Fighting The Frightening

Jihan breathes a sigh of relief as the skeleton warrior falls to the ground. Hrust casts another healing spell upon himself as he is still very badly injured. The spell has good effect, however, and so it brings him out of the danger zone.

One by one, the rest of them emerge from their hiding places, looking rather shame faced regarding their hasty departure. They each pick up their dropped weapons and go to look over the form of the expired skeleton warrior.

Yaz returns dragging the form of Raaka with him. The worg is obviously not too pleased at having to come back in the tower.

Jihan kneels to investigate the fallen figure. Faewen'il looks over his shoulder and passes the Witchfinder rod over it. The gem on the end of it glows a little and them fizzles and dies:

'I knew this thin would nae last fore'er. Lucky that I be havin another two o them.'

She puts one away and draws out another one and repeats the operation:

'The creature's sword, it be havin magick. Its mail too.'

Jihan looks at the mail and runs his fingers over it:

'It's elven chainmail' he says. 'Feel how light it is, yet it is harder to pierce than the regular armor.'

He then picks up the shortsword. He sees that it is a fine blade indeed. There is no name on the blade, but it has an interesting handle. The bar of it curves slightly in both directions and has a small emerald inlaid into one side of it. The pommel of it seems to be forged in the style of a tree. The grip of it seems to be like the trunk, having a rough feel to it as if it were a representation of bark. The pommel itself is large, and seems to resemble that of a leafy tree. The blade feels light, a lot lighter than one would expect it to be.

'This is elven steel as well.'

He then examines the skeleton and notices that the figure was taller than is normal for a human, and the bones are a little finer.

'I don't know who this was, but he definitely used to be an elf before he was sentenced to living death.'

Will comes over and takes a look at the two items, but he is not able to add any more information to that which Jihan was able to determine.

'So what shall we do with these fine items' the elf asks.

Seeing the foul creature go down to his blade, Jihan cannot help but breathe a sigh of profound relief. Seeing Hrust in great pain, the elf immediately goes to his side, looking around for the rest of the party. He pulls out bandages and some mint from a pouch at the belt, binding the wounds as best he can until Fae can see to them better. The elf then turns to Zsolt to see if the Pannon needs any help.

When the two are attended to, he turns his attention to the scattered corpse on the floor, crouching down to examine it carefully. When he finds out that it was an elf, he is first shocked, but then a little confused. He carefully looks over the vestments and armaments to see if he can find any identifying marks, be they of clan or homeland:

"What evil power would it take to drag one of Prirodna's chosen beyond into the realm of undeath..." he asks rhetorically.

He shakes his head as he realizes that he is not able to determine much information from the markings on the mail. The fact that the elf wore elven mail is enough to tell Jihan that the elf was a silver elf, rather than a wood, gray or black elf. The markings he does not recognize, other for the fact that they are very old - several centuries probably.

He looks up earnestly at the rest of them, still not acknowledging that he has made much of an achievement in his racing mind:

"We must bring this poor unfortunate outside and build a pyre for him and set his ashes to the winds, to send his soul skyward to freedom beyond this world's realm..."

Looking down at the abomination's armaments, he pulls out Langzhan, comparing the fine glint of elven steel in them. He carefully strips the chain suit from the body, holding it up to the torchlight and watching it glint and shimmer. Folding it up carefully and putting it aside with the shortsword, he dumps the gold dishes out of his sack and gathers up all the bones of the cursed elf, saying:

"We can come back for these later, or carry them separate, if you want."

During all of this, the elf's own wounds are still trickling a slow ooze of blood which he doesn't seem to notice. Perhaps his recent bout with the plague has left him slightly desensitized to lesser pains, for the time being. When he notices blood dripping down onto the floor, he looks down at himself, almost with embarrassment, and sees what he can do about binding the wounds up. Once the bones are gathered up, he looks at the pile of elven artifacts:

"And what should we do with these?..."

Hrust casts another healing spell upon himself, desperately trying to stop the blood from seeping through the bandages. The spell helps a little, but still the bugbear is far from being in a good state.

Zsolt is not looking too great either. Although the veteran has often seen much worse wounds than these, his eyes are all puffy and sweat covers his brow. He coughs occasionally.

Bennett returns with amazement and shame on his face, only relieved slightly by the fact that he gets to see the fact the whole group bailed out with him.

Fristly, he turns to Jihan:

"Damn, little man, you must have some big elf balls on you!"

Jihan smiles a little at Bennett's words, but then shrugs:

"If they are a measure of luck, then perhaps I have grown some today..."

Bennett then turns to Zsolt:

"Well, I guess we younger warriors haven't quite gotten up there yet, huh?"

Knowing he doesn't understand a word of it, he repeats,"You bad, you bad man!" Shaking his head to try to indicate that isn't a negative comment.

Zsolt coughs once more and then nods his head:

"Igen, I bad" he replies a little sadly.

Bennett admires the elven chainmail laying on the floor:

"Well it looks like one of us has got some new gear" he says looking at the warriors.

"I don't think you can wear mail, can you Jihan?"

Jihan looks up at the man, his eyes unusually grim and bright, and speaks:

"Not normal mail, if I want to have any mobility at all. Elven warders who stand in high regard with their elders, and who have proven themselves to stand for the good of all elves are often gifted with suits of such armor, as it allows them the freedom of motion, and extra protection, for their line of work... Even if this suit fit me, I do not know if I could wear it. Elven mail is a very rare and special gift, said to have a part of Prirodna's own essence in its creation to support her children of the woods. Were I, or anyone else for that matter, to don this suit, it would bastardize the memory of this poor warrior to whom it was awarded. One must earn it in the eyes of the elven people, and in Prirodna's own, to be worthy. For all that I do not agree with my people on a number of things, even a wayward elf like me can respect this tradition. Elven mail is no thing lightly worn or taken, for to wear it you are stating that the trust of all elves is in you, and that you place them, and Prirodna's realm, above the concern even of your own life... I..I do not believe that I am not worthy of such..."

A little sadly, he places the shimmering coat back on the floor, smoothing his hands across it:

"Perhaps some day..."

Sighing, he turns to look at the shortsword.

"A blade is another matter...It is the greatest honor of an elven warrior to have his blade strike out against evil and the tormentors of the realm beyond his death. So do I carry my father's," he says, gesturing to Langzhan.

"A blade is a man's to give, but this mail is for those of the forest, and its Lady, to do so."

Bennett then looks at the shortsword in Jihan's hand:

"Almost before you lose it, there's a replacement for Diamond Stealth. This one seems a better weapon for you anyway."

Jihan looks around at the rest of the group for any objection. When there is none forthcoming, he shrugs and hefts the fine elven weapon.

"Strange that it should have no name..." he mutters. "And yet it has earned none in my hands, as elven blades must. When the time is right, it will call out to me..."

So saying, he places it in his back sheath, electing to carry his two conventional blades for now until he has had more time to examine and practice with the mysterious new one.

Yaz emerges from the adjacent room wearing a pained grimace and walking awkwardly, keeping his legs apart and stiff:

"Um," he starts in a sheepish voice, "look. What say we, uh, get out of here for now and come back after we can, uh..." … he looks down and grimaces, shifting in his armor uncomfortably … "...clean up a bit... I'll heal you guys outside, once I get out of these... Ugh."

They recess for a short while so that Yaz can solve his personal hygiene problem. As he returns, he casts more healing spells upon Hrust, Zsolt and Raaka.

The healing spells don't seem to be taking too well on Hrust today and after two more healing spells from Yaz, he is still quite a way from being back to full health, but should be able to survive through another combat session. The healing spells have better results upon Zsolt and Raaka, the worg ending up with only a small scratch to show for his encounter with the skeleton warrior.

'So what are we going to do about that banshee upstairs?' Bennett asks.

'I've told you once before' answers Jihan, 'that it's not a banshee. The voices were male, and there were plenty of them.'

Bennett is confused at Jihan's words:

"Well, is it something else that you die if you hear it or anything really nasty like that?"

"Well, as I'm still alive after hearing them, then the answer to that must be no" replies Jihan.

"You know this shit. What kind of critter wails like that?" Bennett asks the elf.

It takes Jihan a moment to think over what he remembers about foul spirits, as it is knowledge he has used very little in the past several decades. Finally, he says:

"If they are not banshee, then they are some other tormented spirit. None of the mindless undead that I have heard of make any appreciable sounds, so I would say that these may be more clever than what we have faced up til now. I must spend some time in reverie to perhaps recall more of the death lore that I have read. And yet... many of the beasts contained herein match nothing with which I am acquainted. I feared that the mastery of Boscobelous would put his creations beyond the conventional knowledge that has been floating around for centuries, most of it based on fear and superstition. Konan will be pleased indeed at these new revelations we are bringing him, as I believe one of the key duties of Kitrians is the banishment of uncertainty. It has been years, but I seem to recall something more of wailing spirits... Perhaps it will come to me when I lay eyes on them, but I cannot say for certain. I think that I will spend some time in the temple of Kitry searching for answers to these things when again we return there. Though this helps us little now, in the future, its worth may yet prove itself..."

He shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands in apology.

"I am sorry that I cannot offer you any reassurances, brother, but nothing is certain when half a millenium falls upon the knowing of it. Whatever is in that room is most likely just another abomination crying out to be released from its earthly torment, though if it be free willed, then slavery would be the plea. If we are to complete this task, we must put aside our fears and approach these things with the light of righteousness behind us, and put faith in our own abilities."

"As it stands, I think that we should return to camp with these things that we have discovered, unless any wants to tackle the unknown in the room above without further thought on it now that we have some idea what we may be facing."

Bennett is nervous at Jihan's answer. The skeleton warrior made him pee his pants and he still hasn't gotten his usual courage back up to normal.

Winnacer hides until Hrust and Zsolt come to retrieve him. As the wave of fear passes through, Winnacer turns shamefaced and sits down on the stairs, his head in his hands:

"I never thought I would earn the designation of a coward. But it seems that it is what I am. A yellow-bellied coward."

He quietens down and shakes his head to and fro, and seems in no hurry to keep moving at all.

Just as Winnacer gets his nerves under control, he leaps up into the air again as he feels something on his shoulder. White as a sheet, he looks round, expecting to see a skeletal face leering at him. Instead he sees the concerned ursine face of Hrust:

'Errm…sorry to startle you' says Hrust, apologetically, after having cast another of his speech spells.

'Th-that's OK' stutters the young lord as he starts to pull himself together.

'May I sit here by your side?' the bugbear says calmly.

'Certainly…be my guest' says Winnacer, and the young lord and the bugbear sit back down on the stairs.

'Do not feel bad about yourself for showing your fear, brave Bohavian. You have already proved yourself as a brave-hearted warrior many times over, especially when you stood by my side as we faced the Nyemetz hordes together. Were you truly a coward, then you would have fled that day.'

'There is no sin in becoming overcome by fear when faced by abominations such as that one. They are unnatural, and fleeing is a natural reaction in such circumstances. I would be a liar if I said that I was not afraid too. However, it is not the first time that I have faced such creatures. The first time that I faced such things, I too was overcome with the fear, and ran as fast as I could to get away from them. Yet the second time I was ready for them, as I knew that they could be slain and their bodies laid to rest in a natural fashion.'

'Take a good look at the warrior's now lifeless form, Winnacer. Now you see that these creatures can be slain. With that knowledge, you should not fear them any more. Give yourself to your god totally, Winnacer, and your god will protect you as Blesk watched over me despite the punishment that the unholy inflicted upon my body.'

Winnacer frowns despite Hrust's kind words:

"I had said once before that this endevour would be the first real test of my new-found faith. It seems that my faith is lacking substantially. My uncontrollable fear goes against the teachings of Spravedelna and the teachings of my family. How can a man be a leader of others when he barely has control of his bladder? I find myself wishing to be an example of something greater than I truly am. And the truth of that is immensely painful."

"I thank you for your kind words, Hrust, and perhaps one day I will be able to apply them. But it is impossible for me to soon forget my cowardice nor be able to justify it."

As Hrust moves on, Will walks over to where Winnacer sits and lays a knowing hand upon his shoulder:

"We were all afraid Winnacer. The fear that gripped us was an unnatural playing upon our minds by the unholy powers of the apparition. Do not be ashamed. Rather be thankful that Jihan, Zsolt and Hrust had the presence and strength of mind to overcome its power, and the steel to deal true death to the being."

Winnacer nods silently, accepting without comment Will's words.

Xavier, ashamed also by his disgraceful retreat, comes over to Winnacer's side. He kneels before him, and then sits. He tears of his helmet, revealing his long greying blond hair. Dropping it at his feet, he pulls a silver flask from deep within the folds of his chainmail. He offers it Winnancer.

"This vill warm you heart my Lord. Please drink... I insist. ....My Lord, I fear that ve have been fools this day. Der magic of that foulspawn creation, crushed our hearts and will, and sent us to shameful flight. Take heart, my young Lord, that your flight vas not yours alone. Your guilt is ours to bear as well. Our fear vas not natural, but forged in dark Sorcery of the bastards who created these abominations. Take heart in the fact that, you are no coward. Do you think I vould swear loyalty to one who vas? Now drink again, .... I insist. Ve have work to do this day. Ve shall not run again!!"

Winnacer takes the bottle from Xavier's hand and takes a healthy draught. After about a second, Winnacer is suddenly wracked with coughing that passes shortly after.

"Thank you for your words, Xavier. Put the bottle away, my friend, for we have work to do. My failure today has emboldened me enough."

He then takes to his feet, a look of anger and determination on his face. He slams 'Old Bohavia into its sheath and draws forth his silver longsword.

"This wailing is beginning to grate upon my nerves. Let us go shut them up."

Bennett's thoughts turn back towards the magickal armor and Jihan's thoughts that none of them are worthy to use it:

"Bullshit! From what you say this armor is only given to those worthy of using it, right? Then this dude proved himself worthy and yet got his soul turned over to death and despair. You freed him from that, alone among the group" (this with nods to the two foreigners), "you put down an abomination that struck fear into the hearts of us all, and sent one of Prirodna's" Bennett stumbles over the unfamiliar name, only pronouncing it somewhat correctly due to hearing it mentioned so often, "children, and evidently one of some importance, back to his realm. For this alone, you deserve to wear the armor. The elven people can't gift it to you since the only elven people around here are out hiding in the woods. YOU are out here taking action to free the country from such foulness, and I am certain that if any among your kind's nobility were to recognize that, the armor would be awarded to you posthaste. Regardless of that, I demand that you take it, as it is your warrior's right. If you do not, I shall become angered, and that is something none of us wish to see."

Bennett smiles as he draws up the suit, glinting in the dim torchlight, then speaks more softly:

"This armor has been dishonored by the conversion of it's master, and cannot be given as a gift to a new warrior anyway. It must be redeemed! and who better to do it than you? With this warrior's gear in your possession, you give one of your kind a chance to put things back to right by proxy. I think it would be a grave insult to that elf's spirit that his conqueror merely put his armor in storage, when it could prove so useful to a noble and righteous cause."

Jihan's hand pauses in stroking the fine coat, and he looks up at Bennett yet again:

"You speak true, brother... My uncle often told me of such things. Yet I am not the man he was... not the warrior he was. Through this battle, according to the Warrior's Code, I have earned the right to bestow this armor, and yet it is too great a responsibility for me... I would give it up to my Lady to decide, should I, or anyone else here be worthy in her eyes, then she will tell us through her son," he says, looking towards Yaz, a little wryly considering the half-elf's awkward stiff legged state.

"Please, my brother," he continues, turning to Bennett, "respect my wishes on this. Even if one of us can stand to use it in Her eyes, it must be reconsecrated and purified again. You cannot just strip this armor off of the corpse of its former bearer, scrape it off and drop it on your back... It would be like taking Hrust's robes off of his body, should his indomitable strength ever waver, and proclaiming that you are a priest of Blesk. It is just not true. Let Her decide on this matter, for She is the only one who can..."

Whether it be from low self esteem or self doubt due to his brushes with death over the past few days, or from some other source, the elf sounds almost desperate to hear some word from Prirodna's own mouth. It can be noticed that he has reached no real resolve to any of the issues that so tore him but a week or more ago, and appears uncharacteristically grasping for affirmation.

Bennett is getting more angry after Jihan's speech and he looks over at the druid:

"Fuck, Yaz, tell this goddamn stubborn pointy-ear to wear the armor! Do whatever mumbo-jumbo you need to do so that he gets over all this whiny crap and let's get on with it. Those wailing spirits aren't gonna get any quieter while we sit around here!"

Jihan again fixes his eyes on Bennett, and this time there is a spark of anger in them:

"You do not understand, brother. This is not about 'wasting' armor, however fine. Why are you so upset about someone donning it? This is about respecting the dead and the past intentions with which this coat was awarded. If you want to take it, fine, but know that if ever you meet another elf, you will be outlawed and hunted until the coat may be reclaimed. This is not just a pile of links stuck together to deflect the blows of enemy blades, this is a coat of honor and respect, honor of standing among my people, and respect from them and our Goddess. If you think you have earned such, go right ahead and lay claim to this. I do not believe myself worthy, and would that my Goddess give me word as to what to do with the coat. This is not a matter for mere men to decide... it is beyond us, for as much as the chain lies here before us within reach. I have not questioned the rights or wrongs of your own beliefs,brother, as they are sacred to you, and yours to hold. I try and add my views, but I do not force you to accept them or to change on my account. I am not just going to take this coat and slip it on, still cold from the corpse who was wearing it. My leather will protect me well enough for now. I am not going to discard my beliefs just because they might be inconvenient to your way of doing things, something which I've heard you bring up several times to Winn and the others. We will bring this back to camp and have Yaz ask Her what to do with it. Now let's get on and clear out that blasted floor above us. We can speak more about this later..."

Bennett replies to Jihan's unexpected anger:

"Hell, man, I don't understand any of this shit. Take the armor or don't, whatever. All I know is that any religion that keeps me from protecting myself with any means at my disposal ain't no religion for me. Don't go getting insulted on me, I'm only trying to give you what's rightfully yours. If you don't want it, no skin off my ass."

Bennett doesn't appear that he will ever understand the depths of any of the party members' faith.

Yaz rolls his eyes at Bennett as he walks away, then turns to the warrior-skeleton killer:

"Jihan, the Lady of the forest has less to do with the ways of warriors and their armour than you think. Those traditions are part of the religion of the elves. That religion is taught by men, and practiced by men. Prirodna loves growth, and renewal, and life; She cares little for religion."

"Although it's true that Prirodna's touch is necessary to properly weave such a coat, the tradition you're talking about is not in Her demesne. You'll have to decide that one for yourself."

"I'll tell you this, though: I would not touch that garment until the filth of undeath is scrubbed clean from it. Prirodna does care that a contamination of that sort not associate with living flesh, elven or otherwise. The suit needs a cleaning, Jihan, and I would not let anyone wear it until that's done. And in the morning, if you want me to, I'll dedicate it to Prirodna and Her realm with a full ritual Blessing, and seek Her will for the armor, although I think I know Her mind already in this."

Bennett leaves the armor there on the ground. shaking his head at the waste of it all.

Finally, Xavier rips of his mailed gloves in frustration. A voice like that of a Sargeant Major on a parade ground bellows, echoing throughout the room.

"Gotten himmel, vill one of you take der damn armour. Yer are beardless virgins at the door of a whorehouse, deciding who vill enter first. Shitten, never in my days have I heard such shite from the mouths of men. Der mail, it is fairly won, and he vill not be vanting it any vays. That poor bastard is now at peace and can go to vhatever elvish heaven you pointy ears go to upon death. Do him the honor of wearing it, for the benefit of good. That may bring some comfort to his twisted soul"

Xavier bends over the body, and speaks a couple of brief words in his own tongue, they recognize one word as amen. He makes the sign of inverted sword over his heart. Xavier's voice changes, and a never before seen visage appears of him. A man of faith. He speaks to you all in the manner of a priest.

"His soul has been put to rest in Rodengast's name, all of you. I have recognized his courage that he once had in life. Rodengast's hall is now open to him, if he wishes it. I now grant his mail to.........., Herr Willheim. I do this by right of the words of the patron Saint of Saxony. A Knight Brother of Rodengast may act as judge in matter of dispute over the disposal of spoils of war. This is the 38th verse, of the holy book on the Way of War. Now let us move onwards."

Jihan just throws up his hands at the whole thing and turns away:

"No one understands... This is not a 'spoil'... this is a... only an elf... or one of Her priests... damn it..."

Letting out a sigh of extreme exasperation, he approaches Will.

"Take it then, brother. I would've gifted it to you anyway, had the Lady seen fit for me to do so, but I guess our other brothers have taken that out of Her hands. I do not doubt that you work towards the good of Her realm, nor that you are worthy of such an honour, but some people cannot wait a few score minutes or more to get this thing onto someone's back. It still must be properly cleansed, and reconsecrated in Her name, but after that, wear it with pride, my brother, and try your best to earn it every day."

Giving one last acidic look in the direction of Bennett and Xavier,the elf claps Will on the shoulder and makes his way out of the room, muttering gnomish curses beneath his breath.

Will takes the armor in his hands and considers in carefully:

"I have no view over whether one of us should wear this armor or not. However, I must refuse it. Should I wear this armor, then it would restrict the free movement that I require to use my sword and dagger to full effect. In any case, the protection provided by the enchantment that I cast after taking any significant damage is almost equal to that I would expect this armor to provide. As a result, if one of us is to wear it, then I would ask that it be one of the others."

With that, Will hands the armor back to Jihan.

Winnacer watches the escalating row between Bennett and Jihan, with mounting surprise and annoyance:

'I hardly think that this is the place or time for such an altercation' he says, looking them in the eye, one after the other. 'We now know that the inhabitants of the tower are not necessarily going to sit around in their rooms while we stand around arguing, and I for one do not much favor another of Boscobelous' henchman stumbling upon us while we're in the middle of such an argument. We can continue the debate about the armor back at camp. For now, let's put an end to that miserable wailing.'

Jihan nods his head at this, and stands from where he has been kneeling over the mail coat.

"Perhaps you will earn a name from me today indeed, my friend," he says to the elven blade, drawing it from its sheath on his back and taking Todtaenzer to twin it.

"Let us see what we can do about these abominations... though I think you should remain closer to the middle ranks for this foray, Hrust my brother... but I will leave that up to you to decide."

"Perhaps we warriors can push our way in and then Hurst can use his holy powers on them?" suggests Bennett. "I would recommend our Pannon friend hold back, as he seems to have gotten something nasty from that elf skeleton and I don't want to risk his life. Hurst, you should make sure that you lay back from melee, but I am sure we will need your turning ability to make a difference."

They walk back up the stairs again and find yourself back in the ante-chamber. His eyes watering slightly from his affliction, Zsolt agrees to give up his front rank place to Winnacer and stands besides Xavier in the second rank. Despite the advice to the contrary, Hrust takes his place between Winnacer and Bennett in the front row, with his large hairy hand gripping his holy rod.

'Are we all ready?' Winnacer asks.

All nod.

'OK…on…5…4…3…2…1'

Bennett kicks the door in.