Chapter 31
“You’re an interesting sight. Curious what brought you here. Won’t you come closer so we can converse without yelling.” It was more of a command than a request from the female who must stand 25 feet tall. She had a pale blue complexion and long dark hair that seemed to shimmer between brown, black, and even the deep blue of a storm cloud. Dressed in leather armor that had obviously seen its fair share of use in battle and casually holding a massive greatsword, with the point resting on the ground, she was one to be careful around.
Cap’n Don pulls the Iron Vulture as close as he can to the two hundred foot tall outcrop she sits atop of. A small island lies close, where they can see some trees and vegetation off in the distance beyond the sandy beach.
Intrigued by the events, Grindlefoot returns to his halfling form, shifting back from the giant spider. Unfortunately, he’s still up on the bow mast amidst all of the webbing and immediately becomes entangled in his own butt-yarn. Struggling valiantly to free himself, the movement only seals the door on his prison. He becomes so intertwined with the knotted up webbing, that his voice is muffled beyond recognition. “Mmmmfpppfh, bwwweeelllfff ddeeee! Ooohhfff mmuuhh bwooootttthh issshh ffrriiied uppfh!”
“Welcome, travelers.” She looks off into the distance for a moment and then back to them. “This is a place I come to think…and listen to the stars speak. That is, if they choose to. Their nature can be…fickle, to say the least. As I said, you surprise me with your presence. Do tell. In fact, we will be more comfortable on the shore. Please join me at the beach.” Again, it was more of a command than a request.
Dolor asks, “who are you and can we trust you with our safety?”
“I am Veylara and you’ll be safe…from the storm…while you’re here. To be clear, you will remain here until I decide you may continue your journey. That is, if I allow you to continue.”
Seeing no other options, Dolor, Bilwin, Mond, and Gven take the small dinghy from the Iron Vulture to the beach. Captain Don remains aboard the Iron Vulture, tending to the damage from the storm, and Grindlefoot is thoroughly encased in the webbing. He soon falls asleep, overwhelmingly tired from battling the storm and wild shaping into the spider.
It’s a short trip from the vessel to the beach, but Veylara motions her hand and a small wave kicks up, pushing them towards it even faster. She soon follows, jumping down from her perch atop the rock to land smoothly in the waist-deep water and easily strides towards the shore.
“And now, help me understand why you’re here. Very few travelers, if any really, discover this….” She looks around at the beach, up at the clear sky above them, and then at the storm clouds surrounding them from a distance before continuing, “sanctuary of mine.”
Dolor speaks clearly and distinctly of doing what’s right and how he’s dedicated to helping others whenever he can. Gven is less sure of herself, but saying that she needs to stop her brother from committing genocide. Bilwin hesitantly describes his tenuous connection with Hanseath and how he unexpectedly and suddenly rediscovered it; he’s searching for his purpose. Mond, in a surprisingly firm voice, tells Veylara that he’s protecting his life and the lives of others like him, those who practice magic.
Veylara remains quiet through their answers, allowing them the time and space and opportunity to reflect before sharing. When they finish, she turns to Gven and says, “walk with me.” They stroll a little further down the beach, out of earshot from the others. “You mention stopping your brother, but you’re not his keeper nor are you responsible for his actions. Why are you really on this journey?”
Gven looks around uncomfortably, trying to reconcile the feelings within herself and her often reckless behavior—that some might describe as courageous or brave.
“I come from a small tribe in the Badlands of Eritz. We depend on each other. Our community relies on mutual respect and support; without those we won’t make it through the winter, let alone a lifetime. Most of my tribe are human, but some of us are half-bloods: half-orcs, half-elves, half-dwarves—yes, they really exist—and even an old half-goblin, who happends to be crazier than a cleric arguing theology with a goat. But, for the most part, we accept each other for who they…who we are.”
Gven continues, “Our elders remember The Conflict and tell stories of those times to remind us why we support each other this way. They also remind us of the misery and death The Conflict visited upon so many, mostly innocents, people who were neither religious nor magical. The hatred and greed, the wars and battles, the unnecessary deaths of so many. I cannot abide that. It goes against everything I…we…were raised to embrace and cherish. That’s what troubles me so much, I can’t believe my brother believes this. I must do something.”
The large storm giant looks down at Gven, “indeed, that is a fine reason for your journey.”
The two meander back to the others and Veylara sits on a large rock, that’s as tall as Gven. “You want to go to Amonah, where the gods live in their physical form. It’s not a journey for the faint-hearted, for they are fickle and greedy and prone to jealously betwixt each other. They can smite you with a thought, yet they also enjoy being entertained…and worshipped.”
“I’ll tell you a bit about the gods. Did they run away after The Conflict? Or did they leave of their own choice? Was it part of their plan? While they’re fickle, they’re still capable of playing the long game of centuries and millenium. It’s true, Amonah is their home, at least the one on this physical plane. Eons ago, a continent fractured into pieces and those became what we know as the gods. They chose their dominions, the physical and emotional areas they deemed important: peace, war, winter, summer, misfortune, luck, crafts, agriculture, forests, and seas. Whatever you can think of, there’s a god that claimed it for their own. Many of them built great churches to draw in worshippers. Because the number of followers feeds their egos, and their power, since the Conflict they’ve discovered limitations they never expected…or accepted. Like the inhabitants of this world, they align themselves with like-minded deities to gain what they want. Yet, those alliances can be as tempestuous as the seas beneath one of my storms.”
As the sun begins to lower in the sky, Veylara says, “I’ve spoken long enough. You should all rest for the evening. You’ll be safe here, or anywhere on the island you choose to lay your heads. I’ll be close by, if you need me.”
As Veylara moves to leave, Gven speaks up, “Your sword is magnificent. Might I see it?” With a nod of her head, Veylara removes the greatsword from its sheath and hands it over. It’s longer than Gven is tall and, yet, she lifts the enchanted weapon with ease, admiring it’s quality and then moving it through several attack patterns. “This is a very fine blade. How would one acquire such a masterful item?”
Accepting her greatsword from Gven, Veylara responds with a smirk, “Well, you could take it from the owner’s lifeless hands, which I do not advise. Or you can do a great deed for one of my kind and they might gift one upon you.” Sheathing her sword, Veylara walks away from the beach towards a small hill, “rest well, travelers. This might be your last opportunity to do so.”
Bilwin, as has become his practice lately, goes off on his own for prayer. Mond and Dolor are tired from the day’s events, so they set up a small campsite and lie down for the evening, enjoying the stars above. Gven is restless and goes off to a small glade close to the beach to practice her sword forms.
After a half hour or so, Bilwin ambles up to the clearing where Gven is now sweating from practice. It’s obvious in his manner that he’s been enjoying his magical tankard of beer. “Umm, Gven, can you help me with something.”
“Of course,” and she looks at him, waiting for his request.
“Well, I’m trying to figure something out and can only think of one way to do it. Hanseath spoke to me when I was in danger, well, we were all in danger, but that’s beside the point. He connected with me during a time of challenge and fear and great need. I’d kinda like to test out that theory, but in a way that doesn’t result in me turning into roasted mutton. Well, roasted dwarf, really, but I think you know that.” He glances over at Dolor and Mond, resting a short distance away.
“Would you like to spar, dwarf? No fire, I promise. In fact, give me your best shot.”
Fight choreography
Slowly and somewhat unsteadily, Bilwin approaches Gven, balls up his fist, takes half a step back and then punches her with all his strength…right in the lower abdomen. She gives a slight grunt, followed by a smile, and takes 3 damage. Bilwin swings again, but loses his footing on the sand and misses wide.
“My turn.” Gven clobbers the slender dwarf with an upper cut, knocking him backwards and causing 6 damage. Her follow up punch is half-hearted, at best, and whooshes above his head.
Bilwin steadies himself from the blow and, surprisingly, manages to set his feet firmly on the shifting sand and deliver a solid blow to Gven’s thigh, causing 6 damage.
Gven’s face reveals that that one smarted and she responds with a full force roundhouse punch that launches Bilwin backwards to land on his back, causing 6 more damage.
Looking up at the nighttime sky, Bilwin can tell that he’s entered the contemplative state he wished for. “What do you want from me, Hanseath?” In the night sky, he sees several shooting stars moving in the same direction as the group is headed, towards Amonah. With a smile on his face, Bilwin closes his eyes and falls into a deep, drunken sleep.
Long rest….