Journal Entry 03.01 - Spirit Dreams

Aja's Dream Entering the caves is uneventful. They wind on for hours, the soft luminescence provided by the fungi on the walls providing a nice backlighting for what they see. The party has to step carefully, for as they work through the cave there is a small stream slowly descending with them in the center passageway.   Lost in a trance, after hours of walking, Aja finds that she is walking alone, following the stream, with only Gigi fluttering at her side. The rest of the party is gone. A slight putrid smell from ahead tells her that something is changing. Turning a corner – she is suddenly stopped by the familiar appearance of a gate of eight rusted iron bars. Her pause is momentary at best, splashes distantly from where she just came tell her that someone is approaching.   Turning to meet them – hoping for a friend, fearing an enemy – she sees Spango and two of his henchmen. Spango motions for his two henchmen to rush forth. The battle is quick. One of the henchmen wields a club and swipes at Gigi – a glancing blow but enough to know him out of the air. The club then descends on Aja’s head with a loud thump.   Aja awakens in a cage. She doesn’t know where she is, she is just in a cage. She also knows that she is more than just a prisoner now, she is a slave. Gigi is gone, Aja is not certain if he survived Spango’s men or not.   The next few months are a vague and painful blur of degrading servitude and punishment. It is then that she sees her chance for escape. Her cage door has been left unlocked at night, the door to the room slightly ajar. Wasting not a moment, Aja flees. Outside – she is in a city unlike anything she has ever seen.   Chrailis was a beautiful city – marble and alabaster walls, even the cool nights were still warm, healthy vegetation covering every wall. This place is hell. The walls are dirty stone, a foul smoke of fills the air. The temperature is as cold as the coldest spring water Aja has ever bathed in. White stuff falls out of the sky, yet when it hits the ground it slowly turns dark gray as it accumulates in the corners.   Hungry and cold, she wanders the streets. The inhabitants ignore her, often rude when she approaches. Some have even chased her off with sticks and stones. They don’t speak her language, she doesn’t speak theirs. She gets sick and eventually finds herself huddled in a corner of an alley. She once again fades into the only respite she has known these last few months – the oblivion of sleep.   When she wakes again, she knows this is the last time. She is too weak to go on. Staring down at her is a kindly old man – he looks familiar. It is her dad. Bending down, he lifts her chin and simply says, “You should have come sooner, winter is too late.” She closes her eyes again one final time.   Falgrieg's Dream   Falgrieg enters the cave. Nothing happens. He exits the cave confused. The party has disappeared. He is standing on a wide open plain – grasslands. Arrayed ahead of him is an army of tall dog-headed warriors. Looking behind him, he sees he is at the lead an army of halfling monks.   Knowing the time to charge is now, he raises and drops his hand. Zanziel lets forth a loud roar, and the charge is engaged. The battle is long and furious lasting the whole day. The halflings at first look to prevail, but the dog warriors keep coming.   Calling a retreat, what’s left of the halfling army falls back to the final citadel. No one blames Falgrieg, he fought valiantly enough. Retreating deep into the citadel, the dog warriors eventually storm the walls.   They make their final stand in front of two large crystal doors blocking an arched doorway.   As the dog warriors pour into the antechamber, making their final victorious push, Falgrieg doesn’t despair. He knows he fought the good fight. His last thoughts are hearing Zanzeil mutter – Now I will never see what lies beyond this door. Oh well – Falgrieg - as you guided me in this life, so shall I guide you in the next.   Graykar   You enter the cave, much like everyone else. Then you don’t remember much. The next thing you remember is waking in a nicely carved bed in one of the elves’ tree houses.   You awake with the rest of them (your party). They all seem shaken and somewhat disturbed by what happened, what they remembered. However to you, it was awakening from one of your dreams of your past lives. After all, having died at least ten or fifteen times does lessen the sting of death some.   All you really remember was that the master duelist of Chrailis, Tyrelli, was hunting you down. He was not giving you much choice, duel him and die, or get stuck in the back with a rapier and die.   You remember brief snippets of the duel. He was inflicting minor cuts to your face, arms and legs over and over again. This wasn’t a duel to the death, it was a duel to establish superiority. It was a duel to inflict humiliation in defeat.   Over and over again, he steps slightly to the left with his lead foot then – slash, another burning cut. Slightly to the left, then cut. Rolls his left foot just enough to shift his weight, then slice. Steps almost imperceptively to the left, then cut. You vaguely recall -wow – if I only had to do this again. I know what happens when he steps slightly to the left.   Morvion   Morvion follows in last, spear at the ready. Moving cautiously, his next step doesn’t land, he falls through the floor. Didn’t he just do that? He is in a new tunnel – a dark tunnel heading down. Unable to make contact with the rest of the party, he eventually starts walking and exploring. The tunnel winds down. And again, a missed step, and another fall. Damn it, he mutters, he shouldn’t be this gullible to hidden pits.   And yet, it happens three more times. Each time, he gets angrier. Full of wrath, he now charges forward, not caring if he falls again. The tunnel opens into a large cavern with the entire floor covered in a large lake of dark red water. A single passageway crosses the lake.   Furious, he storms across when he sees a figure standing on the far side of the cavern. He starts to make out the form of a female elf. Charging forward, Morvion is going to get some answers one way or another.   As he approaches, he finally makes out the elf, recognizing her. He pulls up short, his breath is taken from him. It is his slain mother – alive and healthy. She looks at him, smiles while softly crying. “What a waste of a pretty face. What a shameful waste. ” Then she changes and transforms. She lunges forth, but when she arrives it isn’t his mother, it is the lizard Shaman who destroyed Morvion’s village, carrying a wicked spear. Looking down, Morvion’s last conscious thought is amazement that the spear shaft jutting out of his chest is of darkest black, the grooves and channels of the spear glowing with a verdant emerald hue.   He feels his emotions drain out of him, till all that is left is anger and hatred. Even that too disappears. (edited)   Tars   Tars enters the cave first with his battle ax at the ready. Aja says something again – she’s always talking nonsense about her strange superstitions – and suddenly another one of her annoying mistimed fogs bellows up and surrounds Tars. As the light blue vapors envelope, the ground gives way. With a splash, Tars finds himself having fallen in the water.   The day is bright, the waves somewhat calm. The water is salty. Looking around with no land in sight, treading water, Tars sees a ship in the distance bearing down on him. It is a rather large galley, two massive dark red sails and at least one bank oars on either side.   As it pulls up alongside, a rope ladder falls down the side. Tars quickly ascends the rope to the grasping hands attempting to pull him up over the edge of the ship. As he is pulled over the railing, he is suddenly thrown to the deck. The sailors (mostly orcs) are laughing at him, saying something he can’t quite understand.   Their actions are definitely not friendly. They present some manacles and toss them at Tars indicating that he should put them on. Not having any of it, he draws his battle-ax from the straps on his back (when did he put it away?). A battle ensues, he cuts most of the sailors down – yet they are vicious. They don’t back down and seem to get more determined the more Tars bloodies them up.   Sadly, Tars is one orc and they are many. Eventually, they disarm him and inflict multiple mortal wounds. Tars is on his knees, barely conscious. He knows he put up a good fight. Then the captain of the ship comes forward, carrying Tar’s own ax. Smiling – the familiar looking captain rears the ax back. As the ax swings through – Tars' last thought is he knows this orc. What is Rafe doing dressed up like the captain of a pirate ship?