Talsil 7th - 9th
South over The Great River, into the Soveros Forest, and eventually the Howling Hills
The next morning, Tyvis summoned the most gentle and regal of the harriers yet, spun of dawn-colored clouds fringed in sunny gold. They bore the party faster than any before them, a hundred-and-fifty miles in a single day when all was done. Along the way, the eagles were nearly spotted as they soared over the wide berth of The Great River, specked with imperial ships both military and merchant, as well as several log trains and barges. Taking to the clouds, they used them as cover as best they could, and eventually found the opposite bank. Stretched out before them was the beauty and majesty of the largest forest on the continent, the Soveros, looking verdant and indomitable. It was hard not to appreciate the scope of so many thousands of square miles, but dragon-shaped shadows in the nearby banks was enough to ground the party post-haste. The decision was made then to use more mundane means of travel, lest risk another dragoon encounter or some other imperial mishap. Gens assured everyone he has just the ritual.
Evening came not long after, and the party made camp. This great, sheltering and secretive forest was even more serene than the Dormud wilds, and it wasn't hard to find a modicum of peace. Tyvis and Anita took first watch, sitting rather close, and having a soft conversation involving tea and suspicions throughout their waking hours.
During Gens' watch, so inspired by the many trees returning to spring life and the flowery sweet air, he began to gently play. It was a song he just barely recalled from a woman's voice he couldn't place, something sung to him with such beauty it had ingrained into his very being. He rediscovered the first few lines of it and something started to happen. The forest began to enliven: lightning bugs well out of season spun around him, the trees seemed to bow and their leaves shimmer like silver, and the night bugs changed their random noises into a concerted musical accompaniment. Not long after the bard had discovered this sweet melody, he'd lost it again, and struggled to regain it the rest of the night as Kaylan joined him for her watch.
As the sun rose, so did the rest of the group, and Gens got to his ritual. Having never cast it before, he wasn't sure what to expect, but hoped something other than ghostly steeds would be called despite the ritual's name 'Phantom Steed'. Thamior decided to help the uncertain caster, and, nearing the end of the rites, it looked as if they'd be riding shadowy horses. But then, in the last moments, stray bits of wild skipped and collected around each of the horses, transmuting them into fey steeds. The Archdruid stood dumbfounded, recognizing the breed as tarpan, unique to the Wild and partial only to those with a strong connection to the plane. They proved gentle, and certainly more natural-looking than phantoms. They also proved unperturbed by the forest terrain, and carried the group with ease, even through the densest stretches.
By day's end, they'd reached the edge of the Soveros and found the Howling Hills. In the distance, the imperial town of Bleachbone sat on a hillock. Many dirt tracks wound from its pale gates, and all were well-traveled. An alarming number of troops moved inside, but a fair number of merchant carts and riders as well. It quickly became apparent they were not safe standing beside the treeline talking, one of the roads bend a little too close to their position, and it certainly didn't help several dragoons wheeled a patrol above.
Kaylan, Thamior, Tina and (with some persuading) Gens stayed to make camp in the woods, finding a spot they deemed safe for a night. The old friends from Etheria had a strained conversation regarding brashness and purposeful avoidance throughout the primal ritual, one which left the bard a little dumbfounded and the cleric upset. Even after Gens took first watch and Kaylan was settled in her bedroll, still she was bothered by her friend's apparent death wish and her own emotional failings, but when she saught comfort from her husband, his words were unintentionally cold.
Much the opposite, things were heating up between Tyvis and Anita as they walked toward Bleachbone and stood in line to enter. There seemed a hierarchy of importance, with soldiers allowed immediate entry, merchants with a little hassle, and everyone else with considerably more hassle. The two were forced to wait some time as gatekeepers frisked and recorded the names of all unfamiliars entering for the night, despite the foreboding appearance of the place. Bone white and a grim, simple architecture, perhaps the worst features of town were the ugly, skull-like keep on top of the hill and the bloated bodies dangling over its walls. And yet they clamored to enter, preferring Bleachbone's protection over exposure in the wolf-haunted night. Thanks to a little offered cleavage, small though it was, and some casual ridicule of Tyvis's masculinity, the rogue and Archdruid gained entry while other, more impatient travelers risked barring or, worse, jail time.
Once inside, the two found the stables, and just about every other place of daytime business, was closed. The city was packed well beyond capacity, soldiers afforded all the rooms available, and still whole regiments forced to camp the streets, to say nothing of the frontiersman, merchants and strays forced to do the same. It stunk of bodies, cooked meat and herd animals, and after long the pair were stopped by a stern watchman who enforced a town curfew. Despite the throngs and potential for chaos, it seemed the Lord of Castle Bleachbone kept tight control.
Anita and Tyvis avoided a spot next to a pig herder and wandered off, followed by the suspicious watchman, until the Archdruid got a bright idea. The pair climbed the rickety stairs of one of Bleachbone's taller establishments, finding perfectly good perches on the roof. There the air was cleaner, though chilly, and the two had a wonderful view of the stars. In the romance of the scene, the Nors and Liscari continued their flirtation and ended up consummating a growing physical attraction. But not before he brewed Gens patented herbal inhibitor, guaranteed to prevent certain unwanted consequences.
And there the two fell asleep, resolved to purchase horses tomorrow...
Experience: 600 each (34, 878 total)
Session RP, 1200
An Unnoticed Flight, 600
In the Soveros, 600
Entering Bleachbone, 600
Magic: n/a
Coin: - 70 gp (Gens, Fey Steed), - 13 gp (Gens, for a cloak), - 15 gp (Tyvis, Create Campsite),
Loot: n/a
New NPCs
Gren and Flanek: Nors Gatekeepers of Bleachbone, a frisker and a ledger, choosing who enters the military town and who doesn't. They aren't above denying those who anger them.
New Locales
The Great River: A mighty waterway spanning hundreds of miles across the east, from the Parac Ocean to the roots of the Dormud. Many ships and logging barges travel its length. It is entirely under imperial control, and dotted with small port villages and the larger Eastwash and Shambo Docks.
The Soveros Forest: The largest forest on Othyr, thousands of square miles of uninterrupted wilderness, with only slight pocks and scars from man's industry. In its untamed depths grow nearly every tree and foliage imaginable, from hardy evergreens at its crown to subtropic palms at its lowest nadir. Many otherworldly things still lurk its darkened spaces, ancient elven ruins scatter its understory, the Lumber Consortium grows fat off its abundance, and the Soverosi people carry out two very opposing lifestyles in it's verdant reach. Nors control small parts of it, Jiwari rebels others, but most of it is still wilds.
The Howling Hills: The wide foothills of the Dormud before the flat stretch of plains, the pale green and lightly-forested slopes are home to a number of frontier villages and trading posts, the towns of Bleachbone and Falkonia, and an unusual amount of wolves. They are entirely Nors controlled, a part of the ancestral Heartland.
Bleachbone: A grim Nors town born of an old, bone-colored castle set on a receding hill like a half-exposed skull. Along its walls those who break the law or betray the empire are hung to rot. The entire place is like a barracks, with a simple, ugly style. Much of the walls and buildings are old, too, their stone like fossil. During the day, Bleachbone sees much troop movement, an important stop along the marches to and from the east. Soldiers' needs are catered to in abundance, and the economy more or less revolves around this principle, and also the livelihood of trappers and frontiersmen. By night, the town swells well beyond capacity, forcing many to camp the streets, a huddled mass kept safe from wolves and fouler things that rumor haunt the slopes. Besides the heavy military presence, there is also a very influential church, the powerful mix of duty and devotion that keep troops marching to wars and defending isolated stretches.
New Races/Factions
Tarpan (mount): Tarpan are a breed of fey horse native to the Wild, who rarely make forays onto Othyr unless summoned by one with strong ties to the fey realm. They consist of transmuted earth, looking like natural Othyrian mounts unless closely inspected. Then one would find stone and hard wood for hooves, moss for coats, grass for manes, and precious stones for eyes. They are gentle and shy by nature, but, once trust is gained, playful. They're known for their child-like noises, an unusual mixture of human and equine sounds. They are favored mounts of plains and woodland fey, nymphs and gnomes most usually.
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