Tag Archives: Gustav

The Making of the Fire Room Plan

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After the group has retreated from the eruption of the fire bats from the fire lake, Alexis sits with the Crimson Calling on the steps between the two levels. He adjusts his whip.

“Good. Now we know what’s in the fire.” He looks at Rask, Gustav, and Ca’armine. “First, the bats. Then we try talking to the giant again.” A slight pause. “He must be desperate for conversation by now. Desperate might work in our favor.”

He glances up toward where the giant would be.

“How long does he think he’s been here?”

He lets that sit for a moment, then continues.

“If talking doesn’t work, we have options. That unnatural forest below, we can harvest from it. We could build a ballista again.” He waves a hand slightly. “Long shot.” Alexis looks at Ethelred “But maybe you can find something in that idea worth working with.” He looks at Ca’armine. “Raiden can reach him too. The determined wall of the north, your bolts. That right?”

“If it comes to it, we hit him from range, keep him from throwing those boulders, rest, come back the next day. Repeat. Not my preference, but it works.” A beat. “We might need more food if we’re doing this over days. Gus, you have options. Rask, Carm, you two as well?”

He looks at Gustav, Ethelred, then Rask.

“Any of you have anything that reaches at this range?”

Alexis takes a moment and looks at all his comrades. “But that’s just where I’m starting. Any other ideas? Rushing to the stairs? Blinding the giant somehow if we need to? Something else?”

Cut Off From the Raw Power of Aegir

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“There’s something happening here, but what it is ain’t exactly clear.”

While Ethelred crafts his magical compass, Rask keeps watch, cleans his gear, tends to camp, and does his exercises much as he always does when the group camps. He prays to Raiden before and after his exercises and before he settles in for the night. He often joins Ca’armine in ritual prayers to Raiden. Those that might notice such things may see the look of concern and disappointment that occasionally flashes across his face when he uncharacteristically falters during his exercises, or even more rarely stumbles during chores. It is similar to they way he carried himself in the Grasslands on the way to the First Gate, but missing the bitter fury he carried then.

After a few days, and shortly after a round of prayers to Raiden, before settling in for the evening, Rask speaks to Ca’armine and Gustav.

“Ca’arm, do you understand what is going on here?” The question seem somewhat Rhetorical, and the warrior continues before Ca’armine can start to answer.

“I’m cut off from Raiden, or Aegir I guess?

Rask looks to Gustav briefly.

“Mage-Eye did say that my tattoos channeled the Raw Power of Aegir… Like I was in the Grasslands, I’m not as fast or as tough here. It feels like part of me is missing. I’m getting more used to it, but that… worries me that much more.”

Rask pauses and looks at the ranger and then the priest, more sad that worried, really.

“You two can stall call on The Power though, and when you do, I feel that connection again…”

Rask smiles wanly, recalling the comfort Raiden’s protections bring.

“I think Hadonis may not have been completely lying Brothers. This place… something is different here…”

He pauses, clearly asking for Ca’armine and Gustav’s thoughts this time,

“What do you think is going on here?” Rask guestures broadly

About to get Shafted

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The group has been awake for a little while, moving through the quiet routines of breaking a camp that was never quite a camp. Eight plush chairs in a room that has no business existing where it does. Everyone present.

Alexis sits forward, elbows on knees, and tilts his hat brim up toward the shaft in the ceiling.

“Before we move, I want to talk about that hole.” He looks up at it for a moment. “There’s light up there. And this room is clean. No debris, no dust, nothing that should have fallen down from wherever that shaft goes.” A pause. “That’s worth understanding before we decide what to do with it.”

He looks around the group.

“Carm, I want to ask you something that might be a long shot. Your connection with Raiden,” he chooses his words carefully, “is there any chance he could tell us when we are? Not where. When.”

He looks back at the shaft.

“And does anyone have a way to learn more about what’s up there before we commit to anything? I’d rather know more than less before we start climbing.”

Taking A Deeper Step?

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As the group is walking back from getting the third key of Nodden-Torr, Alexis brings up a question.

“I’ve been thinking about the ring.” He keeps looking straight ahead. “If I go deeper with it, it could help us understand what’s between us and Bandesingh, and what’s waiting for us when we get there. Same way Gus was the only one who could use Dauntless, I’m the only one who can use this. Red could get there someday, but he’d have to make some choices he hasn’t made. That’s not where he is.”

He’s quiet for a few steps.

“If it didn’t cost anything I wouldn’t be bringing it up. There would be moments where I’m looking at too many possibilities at once and I’d need someone to help narrow it down to a decision. Someone with a clear head and strong convictions who can cut straight to what matters.” He glances at Ca’armine. “That kind of thinking would be useful.”

He keeps walking, lets that settle.

“There’s no danger of the ring taking me over. Same as there was never any danger of Dauntless possessing Gus. This ring was forged for one purpose: knowledge in the service of keeping humanity alive. Red wants knowledge, full stop. The rest of you want to protect humanity, to varying degrees. I’m the only one who combines both enough that the ring and I are truly aligned.” He says it plainly, but something in his face tightens. “I wish that wasn’t true.”

He keeps his eyes on the tunnel ahead.

“This is one of the great artifacts humanity has ever made. We’re going after the Tear because it improves our chances against Bandesingh. Should we let me lean further into the ring for the same reason?”

He glances sideways at the group, still walking, clearly waiting.

Gustav’s Dream

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Gustav falls asleep under the open sky. No chanting. No kneeling. Just a ranger’s rest beneath the stars and the trees. The forest does not seem to darken this night. It grows… attentive.

Gus opens his eyes. He is standing in a clearing. Everything is too green. Too vibrant. The air smells of pine sap and fresh rain but Gus does not trust this. He does not trust most magic and this smells mostly of magic. A massive oak tree suddenly stands before him, ancient and knotted. Its bark creaks.

A low voice emerges from the trunk…“Well, this is improper.” Gus blinks. The oak shifts uncomfortably. “We’re not supposed to talk.” From somewhere above, a crow caws. Then in a scratchy voice…“Definitely not supposed to talk.” Gus rubs his eyes. He sighs. More magic. And talking magic is always the worst. “I’m dreaming.” Gus says feeling vexed that this would be the dream he landed in. Surely he could have imagined he was at a nice wilderness inn with a flagon of ale and a bowl of hot…

The crow hops down to a branch just above him, interrupting Gus’s thoughts. “Obviously.” it says. The oak sighs deeply, sounding almost as vexed as Gus…“Very much dreaming.” Gus folds his arms and says indignitaly…“Trees don’t talk. At least not to me. Go bother Red. He likes talking to you.” The oak pauses. “Correct. We do not talk.” The crow nods. “Highly irregular.”

A moment of blessed silence follows. It is not long enough for Gus.

The crow tilts its head. “Do you want us to stop?” Gus hesitates feeling guilty that he does in fact want them to stop..“…maybe…uh yes!” The oak chuckles, bark splitting softly. Suddenly the forest closes in. The trees around him begin murmuring…a low, windlike conversation. Not words exactly. But understanding. Like a murmur of a friendly crowd, cheering Gus on. It is nearly unbearable for Gus.

The crow flutters down and lands on Gus’s shoulder. It is annoyingly familiar. “You are worried,” it says plainly. Gus shrugs. “There’s a storm coming.” it says. The oak hums..“There is always a storm coming.” The crow adds…“You don’t fear it.” Gus looks toward the horizon, and yes, now because they had to mention it in your dream he see dark clouds gathering beyond distant hills. Typical bad luck that comes from unnatural talking things that put storms in his dreams. “No. Just no. To all of it. No to the storm, no to you both talking, and no, of course I am not scared of a storm.” “You fear for them.” the oak and the crow say together. The clearing shifts.Gus sees faint silhouettes…his friends…Alexis studying items for the hidden secret meanings he is so sure exists, Red studying his scrolls endlessly as if the meaning of everything was hidden in the pen strokes on the page, Rask sharpening his blades to precision, and Ca’armine kneeling in prayer.

The crow leans closer. “You are not afraid to die.” The oak rumbles warmly. “You are afraid they might.” Gus swallows. He hates it when the talking things are right.

The forest quiets. The crow hops down. “Prove to yourself it’s a dream.” Gus squints.“…What?” The oak creaks. “Ask for something.” The crow smirks in a very crow-like way. “Something small.” Gus hesitates. He does not like these games. Even if he is asleep he doubts he is getting much rest with all this noise in his head. “…An empty chair.” Gus finally says. Instantly, behind him a wooden chair appears. Perfectly worn. Sturdy. Familiar. He slowly turns, an idea forming in his head…“…A small flagon of ale.” A cool weight appears in his hand. He lifts it. It smells exactly right. “…And a bowl… of hot boiled turnips.” The crow freezes.“…Turnips?” The oak groans. “How did you know he was thinking of that?” The crow fluffs its feathers indignantly. “I did not know about the turnips.” it caws indignantly. A wooden bowl appears on a stump beside the chair. Steam rises from the turnips. Gus stares.“huh…This isn’t real.” The oak responds gently…“No.” The crow nods. “But what it means is.”

The clearing opens beyond Gus as he sits down on the comfortable chair. The forest spreads out untouched, endless, green, alive. No rot. No undead. No red iron. No Dark Hand. No cities! Just wilderness waiting to be walked. Now if Gus could just remember to ask the talking things to shut up this could turn into a rather pleasant dream. The dream spirits really should have led with this. Still, far on the horizon is that terrible looking storm. The talking things said Gus was not afraid of the storm which is true, but it sounded like his friends might be in trouble. That would not be good. They may get wet but he will make sure they stay safe. He always does.

The crow looks toward the horizon. “You will not stop the storm.” The oak adds…“But storms pass.” The crow leans in annoyingly closer. “And trees remain.” The oak speaks one final time…“You are not meant to be the lightning.You are meant to be the roots.”

The chair creaks softly beneath Gus.The ale tastes perfect. The turnips are, regrettably, excellent. The crow sighs contentedly on Gus’s shoulder. Gus is slightly less annoyed now that they have stopped talking again.

“When the shadows in the storm come,” the crow says quietly, “Stand between them and your friends.” The oak hums agreement. “That is enough.” the crow says. The clearing suddenly begins to fade. A half eaten turnip disappears from Gus’s hand before he can take another bite and he drops to the ground as the chair vanishes. Typical. Must be fey nearby. He will need to warn the others when he wakes up. Right before the dream ends the crow speaks once more, even as Gus finds himself wishing that it was the first thing to disappear. “Next time ask for stew.” it caws.

Gus opens his eyes and is so happy to find that his Crow has not in fact learned to talk like a human. The trees are back to being quiet as well, and Gus hopes they have learned their lesson and stay that way. It really is better for everyone and no one has the patience to listen to a tree. Gus is so happy that he isn’t hearing voices from things that are not supposed to speak that he almost forgets about his dream. Almost.

Brewers, Light Your Burners

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A week into their time in the hills east of Nodden-Torr, the group gathers for a meal. Some look sharp, invigorated. Others are worn down. Alexis pulls his hat off, sets it beside him, and leans forward on his elbows looking at Gustav and Ethelred.

“Follow-up to what I said before. We should brew potions before heading back in.” He glances at Gustav. “Takes you more effort, Gus, but brewing’s still quick work.”

He shifts his boots under him, turning to address both Ethelred and Gustav jointly again.

“Let’s inventory what we’ve got for vessels. Flasks, vials, jars we can reuse. We’ve got Hadonis’ evil stuff, and I still have that resistance vial from the Emoi mage.” He pulls the vial out, turns it in his fingers and the Collegium ring catching firelight as he does. “These need thorough cleaning. Any trace of Hadonis’ god or the Emoi has to go. I can handle that. Just get me fresh moss.”

“The vessels for Hadonis’ oils and perfumes, the mundane stuff, we can be less careful with. But still clean.”

He looks between them. “Two questions. What other containers do we have? And what can you make that’ll actually help us down there?”

The Honorable Hyena-Beast Fight, Observed

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The Crimson Calling is in the under-level of Nodden-Torr. The summoned hyena-beast has been used as a magical testing creature on the magicked door and the group is debating what to do with it. Ca’armine is advising Rask kill it honorably.

Alexis catches Gustav’s eye and draws one finger quick across his throat—clean, like you’d do for a lame horse. Then he shrugs.

After Rask takes a few scratches putting the thing down, Alexis glances back at Gustav and shakes his head, palms up. What did we expect?

What the What?

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After tending to the horses on the groups’ first return to the to top of the stairwell, Rask approaches the rest of the group:

“This,” he gestures all around them, “what… I’m not even sure where to start…”

“Hadonis… those giants… this… that five-eyed thing…” he gestures downward, and looks to Alexis, Ethelred and Gustav.

“You’ve explored dwarven ruins before, right? How are they different or the same? Were they this infested with magic? What do you make of all this? Anything Ca’armine and I should know?”

Warrior in a Garden

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Rask tends to the horses and helps set up camp in the calm grove, free from the unnaturally cold mist. The cherry tree in bloom, soft grass and moss underneath it is inviting. Rask finishes unsaddling and brushing down the horses and begins to set up his own camp. It is safe here, calm, the owl, the white wolf, the hawk, all at ease.

Rask takes off his pack and sword belt and a sits on the grass beneath the cherry tree, amid the blossoms on the ground. He focuses on his breath at first, pausing between exhale and inhale. He turns his mind to Raiden, the protector. There is a connection between Raiden and the land. He can feel it. His own tattoos, Runes of Raiden, described to him by Mage Eye as the Raw Power of Aegir. It is strong in Gustav, and part of Ca’armine’s connection too.

The feeling of gentle southern breeze brushes over Rask, the thought of an early fall day, warm and sunny, ‘Raiden’s Summer!’ Rask insisting to Brude and Yon, who called it ‘Zephrus’ Goodbye.’ Thater, so clam and peaceful in the afternoon light.

Children singing songs about Raiden… farm animals, gentle and kind… farm and village dogs, sweet and protective…

The clarity and mercy of every strike in his recent battle, the Gift of Raiden’s Mercy flowing through him…

Rask’s eyes are open, focused gently at nothing, a middle distance, his mind at peace, his vision taking in the garden in general and in detail. A cherry blossom floats to the ground, wafting through his field of vision. The thought of a lesson, from his mother perhaps, perhaps a chaplain… the sleeping goddess… cherry trees, the white hawk… kindly defense, the sword unstained… Tai-Lynne…

Alexis approaches the white wolf, it growls at him, and moves away as Alexis slowly continues his approach. Alexis backs off.

Rasks stands slowly and deliberately. He unpacks his bedroll and removes his armor, taking great care in each movement. When his camp his set, he returns to meditating under the cherry tree, his back and chest bare, the top two thirds of the Iron Tree runic tattoo visible.

Rask’s eyes are open, focused gentle at nothing, a middle distance, his mind at peace, his vision taking in the garden in general and in detail. A cherry blossom floats to the ground, wafting through his field of vision.

Gustav’s Crow and the owl greet each other and begin to play some sort of game of tag or follow the leader.

Rask breathing settles into an easy rhythm, his mind wanders through peaceful memories, visualizing defensive and non-lethal combat forms, children playing a fighting, a peaceful wind wafting through white tree blossoms, a hawk soaring in white clouds, cherry trees in full bloom with petals perfect beyond belief, gentle bees buzzing in the boughs, tree branches bent under the load of pale flowers, the breeze as ceaseless as the peaks of the mountains are lofty, Brude and Myrsky young and laughing in the sunshine, families working the land on warm spring days, preparing the soil, sowing the seeds, tending to calves and foals, gathering wax and honey from the hives, playing with puppies… peace like Rask has not known in a very long time.

A harsh black rage interrupts Rask’s calm with a silent howl. Rask is jarred to a specific awareness. Alexis and Ethelred are talking. Something about cooking and gardening. The rage is quiet.

Rask sighs, and returns to measured, controlled breathing, pausing between each inhale and each exhale. His mind quickly returns to its peace, families harvesting in the warm fall, breezes wafting gently, non-lethal combat forms, playing with dogs, milking gentle mama goats…

Again! Another harsh black rage and a silent howl. Ethelred is looking at some of the plants in the grove, they are withered and dead. Alexis removes a necklace and tries to clean up the withered plants.

Another wave of rage. As Alexis attempts to clean, black waves of wrath flow over Rask. The white wolf whines.

Alexis stops and begins to make camp at the edge of the garden. The wolf whines. Rask asks Gus if he can calm the wolf, and the group sets watches for the night.

Before laying down to sleep, Rask sits once more beneath the cherry tree and returns again to measured, controlled breathing. His mind returns to its peace, families sharing a meal in a warm house in the winter, a cold morning, warm breath wafting gently away from young boys excited to explore the freshly fallen snow, a white panther fearlessly leaping from ice cover rock to ice covered rock with joyful focus, defensive combat forms, playing with dogs, tending to the farm animals in their stalls, making candles in a warm work-room… Kark Bergthison’s songs of Raiden, the protector of humanity, sung at the hearth in the Worn Stone Tavern…

Rask’s breathing settles into a natural rhythm. His mind wanders to children playing at fighting… Yon and Sten… to defensive combat forms… to non-lethal combat forms… Raiden… the Protector.

“Praise Raiden” Rask intones and moves to take his rest in the Garden of TyLin, his first truly peaceful rest in far, far too long.

What About Raiden?

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It’s the morning after the group camped at “Ty-Lynn’s Garden”. Morning settles soft over the camp, the mist clinging low to the bedrolls and the blackened stones of the fire. A crow mutters somewhere in the trees. Alexis stands near what’s left of the coals, warming his hands more out of habit than need.

“Since Warder Yule,” he says, eyes on the faint embers, “and especially after what happened last night, I’ve been thinking about where my magic comes from.” He straightens a little, turning his hat absently in his hands as he speaks. “Avv’s realm has its uses—finding what’s hidden, drawing the unseen to light. But I’m not her servant. Never was. And since we left Ghanil, treasure-hunting hasn’t been high on the list.”

He looks up then, toward Ca’armine, but his voice carries to all of them. “The name of Avv… tends to make people uneasy. You’ve felt it. Yule certainly did.” He gives a small, crooked smile—more acknowledgment than humor.

“I trained with the Collegium,” he goes on. “They teach you to touch where you choose, not a servant any one realm. And I’d like to be in greater harmony with you; my Raidenites.”

Turning to face them fully, the mist curls around his boots, “Are you willing to help me make the shift?”