This Thing of Darkness (IC)

[rigsmal]

https://i.imgur.com/iIZjuEM.jpg?2


OUT-OF-CHARACTER THREAD (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?540675-This-Thing-of-Darkness-(OOC))

COMBAT MAPS (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1FhOMsnt5A926UmKI6ELh9_cuV8V5TbA0HSeIsP-h7Ts/edit?usp=sharing)


CALANTAR'S WAY

From Suzail to Arabel is the heavily-traveled Calantar's Way, though few Cormyrians could tell you who Calantar was. Most would instead tell you of its scenic beauty, of rolling, windswept golden hills and sprawling farmlands, of the pristine river Starwater sparkling brightly in the morning sun and then gently under the moonlit night, of the lush greens of King's Forest in the summer and it's soft orange and red hues in the autumn, and of the good and hardy folk of Cormyr, prosperous but always under threat from the Shade Enclave of Netheril to the north, bandits along the Dragon Coast to the south, and the territorial ambitions of Sembia to the east.

In your hasty retreat from the heavily-patrolled streets of Suzail you find yourself on this road and, two days later, coming up on Calantar's Bridge which spans the Starwater, though neither bridge nor river are yet in view. While safer here than in the capital, you still saw the lights of distant guard patrols in the dark of night. Fortunately what travelers you did pass did not show any suspicion and were friendly if engaged with.

It is midday on the eve of Shieldmeet. The dusty, well-trodden Calantar's Way lies before you. You have already traveled four hours, and it would take another four to reach Calantar's Bridge. Around you are golden fields of wild wheat, rustling in the light wind.

Directly in front of you, a mere fifty feet and at the side of the road, is a stopped wagon with one horse. A middle-aged human man has pulled out stools, a crate, and food consisting of bread, cheese, dried figs, and sausage. What seems to be his family, human as well, are a middle-aged wife preparing a pot of honey, a young adult son shooting a nearby tree with a light crossbow, and a teenage daughter lying in the fields, basking in the sunlight.

They have not spotted you yet.

[TankLaser007]

It is only a matter of a few simple thoughts and his clothes shift from the rich black with red and white trim and highlights to a dull brown homespun. The drab sack cloth rough long shirt and well worn cotton slacks stained yell and green and brown in places, telling of a hard life of toil and little coin or time for eithier washing or repair. A large dark brown cloak hangs on his shoulders and the thin old man with the piercing grey eyes makes his way towards the family only pausing long enough to find a suitable stick to make use of as a cane or walking stick.


http://creativecrunk.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Old-Man-3D-Character.png


As he draws closer, he begins to wheeze slightly, it had been a while since he had breathed, but his was a mind honed to detail and this was an important one. He remembered what it was like to breath, and even more what it was like to have such difficulty.

When he comes close enough for his weak voice to be heard, he calls out; "Guard? Who's there?" he cries stopping in the road and squinting at the family with a furrowed brow and a hand to his forehead screen the sun from his old grey eyes.

Undetectable Alignment in effect; his unholy symbol is tucked beneath his clothes and armour, resting upon his bare chest.
Disguise +24 (Age within 5 years of actual age, same gender, same size, same original race, as living human not sure if this applies penalties, hood is up.
Bluff +10

[rigsmal]

"Guard? Who's there?"

The daughter sits up and cranes her neck to spot the new arrival. "Pa! Traveler!"

The father sets down a crate mid-rearrangement, turns, and wipes his brow, holding arm in place to shield his eyes from the hot daylight. "Ho there, stranger!"

The mother puts her arms on her hips and watches, not particularly concerned but no stranger to the dangers of the road. The son squints, trying to make out your features, as he goes to retrieve embedded bolts from the pockmarked tree he had been shooting for, judging by the young oak's visible abuse, the last few dozen minutes.

"'Tis my family," says the father. "We hail from Immersea, bearing calico weaves for our buyer in the capital. If you'll pardon my saying so, seems to be where you're coming from."

"Something we could help you with?" says the mother quickly. "We're 'bout to sup and be on our way."

[TankLaser007]

The old man shuffles up to the family looking over his shoulder and turning slightly in place before finally coming to rest near them.

"Have I? The capital is that way?" he points back the way he came, before rubbing his chin. "I am, in all truthfulness, quite lost."

Remembering to breath he pants slightly, then smacks his lips, must remember to be thirsty -- especially in this time of year.

"Where are my manners, I am Cattim, I have faced many travails in my recent travels. I was betrayed by those I trusted and now haven't a copper let alone lion to my name."

He slowly lowers himself onto any make shift chair, "If I may?" he says easing himself into the seat. "I would be most grateful for your hospitality..." his eyes fall on the young man, "...and perhaps your protection?"

He squints in the direction of the boy, "What is your name lad? You seem quite capable with that there," he says indicating the cross bow, "no doubt a great benefit to your family."

"I don't not wish to impose but times as you know have been hard, what with these recent troubles," he leans in, "roads aren't safe, and those Purple Dragons, as well meaning as they may be -- well they are only men. If you have any spare room in your wagon here, I haven't anything save for my prayers and gratitude with which to repay your kindness."

He thinks of some of the children he once saw receiving gifts, how they beamed and smiled, and he turns the corners of his mouth upwards in a similar fashion, a pantomime of youthful joy on an aged and soured face.

[roll0]

[rigsmal]

"A sorry traveler!" says the daughter, getting up and brushing grass from her skirt. "If we don't carry food enough, perhaps big brother could hunt some?"

"We've enough," says the son. He grins and holds up his crossbow. "The stranger overestimates my skill with this contraption, but he is correct that I excel in hitting trees, especially when I don't mean to. I must declare, in a fight 'tis best to run, for my friends are in more danger from my shooting than my enemies." He approaches and bows in an over-exaggerated manner. "Asken, at your service."

"Ah! Big brother, so full of courage and skill, it's a wonder the Dragons don't ask for you by name."

"Very well," says the mother with a sigh, "I cannot turn away a traveler in need! Let us feed Cattim so his future travels may be more pleasant." She sets before you a portion of each of the foods they had prepared.

"Wretchedness knows no bounds," says the father grimly, fetching for you a filled waterskin. "I welcome you, Cattim. We are the Steebrooks, servants of the Thundersword family. We fashion textiles in Immersea and sell them in Suzail, Marsember, and Arabel. Humble living but we are comfortable and have more than enough to share with those in need. Alas, space in the wagons we do not have, cargo being as it is. But if you wish to travel with us, I do not think any of us would mind. Food and water we have in some surplus. Mark me though, there's talk of cutthroats on this road, and there'll be little we can do to protect you. At these times we must hope the capital's patrols can protect us.

"I am Rarder, this is my wife Elyn, my daughter Joy, and my son, well, you've already met the lad."

"You have a story of betrayal, then?" says Asken. "No doubt with copious helpings of intrigue and romance!"

"Don't be a fool big brother," says Joy. "The wanderer shall speak of it if he wishes to."

[TankLaser007]

The old man smiles, having slaked his thirst he puts a few small morsels into his mouth as he listens to the introductions and then responds in kind;

"I am most humbled and honoured to make your acquaintance, young Asken and you as well little lady Steebrook" he says nodding his head to both Asken and Joy in turn. "and I am most grateful for your kindness and generosity madame Steebrook" he bows to Elyn, "I would be in your debt master Steebrook for the privilege of accompanying you and your lovely family along the road to the capital -- especially as it seems I have entirely become turned around. These old eyes are not what they once were."

He puts a few more bites of food into his mouth before continuing.

"So you are in the service of the Thundersword family, I must confess the house escapes me, I mean no insult, I am sure they are a good family to have such as you in their employ. It is rare in these times to have such trustworthy and loyal folk looking to the welfare of their master."

He turns his grey gaze to young Asken, "so you wish to hear of a betrayal most foul? Well if there is one thing I may be able to provide you it is a few pearls of wisdom from one long on the earth."

He leans in upon the walking stick his eyes falling to ground as the deep hood and downcast face leaving his features completely obscured his deep voice the only thing which escapes the recesses of his cloaked visage.

"I was an orphan, my mother died of plague and my father, perhaps not knowing how to deal with such also passed on not long after. I was found by my master's servants and brought up in his house. He was a most generous lord." the old man's voice becomes tinged with melancholy.

"Thus was I reared, no different than any other of his children, I was taught to read, to write, I was given charge of many of the most important aspects of his holdings, I helped to manage the affairs of the house and I took to it with gusto and aplomb. It was almost as if I had been made for that very work. And I took great pleasure in my service."

"There should never be shame in serving. Many think it belittles them, when in fact, the most respected men and women in the realms are naught but servants. The Knights and Protectors of the Realms, the famed Harpers, all are but servants of the crowns and thrones, or the people, or ideals and yet they are honoured and looked up to. So never feel small. Each of us has their place..."

He dips a gnarled finger into the honey and places it to his lips. "This, honey. Gold. Sweet. Prized and treasured by beast and man alike, by prince and pauper. It was produced by small little creatures many would scarcely notice and others still would think to crush or kill without a second thought. Yet these small little wonders work a magic all their own."

"A type of alchemy really, they take the essence of the flower and in the crucible of their hives they transmute that essence into a liquid gold, and have you not seen how it seems eternal, it doesn't freeze nor does it spoil? What wonders from one so small. And in the heart of the hive, its centre the pivot upon which that little kingdom turns is the queen. Yet it is her servants, not her, who produce the sought after honey, they toil in the day and night, they gather, they defend, they are born and die living their entire lives in service and look at the result."

"We today, you and I, reap the benefit of the labours of so little a creature and we often do not give it a second thought -- let alone a first. So never think anyone, lest of all a loyal servant beneath you or insignificant."

He looks up for a moment, "Where was I though..." the old brow furrows, "Ah yes, betrayal."

He pauses to eat a piece of fig. "So I had spent many years blissfully in the service of my master. I was among his most dutiful of servants and he was one both feared and respected. You see both are of import. He was a truthful and just lord, strict yes, and he could be harsh at times but he maintained order and was judicious in his office. None had any right to complain. Among his many orders to us was that we are always honest. You see he recognised the importance of reputation, in the perception of the people, and he cultivated such qualities in those benath his patronage."

"As I am sure you are well aware, your actions, this kindness to a stranger in need, for example -- it reflects on the Thunderswords, when your conduct as benevolent and righteous then it shall cast the family you serve in a good light. Should one be treacherous, or cruel, well that is unbecoming of a man or woman alone but then as the agents of your master's house, in whose interests they act, how then will the entire family an their retinue be viewed?"

"So yes, at times, people feared us but they also knew that we would never desert our duty to them, and that when the time came, and it always came, when they were in need of our ministrations and that of our master, well then we would not abandon them, not a one. We always honoured our pacts, we carried out our contracts and our agreements to the letter. Thus the people paid their respects, and honoured our master as he should be, because he was as dependable and inevitable as the setting of the sun or the turning of the seasons."

"Yet there were those who coveted the position he held. The rot of envy ate at their black and vile hearts, they thought themselves above the rest of us, you and me, they believed they were beyond the systems and order that had maintained peace and saw that all things progressed as the had for ... well before we were born."

His voice takes a hard edge laced with something, was it malice? The feeble old man suddenly seemed to radiate a quiet strength, for a few seconds he was almost menacing. "My master had inherited his position. It was bestowed upon him by one who recognised and acknowledge his worth. Yet these... upstarts, covetous wretches they sought to usurp what was his by right!"

"And so he was betrayed. Not him alone, many were attacked and brought low in those dark days. Yet worst of all were those of his formerly 'faithful' servants. Those false faced hypocrites, they threw themselves at the feet of these thieves and blackguards, all vying for scraps hoping to cling to their positions and power, but they will see the fate of every traitorous and treacherous one."

His voice drops to almost a whisper as he leans in close to the family as they sup, "You see, they had thought my master slain. Yet he lives, and there are those, like myself, who never forsook him nor abandoned his service. Though we may seem poor wretches, wandering in ignominy across the back of Toril, we are just in our claims and we find strength in the knowledge that we are the rightful and wronged party. By all the true gods we will see justice done!"

He sits back up, looking at his hosts for the first time since he began the tale, a slight sheen in his eyes, tears?

"I do apologise, perhaps that was unbecoming of me, yet my heart was broken by those traitors and what they did to our benevolent lord, and I only hope to walk long enough upon this land to see my master returned to his former glory. Then, then I can move on in peace."

A weak smile splays his face, "but of course, you shouldn't have your days darkened by the tragic tales of old men such as I, not when you are all yet so young and full of life and promise. Please pardon me for perhaps souring the mood with my sombre speech. I hope I have not been too off-putting."

He slumps down a bit.

"So Steebrooks of Immersea, perhaps you have lighter news by which we might entertain ourselves and pass the time?"

Everything he said is true albeit not likely how the family understands it.

[rigsmal]

When Athaam expresses unfamiliarity with the Thundersword family, Elyn says, "'tis a family which owns vast stretches of cotton, dye, and barley farms along Blister Trail. A matter o' fact, I'd bet all clothiers between the Helmlands and the Dragonmere buy from either the Thunderswords or the Wyvernspurs, and our malt ale's known by name all across His Majesty's domain!"

The family of four sit on chairs and eat as they settle in to listen to Athaam's tale. Rarder and Elyn listen grimly all throughout, making small noises of horror upon hearing that the wanderer's master was betrayed so greatly, and following sighs of relief learning he yet lives. Joy first listens with a smile as Athaam describes the way of lords and their servants, then her expression matches her parents', horror and relief mirroring betrayal and hope. Asken loses his playful demeanor as he eats and listens, a serious intentness falling upon his face. His expression changes little as he mulls over your words.

"What a tale!" says Elyn.

"Beggars belief, that it does," says Rarder. "Why, it makes me tremble to hear it! Yet I cannot say I am surprised, for the treachery which lies in the hearts of mortals is known to Cormyrians all. Sincerest sympathies, traveler, and take heart, for 'tis true the gods favor the righteous and your cause is just."

"Aye Cattim" says Joy, "I wish you only fortune. May you and your master once again find prosperity!"

"Lighter news, eh?" says Asken as his smile returns. "Let's see... 'twas a good harvest of indigo and mulberry silk this year and we'll be eating well, I do say! And ol' McCodd's brew is gracing the table of the dinner tables of Castle Obarskyr this season, after a tense round of a selection by the royal chefs themselves. I'm sure he's right proud of it. But I'm also sure you weren't looking for news this light, so let's see what else I can tell you.

"Here's what I heard in Arabel: Lady Lhal has committed to and organized a mighty army of sellswords and adventurers to rout the monstrous infestations from east of the Starwater all the way to the Hullack. About time, if you ask me. Cormyr'll once again be a land of peace and prosperity, after we remove, in your words, the usurpers, the great orc hordes who know only violence and destruction. 'tis peace on my mind as well, as the roads'll be safer for it.

"Here's another truth, spoken from the lips of Azoun the Fourth himself and honored by the reigning regent, long may she live: The daring and strong who drive the Zhents from the Stonelands, all the way from the High Moors to Griffon Hill, and manage to protect the land from future incursions, monstrous or otherwise, will be granted baronship and named lord of the domain. I hear some self-styled heroes've been going at it, but little can I say of their progress."

Rarder stands up and gazes southward. "Lad, it'll be time to go. 'else we won't make it by dusk tomorrow."

[TankLaser007]

"We are most grateful for you kindness and well wishes. And be sure that when all is righted, I will personally see that my master knows of the service rendered by those in beneath the banner of house Thundersword. We always repay our debts. Here let me help you lady Steebrook" he says packing away the goods. "If there is any assistance I might lend you please do not hesitate to ask." he smiles at the family as the ready to continue along there way.

"You plan to make camp along the way in the night?" he asks, "also there is no need for the lad and little lady to call me Cattim, you can call me pap -- if you like."

[rigsmal]

"Right you are," says Joy, "we do set tents every night, else we'd wake with a carpet of bugs on our faces."

Preparing to journey does not take long. Food is stashed in crates, crates and stools are stashed on the wagon, and the horse, a dark, heavy-built draft horse, is fed and bridled. The family draws straws, and the winner, Joy, laughs in celebration as she climbs the front of the covered wagon and grips the reins.

The sun is just hot enough to cause discomfort. Fortunately, Athaam's vestment of many styles' current form has a hood, which if pulled up provides adequate protection from the sun's rays. Not doing so would mean a Fortitude save each hour, made at a -4 penalty due to your sharkskin armor. Asken sighs. "Truly, we couldn't wait till fall to make this trip." He takes a sheet of cloth and wraps it about his head. The rest of his family, save for Joy safe in the wagon cover's shade, follow suit.

"Hee hee. You wouldn't be complaining if you got the wagon."

Rarder shrugs. "You could stand behind the cart, plenty o' shade there."

"Then who'd watch the road?" says Asken. "I've got the sharpest eyes, don't I? Well, at least when I bother to look."

After a few words exchanged between Rarder and Elyn the family sets off. The wagon creaks to life as Joy guides the horse onto the road. Rarder and Elyn walk alongside the wagon's shadow. Asken, stashing his light crossbow and drawing a composite longbow and a quiver of arrows, takes position ten feet ahead of the group. In this formation they spend the next four hours walking Calantar's Way southbound. The occasional traveler or wagon carriage pass by, but aside from a quick greeting and a wave the family continues without stopping. The landscape does not change much as you walk, wheat fields all the way, though the terrain grows slightly hillier.

Late afternoon approaches and the sky is no longer as bright, taking a slightly darker hue of light blue. Joy pulls the wagon to a stop by the side of the road and fetches their horse stored water and hay.

"We could keep moving," says Asken.

"Or we could take a break. Poor boy, so overworked!" Joy pats the horse's head.

"We got a guest," says Elyn, "it'd be the polite thing to do to stop."

"Eh, pops looks like he's still got a few leagues in him," says Asken with a smile, tossing Athaam a filled waterskin. "What do you say, mister? An hour or two? Or three? It'd be a shame to hit the capital at dusk, yeah?"

[TankLaser007]

The oldman smiled at the family's banter, even letting out a small chuckle.
So this is what an actual family is like. A bit banal, however not without its charms. the priest thought to himself.
Some would have issues with maintaining such seeming duplicity. Most lacked the disciplined mind and willpower necessary to implement such contrary pretences, to so completely immerse oneself in an alien thought process and emotional experience that they were able to almost believe it themselves. Which was of course the key to any good deception.

To really excel at the art one must stay as close to the truth as possible, and where that was not an option they must believe it. They had to inculcate an almost ephemeral emotion, to craft and construct the frame upon which to hang their false skin, if you were to feign love or even affection of a person you must first have, at the least, the ghost of such a feeling with which to drive the corpse of your contrivance.

Many would not think one of Myrkul’s scions to be so skilled, yet that was because they failed to understand the true berth and depth of service of the Lord of Bones. You had to really care for the wretches you tended to. Even when it wasn’t in your nature. Because in death, in those last days or hours, they all became the lost children of your father’s house, even the self righteous and pompous. They may have hatted and scorned you in life but in death, you were more beloved to them than their own wives, mothers or children. So you must be a mirror. You learned how to feign such things, because to do otherwise reflected poorly on the vocation.

And today was no different than yesterday. So in these moments of travel together, he was “Pop” the congenial oldman, the erstwhile quintessential grandfather, he cared for and appreciated this family taking him into their care, and it was real. As real, at least, as he could muster. For despite their likely faithlessness, they were lost. They needed him more than he required use of them. Perhaps, subtly and over time he might return them to the righteous path and away from the influence of the usurpers and betrayers. Yet in order to do that he had to want to save them. Save them from those who would corrupt and mislead them. Save them from themselves.

“No, no my dear I think there is yet a bit more strength in these old bones of mine.” he smiled at Elyn, the mistress of the Steebrook clan. “Young Asken is right, we wouldn’t want to delay in reaching the capital. Besides I can, sadly, attest to the fact that you do not want to be caught on these roads after sunset. All manner of brigands and unsavoury types rove these environs” he looks suspiciously to the left and right of the road. “Some less honest and charitable than yourselves robed me of my rightful earnings. Masqueraded as servants of the regent they did...”