was close to overpowering.  The scent of unwashed bodies, excrement, sweat and blood mingled with a perception of dread and despair.  At the bottom, several unlit torches were held in a rack beside a single burning brazier.  Piers selected a torch and lit it; Archer did the same. 

As Piers guided Archer along the corridors to familiarize himself with the cells, he taunted the occupants.  Sometimes he mentioned family members that might soon die, sometimes he took a swig of ale from the flagon at his belt, making sure the thirsty prisoner heard every gulp and the smack of his lips.  And so, it went on, until they reached a large area where two thatched doors were set flat into the bare ground.

"These are the oubliettes," Piers said.  We check 'em occasionally to remove the dead. Otherwise we leave 'em shut."  Archer felt his stomach roil and watched as Piers shook the doors and listened for any sound below.   "Sounds like one of 'em is finished.  We'll send down a gravedigger to fish 'em out.  At least that's one duty that's not ours!"

Archer resisted the urge to cross himself.

Now Archer was back above ground. The gravedigger had retrieved what was left in the oubliette, and Archer had tried hard not to notice.  Of one thing Archer was certain; if he was unsuccessful in his mission, death would be preferable to capture. 

Archer watched as the burial detail gathered.  The corpse had been placed in a hand cart, and one soldier pushed it ahead.  Two diggers and another guard followed.  Surprised, Archer watched them take the body outside the inner wall gate to dispose of it.  Would they go beyond the outer wall as well?

Sir Iain Cameron filed that piece of information away for future reference and then strode off for his evening meal.  He hoped he could keep it down.

[Laurna]

Washburn's hand picked up a roll of meat and cheese and he ate all of it before he even realized he had done so. He swallowed subconsciously and then yelled, "Damn You!" to Master Feyd. He would never escape if he was in a drugged haze. In a panic, Wash rolled up the scroll and stuffed it under the blazon inscribed on his tunic.

Feyd looked back up from what he was doing. "No, I think I will take that back." His hand reached out to accept the scroll.

"No!" Wash exclaimed with a shake of his head. "There is still much here I could read, if just given more time. I'm not finished with it," he truthfully claimed.

"Sir Washburn Morgan, you are a warrior and a knight of Lendour. What good are mixed up words to you. You're no scholar, even I can not read half of that. Waste no more time on something that is so useless and obviously frustrates you so. Hand it to me!" Feyd filled his words with command.

((12:21 washburn Washburn resisting Feyd's commands by using his partial shields. disadvantage Roll success on 6
12:21 washburn! roll 1d6
12:21derynibot 5 == 5))

The partial shields in the back of the knight's mind tried to flare up to resist the triggers that were embedded there. Those triggers were too deeply entrenched. The command seemed to be like sword cuts slashing through the thin canvass that made up his shields. He felt those shields fail on one side, they shredded into puddles of liquid power and then they began to evaporate away. The meat roll must have been marinated in the Mandragora drug.

Unwillingly, Washburn's hand pulled the scroll out from the inside of his tunic; he reached out to hand it across to his captor. Panic filled Washburn then. What if Feyd read the scroll, what if he learned what was written there. This new found talent must remain hidden. He must hide what he learned deep in his mind before all his regained strength was gone. What he used then was a Deryni trick he had learned long ago; it kept him out of trouble from the watchful eyes of his training masters. He could pass a shallow truth say when his companions could not, so long as no one asked the right questions.

((12:34 washbrun hiding the knowledge he had learned down deep in his mind
12:34 washburn !roll 1d6
2:34 derynibot 6 == 6, Ah, yes, thank you dice, very good. Oh, and does that give me an XP? **))

With everything that was left from his budding Deryni strength that was even now withering away, Washburn shifted his newly gained knowledge from his short term memory and placed it in the deepest recesses of his mind. At the moment, that was behind the remaining tatters of his inner shields. In a few more moments those shields would dissolve. He fervently hoped that no one would mind- see him that completely. All he had left were the words of prayer. The prayer he started was interrupted by the sudden flame that caught the rolled edge of the scroll in Feyd's outstretched hand. Feyd had no trouble using his Deryni powers to enhance the flame as it engulfed the parchment. The Scholar grinned widely at Washburn's incredulous look.

"I sense that this disturbed you. So I am removing the temptation to overcome the battle to understand it. This is not a battle you need to concentrate on." Feyd tossed the last of the roll in the air and both men watched the fire consume it to the very end of the roll.  Ashes blow over where the Portal stone lay. For a second the ash seemed to settle against the faintest yellow glow of the ward covering the Portal and then the ash "zapped" out into nothingness. Amazed Wash realized he could see the Ward Major, but even as he watched, the ability to see it faded.  As did the remainder of his inner shields.

"Eat!" Feyd commanded. "While you still have the strength to do so."

Wash gave the man his most hateful look. Grudgingly, with no resistance left in him. He took the largest meat pie, one that had a scrawl on the crust. He ate it fully to the last bite. Fighting off a wave of fatigue, Wash reached over to the newly filled goblet of wine. He so wanted to throw that wine in Feyd's face, just like he had done before. But with a shake of Feyd's finger and the words, "You may not waste my wine, again." Washburn despondently drank the goblet down to its drags. He felt his body go limp; he could not even catch himself as he fell back onto the fur. Stiff like the dead, he felt his body go cold. Only his eyes watched Master Feyd. Perhaps a little unnerved by his stare, the scholar waved a hand at him and said "Sleep."

The tall warrior could do nothing but obey.

((** do to this rule:"not for rolls made to determine random events for the PCs. Like checking to see if character will do something in a specific situation." So the answer looks like No point.))

[Bynw]

While Washburn sleeps Feyd gets ready for the departure that evening. Picking everything up and making sure things are in their right place. Refilling his Deryni Pricker needles with one of the potions he had been brewing during the day.

It has been a long day but soon it will all be over he thinks to himself while quietly going about his work. He has little time to waste. Just a short jump to their next destination where he and Washburn will prepair for their arrival before the Grand Duke Valerian. Once Morgan is turned over, Feyd gets paid. Once he has the coins in hand, then he will leave again. After all he has a rendezvous to keep with others that cannot wait.

Feyd ensures that the controls are set in Washburn. So he will be compelled to obey his verbal commands even if the man's Shields were back in place.

He sets a trigger point that will cause instant unconsiousness with just a verbal command keyword and makes certain it can be done even if Washburn's Shields return.

(( <bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 6, 5 == 11 ))

Again Feyd goes back to blurring Wash's memories and loyalties. Replacing them with warpped variations. His father, the late Duke of Corwyn, was a harsh and demanding taskmaster to his youngest son. His older brothers, each who would inherit lands and titles, were cruel to the boy who would be nothing more than a knight. A vassel to command and be spent for their amusement. Even the King saw nothing in Washburn of his father, only a disapointment to be sent on menial errands. Not even worthy to be given Deryni training, a waste of good Deryni blood.

But Feyd buries a key to unlock the truth deep in the recesses of Washburn's mind. Far away from his conscious mind. For Feyd wants these memories to be accurate in the future after he is no longer a captive of the Grand Duke.

(( <bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 3, 6 == 9 ))

(( <bynw> Does Feyd notice the new found ability in Washburn? (since he is not actively looking he is at Disadvantage for this roll)
<bynw> !roll 1d6
<derynibot> 2 == 2 ))

Feyd is satisfied that his handy work will not be seen. Unless one does a very deep reading on the helpless Washburn. He withdraws from Wash's mind. "It is to protect you. I will do and say many things that give you discomfort and even temporary harm. But this is to protect you. So you live in captivity of Valerian. He will not bother with a deep Mind See. He will only do a superficial scan of your mind. And will be satisfied that you are who you believe yourself to be. And I will give him an idea for the future as well. Something that will ensure your life for sometime yet to come. Long enough for you to make your escape. And we will meet again Washburn Morgan if you do manage to survive this trial."

Feyd talks a bit more to himself. Not really saying much at all and knowing that Washburn really can't hear him anyway in his deep dreamless slumber. He finishes up the camp and waits until sunset.

[Laurna]

The bell rang loud through the valley, even before the rider had come close. The farmhands had heard and were working their way toward the road, to hear the words of the town crier. "Gather round and hear ye all!" barked the bellman. A dozen men and boys from both sides of the fields came down to the roadside to hear what he had to announce. The young man, Raft, was one of the first to jog out of the field with his cousin, Todd. Their uncle had sighed in despair when he first heard the bell and spied the rider come up the road. He limped much more slowly than the two young men. "Hear ye, Hear ye!" the rider called again. "All able bodied men of fourteen years or more are to report to the Marcher Lord at Droghera, at the hour before sundown. You're to bring your bows and at least two night's provisions. When we join with the king's army, provisions will be supplied. Two quivers of arrows will be given to every man with a bow at Droghera tonight. If you come late you will get none, but you will still be expected to march out; so do not be late. We march on Meara at first light. Prepare for war!" 

The rider wheeled his horse in a circle, counted the men. "I expect to see eight of you in three hours time. I will know which of you does not come." And then he was off at a gallop to call men from the fields a half mile up the road. 

There was a murmur among the twelve men left on the road.  Two were boys underage, one was an old man who could obviously not make the march, two men were uncle's age. One of them would have to go. Uncle John had a limp, but no wife and only his son Todd. The other man had a wife and eight children, all underage. "I'll be the eighth." declared uncle John "Have to keep my boy out of trouble." He put his hand on Todd's shoulder. The other man protested but it was soon agreed. Uncle John with the his son and nephew retired quickly to their hut. They gathered what provisions they needed and set off for Droghera.

Raft was concerned that, uncle John's limp would make them late. He wanted those arrows to fit to his bow. The common folk were not allowed arrows except on Sundays when they trained at the buts after church service. Raft did have a few arrows secreted away in his bed roll. But he would tell no one about those. Raft was thinking of getting one out as they walked passed the old ruins. Suddenly reminded of the morning, his eyes suspiciously searched the walls on the other side of the moat. No one was seen there. Not this time. Raft said nothing, yet he crossed himself as he walked by.

"What was that about?" Todd asked.

"That place gives me the shivers." Raft said, but said no more as they quicken their pace.

Thankfully, they were not too late when they reached the walled gates of Droghera. They got their arrows and they meshed in with the farmers, herdsmen,and merchants from all up and down the valley. Speculation was rampant among the lot. Everyone had a tale to tell. Believing there be any truth among the wild stories that Raft heard was impossible. Honestly Raft didn't care. All of it was exciting. He figured most was exaggerated, but some reality must be behind it all. Meara had a queen, that much was pervasive enough to be real. The King was outraged and wanted her head. A small party had gleaned the truth of the rebellion to come, and they had raced to escape the Mearan traitors. The locals of  Draghera said they had seen the four men make their escape. A tall Warrior, a priest, a young lord and an arms-man. Though some stories claimed it was a young noble lady instead. Preposterous, Raft thought.  Stories abound about the four; It glorified the people of the highlands to tell their tales they that had seen them and some had even talked to one or more of the four. The people of Droghera were involved in their escape and that was exciting and worthy of a good tell.   

"Don't make too much glory for that tall warrior," said a Sargent coming through the mix of men gathered in the courtyard. "The tell is, he was captured, right under the king's nose.  Meara will be wanting a hefty ransom for that warrior, rumor has it he was great lord's brother if he still lives. Probably not for long, I don't give the man two shakes of a fist. Those ruling Meara are not likely to let him go.  And that has set the capital into a row. At least as I hear tell."

"Who's the warrior's brother?" Cousin Todd asked, always liking to hear that nobles get their just trouble from time to time.

"Said to be the brother of a duke, the Duke of Corwyn it's said." Several men in hearing whistled at that. Not just any lord, but a honored Deryni Lord of the kingdom.

"That'll be a thorn in the king's side." Uncle John whispard.

As others began to talk, Raft turned silent and even worried. The nobles of Corwyn were tall men, golden haired and robust of frame. They were a day and a half's ride from Rhemuth. If the kidnapper and his victim were headed to Meara by horse? That would have put them in the valley between Cuilteine and Droghera this morning, seeing as how they likely rode non- stop.  Something bothered Raft fiercely about what he had seen that morning. He had told nobody yet, but perhaps it was time he did.

"Uncle John, hear me, uncle." The young man leaned into his uncle's ear. "I saw a tall warrior standing high on the walls of the broken tower over at the old abbey ruins this morning. I swear the man was about to jump. The chances of him making the moat would have been nill. He looked desperate to me, until he saw me. Even then, I thought he was looking at the rocks like he could survive that fall. Then, hesitantly, he dropped his head in what looked like despair, and backed down on the inside of the wall. I was relieved he had done so. Twenty-five feet to those rocks would have been devastating."   

"Lord Almighty!" Uncle John grabbed Raft by the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me about this this morning?" John pulled the two younger men through the crowd until he was standing before the watch captain. "Tell your story again, Raft. Let the watch captain decided its importance."

"Don't waste my time!" the watch captain howled with a glare in his eyes. Frightened, Raft told his tale, trying hard not to embellish the details as others would have.

"You said the warrior was tall, blond even? Could you tell if he was wearing chain mail? What color was his tunic?"

"Dark," Raft answered. "The sun was behind him. Was hard to see, but I swear I some some red color on his chest heraldry."

"God's Teeth, man!" the watch captain exclaimed. He pulled Raft out of the courtyard and hauled him into the keep.   

[Jerusha]

*My thanks to Evie for her insightful edits of this scene.*


Aliset de Mariot stood up from the chair where she had been resting and crossed to the window.  Squire Robert had promised to return by the end of the day for the healing scrolls she wanted to give to Father Columcil.  It was beginning to grow dark; surely he hadn't forgotten? 

She heard a rap on her door.  "Enter!" she said as she turned toward it.

A young page entered her room and bowed.  "Squire Robert O'Malley is here to see you, my lady." 

"Thank you, I'll come at once."  Aliset retrieved her plain leather script from the table.  "Duchess Grania has granted permission for us to use the outer receiving room," Aliset instructed.  Since it was a trusted Haldane squire that was meeting with Aliset, and only briefly, the duchess had decided an additional attendant was not required.

Aliset followed the page to the designated room.  Robert O'Malley stood in the middle of the room, a handsome lad in Haldane livery with a squire's dagger hanging from his belt.  He bowed as she entered.

"I'll be close by if you need me, my lady," the page said as he withdrew.

"Beg pardon for being a bit later than I intended, Lady Aliset," Robert said in his pleasant voice.  "Lord Darcy gave me liberty to spend the evening with friends. I lingered a tad longer than I intended."

Aliset smiled.  That sounded like Darcy; either genuinely thoughtful of his temporary squire or eager to get him out of his hair.  She realized that Robert may have had a little more ale than usual.  He seemed inclined to chat a bit.

"Lord Darcy was a bit preoccupied," Robert continued.  "He didn't even notice when I suggested we should get 100 gold coins each for completing our mission."

"He must have been preoccupied!  Lord Darcy is quite prudent with coin."  It suddenly occurred to Aliset she had not paid him for escorting her to Rhemuth, and he hadn't mentioned it to her.  She was sure that it was not an oversight on his part.  She refocused on what Robert was saying.

"We're to leave before dawn; Lord Darcy wants to get an early start.  Lord Darcy never did manage to find Father Columcil, but he had me leave a message for him at the Cathedral."

"And?" Aliset said encouragingly.  It was hardly needed, Robert showed no reticence in revealing the plan.

"Father Columcil and I are to meet Lord Darcy at the stables before Lauds.  He means to be on the first ferry across the river before dawn. It has something to do with the pre-dawn sky."

Aliset nodded; that made sense.  "You are not staying with him tonight?'

"Nay, my lady.  My lord seemed to think he can look after himself."  Robert smiled.  "He gets a bit testy if I assist him too much."  Robert seemed to be winding down.

Aliset moved forward with the script.  "You can take this with you.  It contains two healing scrolls that I think Father Columcil will find useful.  I also added a few herbs and some medicines in case they are needed."  Aliset handed Robert the script, contriving to brush against his hand in the process.

Will  Aliset be able to plant suggestions in Robert's mind? Advantage roll, 2d6, success on 4, 5, 6

Jerusha   !roll 2d6     
11:38   derynibot   6, 3 == 9   
Success!

"Robert," she said into his mind.  "I would like you to do three things for me, please."

Robert nodded, his eyes focused intently on hers.

"First, don't you think it would be a good idea to take your saddle bags and this script to the stable tonight before retiring?  It would save you some time, and you could get more rest tonight.  Leave it in a safe spot in Lord Darcy's horse's stall."

"That way, maybe you can catch some extra sleep tomorrow morning before you have to head out.  You are so tired; I'm sure you'd love to sleep until noon. You deserve the rest."

"In fact, why don't you go ahead and give me your squire's dagger and sheath for safekeeping, and go ahead and do that now.  You won't need them until tomorrow anyway."  Robert removed the sheath and dagger from his belt and handed it to Aliset, who hid it in a fold of her skirt.

"One more thing."  Aliset carefully planted an apology to the king, ensuring His Majesty that Robert held no responsibility for what had happened.

Gently, Aliset broke contact with the squire.  Robert blinked twice and returned to his normal self.

"I should go, my lady.  Lauds will come earlier than I'll be ready for."  He bowed and then added, "I asked Lord Darcy if he had a message for you, but he was worried it would make parting that much harder."  Aliset nodded, understanding his reasoning.  "Have you a message I may deliver to him, my lady?"

"Yes.  Tell him I pray God goes with him and brings him safely back. And you, too."

"I will, my lady."  Robert bowed once more for good measure and departed.

The page came to the door.   "I'll retire for the night," Aliset told him.  "Thank you for bringing the squire to me."  The page followed her nevertheless to her own door, which Aliset shut firmly behind her. There was still more to do.

***

Aliset woke in the pre-dawn hours at the suggestion she had placed in her own mind. It was a handy little skill Alister had taught her many years before.  She felt the beginning of a wave of grief but pushed it firmly aside.  She wondered if her brother would approve of what she was about to do.  She was sure the king would not.

Carefully, she dressed in her brother's clothes.  Robert would not be travelling in his squire's livery, and her brother's travelling clothes could be anyone's.  She secured Robert's dagger on her belt and donned her own cloak, carefully ensuring that what she wore beneath could not be seen.  She took her pillow, along with another two from the window seat, and arranged them to mimic her sleeping form. She covered them with a blanket, risking handfire briefly to make sure it was convincing enough if someone looked inside.

She opened her door carefully and looked both ways down the corridor.  No one was about.  She entered the corridor and closed the door quietly behind her.

She walked as silently as she could without wanting to look stealthy.  Her excuse for being up and about if she came upon anyone would be that she could no longer sleep and thought to watch the sun come up from the Queen's Garden.  She reached the side door that lead to the garden.  There was a guard at the door, as she had expected.  The king was keeping his word on increased vigilance.  He stood to attention as she approached.

With her heart racing, quietly Aliset explained her purpose.  For a long moment he looked thoughtful, but he finally nodded, unlocked the door, and let her through, informing her to call for him if she needed assistance.  He would leave the door ajar so he could hear her.

Aliset nodded her thanks and proceeded to the low wall at the back of the garden.  She shivered as she approached; her memories of this place were too fresh for her to be comfortable here, but she had decided this was the safest place for what she intended.

Will Aliset be able to shape shift into Robert O'Malley?   Spell-trained, so 2d6, success on 5 or 6.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6     
11:39   derynibot   6, 1 == 7   
Success!

Aliset closed her eyes and moved her finger in a circle before her face.  After a moment, she touched her face and was reassured by the unfamiliar contours she felt.  Quickly, she hid her cloak under a bush, climbed over the wall and headed in the direction of the stables.

The night was just beginning to lighten.  She was nervous travelling the unfamiliar streets by herself.  She fingered the hilt of Robert's dagger; at least she was not defenceless.

"Ahoy, Robert!"  Aliset jumped, but she instantly recognized the voice and turned, though her hand remained on the dagger.

"Lord Darcy."  Aliset bowed.

"Well met," Darcy said as he strode forward.  His pale blond hair was hidden under his dark leather cap, and his sea bag was slung over his left shoulder.  "You appear to be travelling light.  Did you forget something?"

Aliset took a steadying breath and smiled.  "Nay, my lord," she replied.  "We're still a bit shifted around and crowded in the dormitory, due to all of the extra squires that were here before Prince Javan departed.  I brought my saddle bags to the stable before I retired and put them in your horse's stall.  I thought I would avoid banging one of my fellow squires in the head when I left in the dark."

"If you have food in your bags, as I am sure you do, I hope you put them out of Sigrun's reach.  Otherwise you may go hungry."

"I made sure they were out of reach." As they walked, Aliset thought she should deliver her message.  "Lady Aliset said she would pray that God goes with us and brings us safely back," she told him.

"Amen to that," Darcy said.

"Amen," Aliset said fervently.

They had reached the stable.  Aliset stepped back to let Darcy enter first.

"It's about time you showed up," said a voice as familiar as Darcy's.  Father Columcil came forward and gripped Darcy's arm, hand to elbow.  Darcy did the same, pleased and relieved to have the priest at his side again. 

"This is our young squire?" Columcil asked, looking at the young man who stood beside Darcy, an inch or two taller than the seaman but with the slender build of an adolescent.

"Father, this is Haldane squire Robert O'Malley," Darcy said.  "He's stuck with me, and you, for this journey.  He bears up well, though."  Darcy clapped Robert on the back as the squire rose from his bow.  "Now let's cast off and be away.  There's nothing to be gained by lingering."

Relieved that he had raised no suspicions, Robert O'Malley retrieved his saddle bags, safe and secure, from Sigrun's stall and went to saddle the horse that was provided for him.

[Laurna]

Raft told his tale for the third time. The avid stare from Droghera's Mayor who had arrived late to the questioning and who had demanded Raft repeat his story, caused Raft to have a small shiver in this last telling. When Raft's words ran down and no more questions followed, the large number of men packed into the Mayor's office held their breaths and their tongues, waiting to see if the mayor took this with some sort of seriousness. It was impossible to read the mayor's face.

"That was this morning, just before Terce you say? Is there any proof the nobleman is still there?"

All were quite, there was no proof.   

"That is what I thought. I can't afford to waist our efforts on prattle!" The men in the room raised their voices at that. The mayor's hard stare turned from Raft to everyone else. "I have my orders!" the mayor's gruff voice yelled out. "There is war in Meara, gentleman, and I mean to follow the king's will and get this ragged lot of soldiers to Cuiltriene by noon tomorrow. There to meet up with the King's army. Where we will travel over the Cloome mountains then on to Cloome Valley and to Laas. Hear me! I will not disobey the king's orders. Not even for this... this...lordling!"

Shoots of disagreement filled the hall from behind the young man. Raft cowered standing there between their anger and the glare of the mayor. Then a hand was on his shoulders and the Watch Captain stood tall beside him, Captain Stev's voice yelled louder than the others. "Lord Mayor, the man in question is no lordling, he is the brother of the Duke of Corwyn. Do you not see the honor this town would gain by rescuing such a man as he? He is worthy of our time and our lives."

"Phuuff!" the mayor puffed up, then stared at Captain Stev, who did not back down from that stare. Too well, the mayor knew the determination of his watch captain and he reconsidered his next remark.  "I see you're point in this. Very well, Captain. You may take 12 men with you. Guard the ruins; see that no one escapes there. Even attack it if you dare. Though the night is coming on, and we all know the hauntings that come from that place. When you give up this stupidity. Then you are to race your sorry behinds to Laas and rejoin our march to there. Do we understand each other."

"Thank you, Lord Mayor. I understand, completely."

Captain Stev pulled Raft with him as he left the room. He left before the mayor could change his mind. "I am going with you." the young man Raft said to the captain.

"Aye, I need you to show me exactly where you were and what you saw."   Back out in the barracks courtyard, Stev waved his second over. Get me 12 men, men who aren't afraid of those old ruins. We have less than an hour before the sun goes down. Be at the gate in twenty minutes. We need several ropes and ladders. I want to see that ruins before it gets dark."

"Aye sir!" said the man as he dashed off.

Raft hefted his bow back on his shoulders and tightened the belt that held his hand axe. He would be the one to save that Duke's brother. He just knew that he would.


Edited to add the order for ropes and ladders

[Laurna]

"Very good to see the first volunteer is a guard from my company. Andrew, you have your bow and a fresh quiver of arrows? Good. I will need you to also carry that length of rope, down to the ruins."   The captain of Droghera clapped his fellow guard upon the shoulder. Then he moved down the line to the young man standing before him. "And who do we have here?"

"Herdsman Remy, sir!"

"Good to have you with us, Remy. That axe is sharp?"

"Yes sir!" the young man said with a clip.

"And this next young man?" the captain inquired stepping before the third man.

"Darius, Sir, from the Finlay homestead down the valley. My dagger is sharp, Sir?"

"Good to know," the captain said while turning back to include Remy. "I am entrusting both of you to carry one of our two ladders. This is an important task. Without the ladders we can not gain entrance to where we go. Understand?"     

"Yes, sir," both youths said as one. 

Captain Stev turned to the empty space beyond Darius. "What is the hold up? Where are the rest of my men?"   

[Laurna]

The Captain watched in disbelief as the next group of men came quickly toward him.

"Cletus, What are you going to do with that pitchfork? We intend to climb ladders and through crumbled stone ruins."

The farmer Cletus looked back at the captain very seriously. "I am go'na spear them ghosts and I am go'na toss them aside the way a woo'd a bale of hay. And in them fallen walls, I'm going to turn me' pitchfork around and use it as a walking cane. That's what!"   

"O...K... "  the captain said shaking his head and moving on to the next man. 

Standing tall next to Cletus was the candle maker's son. "Matt, did your ma' say you could come.  And where's your weapon."

"Of course ma said so. She had nice words with the priest who had been in good company with the missing nobleman. She thought it right proper to help out all we can." Then Matt pulls out his dagger from his boot top. "I sharpened this right plenty." he said as he let the shine of the dagger catch the setting sun.

That reminded the captain they were running out of time. 

"You convinced your friend Willy to join us, didn't you?" the captain said to the next tall young man, here was another son of a merchant from town.  "Willy glad to see you've got your father's sword. Willy now you and Matt are in charge of that second ladder. It is important that we get it to the bass of the ruins, Right?"

"Right, Captain!" both young men said together. 

"Hamish!" The captain nodded to another of his guards.

"I'll stab that evil mercenary right through the heart!" Hamish declared as he stabbed his sword forward into the air.

"Good, now put that away before you stab one of us." Stev ordered. Hamish sheathed his sword proudly and stood tall.

"Hurry up you five," the captain said to the last five men.  "The sun is not going to wait for us. Pick up those ropes and torches. Let's get us moving across the valley to the ruins. March it fast now. Want to get into the shadow of the ruins before Drogh the Troll starts hunting down by the river. Even Drogh stays clear of those ruins, you know, so we will be safe from him there." Captain Stev said with a malicious grin. His guardsmen all laughed at the long standing joke; the town folk didn't think it so funny.

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron guided Sigrun through the dark, quiet streets of Rhemuth toward the Rivergate.  Father Columcil followed on Spean along with their borrowed Haldane squire on a horse he had been loaned from the stable.  Darcy would have liked to quicken the pace, be he had no desire to trip over a drunken sailor laying in the road.  Reminding himself that this was Rhemuth the Beautiful and not some seedy port town, he picked up the pace.

Even this early in the morning, townspeople were beginning to stir.  A wagon pulled out in front of them from a side street.  The driver waved an apology as he moved along ahead of them.  Darcy slowed back down; he needed no trouble that would delay their departure.

The guards on watch at the Rivergate waved the wagon and its driver through.  Darcy and his companions pulled up as one of the guards approached.  He nodded to the priest, looked questioningly at Darcy and then recognized the squire.

"Ho, Robert!" the man greeted him.  "His Majesty said to expect you.  Hold a moment."  The man entered the small gate room.  Darcy thought Robert stiffened a bit, but the guard soon returned.  He handed a rolled parchment to Darcy.  "I'm to tell you this is your warrant for safe passage through our troops, should you encounter them."

Darcy nodded his thanks and tucked the parchment inside his tunic; he would read it later.  He fingered a second parchment he had placed there but decided this was not the right man to give it to.  The guard waved them through.

The three companions said little as they rode past the warehouses toward the ferry landing.  Each seemed lost in his own thoughts.  Darcy contemplated what could be the futility of this mission from the king, firmly keeping his thoughts from straying to the lady still asleep in the Queen's Tower.  Father Columcil reviewed the conversations he had with his grandfather, the Archbishop of Rhemuth.  Robert hoped he could ride unobtrusively to the ferry and beyond. 

Darcy noted that they were not the only ones making the first crossing of the day on the ferry.  Besides the wagon, there were two others on horseback and four others on foot.  All of them exchanged polite nods of greeting.

One of the men on foot approached Father Columcil, guiding an older man beside him. 

"Excuse me, Father," the man said and bowed slightly.  The older man stood very still.  "This man is my father; he's been ill for some time, and we are on our way to St. Theresa's Hospital.  Would you mind giving him your blessing?  It would ease his mind about what's to come."

"Of course," Columcil said and dismounted.  Darcy could not hear the low words the priest spoke to them, but the younger man looked greatly relieved as Columcil gave them both his blessing.  Columcil remounted Spean as the ferryman opened the gates of the ferry for loading.

The wagon was loaded first, the ferryman taking care to keep it in the middle of the ferry deck.  Next the five horses boarded, followed by those on foot.  Darcy was pleased to see that the ferryman knew his trade well.

They crossed without incident, unloading in reverse order when they reached the other side of the Eirian River.  Darcy took note of a well-dressed man on horseback off to one side, holding the reins of another, larger black horse beside him.  The horse was saddled, is if the man was expecting someone. Startled, Darcy took a closer look at the horse. 

"It can't be," Colmucil muttered beside him.  "But I know that horse!"

The man with the horse approached them.  "Lord Darcy, Father Columcil," he said in greeting. He nodded toward Robert.  "I am Lord Jamyl Arilan.  I am commanded by King Kelson to give you Sir Washburn's horse and dagger to take with you."  He pulled the dagger from his pack; the light from a dockside torch danced off one of the rubies in the hilt.

"Whatever for?" Darcy asked, taken aback and suddenly suspicious.

Jamyl Airlan's voice took on a slight edge; most do not question His Majesty's orders.  "His Majesty did not provide that information."

Darcy considered refusing but doubted his refusal would carry much weight.  "I've provisioned us for only three horses," he finally said.

"I'm to bring yours back.  It will be stabled until you return." 

"Nay, it won't be me riding that fine beast," Darcy said hastily.  "I'll stick to my trusty Sigrun.  What about you, Robert?"

Robert shook his head quickly.  "Much as I would like to oblige, I don't think I am the best choice."

Darcy looked across at Columcil.  "That leaves you, Father.  You have ridden him before."

"I could take Spean," Robert volunteered.  "We can send this horse back with Lord Jamyl."

Father Columcil hesitated for the briefest of moments.  "If I must, I will do my duty."  He scowled when Darcy started to laugh.

"And hate every minute of it, I am sure."  Still chuckling, Darcy watched as Columcil gave Spean an affectionate pat after dismounting and accepted Shadow Dancer's reins from Lord Jamyl.  Spean nuzzled Robert's shoulder before the squire mounted his new horse.   

Lord Jamyl reached across and handed Darcy the dagger.  Darcy studied it a moment before putting it in his sea bag.  "Might I ask a favour?" Darcy asked as he reached for the second scroll inside his tunic.  "Would you give this letter to King Kelson?"

Jamyl accepted the scroll and started to move his mount and Robert's former horse toward the ferry.

"One more question, if I might," Darcy continued.  He looked pointedly at the impressive black war horse that fidgeted slightly under Columcil's control.  "Are we to find Sir Washburn, or is Sir Washburn supposed to find us?"

Lord Jamyl gave Darcy a blank look.

"Never mind," Darcy said with a wave of his hand.  "I was being too subtle."  With a nod to Columcil and Robert, he turned Sigrun and began to ride down the road away from Rhemuth.  Columcil and Robert quickly followed.

Something in the back of his mind nagged at Darcy, but he couldn't think of what is was.  It would come to him later.

[Laurna]

"Deep in the bowels of the earth lives a nasty troll named Drogh." Wiley half sang as they walked down the valley road. "In the dead of night, he will climb up out of his cave deep in that hill on the edge of our town and prowl the forests, snatching unwary travelers or young children if they played outside at twilight."

"Must you tell that tale?" the Captain said sardonically to Wiley. The young man grew silent, thoughtfully carrying the fore-half of a ladder.

Wiley could not contain his snicker as his friend Matt holding the back half of the ladder behind him, pick up the tale where he had left off.  "Drogh would drag the young chillins into his cave, stick them on spits and roast them alive over his fire. He'd use their bones to pick his teeth after they'd been eaten.  Sometimes, wisps of smoke could be seen escaping from the ground and the villagers would know another poor soul had perished."

"Really boys," the captain again interrupted.  "Haven't you noticed, it's nearly twilight, you trying to scare each other? We're trying to rescue a man! We're not after no Troll, nor no ghosts. So Desist!"

The two young men turned sober. It was Cletus who then sang:
"When Drogh's has had his meal
There will be nothing left to heal
Not but a bone and a soul wandering the deep rills, you a ghost."

The two youngest in the party shivered; the older men laughed. The captain decided the only way to combat stupidity was to quicken the pace.

They reached the road that veered to the right, intersecting with the old road on the left that once ran to the fallen Abbey of the Micheline knights.  The height of the ruin walls, atop the small knoll out on the spit of land surrounded by the lake, shinned in the last of the afternoon sunlight.

"Raft, point to where you saw the man standing." Inquired the Captain. Raft did just that. Pointing out the lowest part of the tower wall. "He was there," the young man declared.

((Note: all NPC's have 3 hit points. Any failed dice roll loses a hit point. (A roll success is showing a 5 or a 6) If the town folk reach 1 hit point left, they will run away. If the guards reach one hit point they will stay where they are and hold the spot in guard detail. The captain has 4 hit points, he will not give up.))

"Yep, We go in where the rubble is the least: that entrance there, under that south transept." The men rearranged themselves, the three town guards Andrew, Hamish and Egan going first. The fear of arrows from whoever might be in that tower kept them from lighting their torches to see their way. This proved futile as the land bridge connecting the old abbey to the road had long since gone wild with overgrown thickets and reeds.
((First 1d6 save test to get half way across the causeway.))

Andrew (1d6=1) lead the group of fourteen. And as it would be, he was the first to misstep and fall, disappearing beneath the tips of the reeds. A curse word was all anyone could hear to judge where he was at. All eyes on that happenstance caused not one, but two others to lose their footing, by tripping on roots and various marsh pockets of routing water. The Blacksmith Roy (1d6= 1) gave a "Ufff" falling to his knees, only the thick hide of his leather pants saved him from not breaking his leg. Spitting pissed, he swung his axe at the foot-grabbing root, freeing himself but having a limp thereafter. Not but a moment latter, Dariaus(1d6= 3) tripped in a marshy bog, the ladder in his hand slipped as he caught his balance. Captain Stev (1d6 = 3) dove for the ladder, last thing the captain wanted was to break the long poles that would allow them to scale the short cliff before the south transept. He caught the ladder indeed, with his head. Remy(1d6=5) behind him balanced the long ladder allowing Dariaus to get back to his feet and the captain to rub the bump that would soon rise over his eyebrow giving him one sorry black eye.

Wiley (1d6=3) and Matt (1d6 =3) and Cletus (1d6=2) had a hard time carrying the longest ladder between the three of them. They stumbled and cursed aplenty before they were even half way across the land bridge. Raft (1d6=3) and his cousin Todd (1d6= 2) came last. Both should have been watching their steps, but instead the curse of this place was slowing them down. Even when they tried to encourage each other to be brave, they both tripped up, discovering the meanness of the plants. To them it was a sign of evil. Uncle John(1d6=6) behind them picked both boys up and pushed them on.

((Those not named passed the first test with a roll of 5 or 6.))

Seeing that at this rate they wouldn't even make it down the causeway, Captain Stev ordered the torches to be lit. At least if they could see the plants under their feet, they just might make it to those ruins.  Anxious the group huddled to light the torches. The flames in the darkness offered hope. Although, any possibility of stealth was now gone. They made their way forward with determined purpose.

The group was nearly across, when a freak wind with an evil coldness blow at the flames on the torches. ((Second 1d6 save test)) Nothing short of a typhoon should have blown the flame out on the oil-drenched rags. Yet, half the torches sputtered out. The boys Raft(1d6 =3) and Todd(1d6 =4) were the first to flee in fear. Uncle John (1d6=2) was tripped up as the boys retreated. He would have retreated too, but for the Captain who yelled, "John, I need your cool head, your boys are too young anyway, let them go back to the road."

"Hear that son, nephew? Go back to the road, slow and careful like, and wait for us to return."

Back in the dark again, Darius(1d6= 2) took a second fall. This time he was slow to stand."Your done here," the captain said. "Go back and watch the boys."  Furious with himself, Darius handed his half of the ladder over to Roy. "Get through this for me," he said to the blacksmith.

Prideful Hamish was sure he had the lay of the land figured out. He and the Captain started to disagree on where was the best footing for the ladders to climb up the rocky cliff side. Centuries ago, there had been a bridge over this part, but the bridge had long since been destroyed and sharp cut stones of rubble proved the footing to be unsure.  A rock under Hamish's (1d6= 2) boot shifted and moved. He fell forward grabbing the nearest shoulder, which happened to be the Captain's. Stev(1d6 =1) cursed as he too was pulled to his knees. His left knee gave a small crack, biting his lip he said nothing, but the pain was in his eyes as several men with re-lit torches came to lift him up. Ashamed Hamish stepped aside, rubbing his own hurt. The guard Egon, who remembered being the one to repair the noble knight's rent chain-mail, took the lead at a nod from his Captain.

Soon enough the two ladders found secure placements and men started up the ladder rungs, everyone in silence, realizing this was not to be an easy task as they had first thought it would be.
((Congratulations to everyone not mentioned, you had a successful second test))