Of Gods and Men
Through the wilds of the northern reaches of Monsalvat, where the trees and rocks press close on the trails, where there are any trails at all, a small party rides through the forest. Two, to be precise. At the head, on an mottled brown and white mare, sits Pascal, a brown travel cloak up over his head and shoulders as he follows the directions he was given earlier. He is quiet for now, eyes flitting about the forest and up to the sky, watching for his path and any potential trouble.
Melina is equally quiet, which is somewhat unusual for melina as she rides her brown chestnut behind him. She watches the path but also seems to be studying her cousin himself somewhat
The trails are rough and disused - but passable. Travel is long and tiring. They pass by hamlets and towns. Most will not come out to talk. A great fear hovers over their lands. The few who do come forward say little, but point northward. An old and toothless man mutters about the unholy demons buried there.
Time beings them closer, and several days' travel through unforgiving rock and wood show the way. Aside the beaten path is a field, and upon the distant edge of it sits a strange pile of rocks.
Before the edge of the field, while still on the path, Pascal holds up his hand as he reins his horse in. "Melina," he says quietly, "do you see anything?"
RPG: You show a message to SKL-OB (Melina): You can see that this place has been used often by man, and can deduce that its purpose is likely religious. You see blood specks here and there. Patterns suggest some sacrificial site.
The clearing is placid, and animal sounds are heard in the distance. This place has a strange feel about it.
Pascal twitches his nose as he looks across the clearing, then turns to look at his cousin. "Wait here," he instructs. "If something happens, do *not* try to help me. Run, and get help. Is that understood?" Without waiting for clarification, he nudges his horse's side with his knee, turning into the field, though keeping in the relative shelter of its edge, as he makes for the stone monument.
There is a cairn here - moss-covered and ancient. At its peak, antlers of a mighty stag have been set, and held in place by the stones. Blood of old and new stains the site and its surroundings. The wind is suddenly chill and fierce, chafing exposed skin with cold and grit. The sun dips behind the clouds.
RPG: You show a message to GL-LYONESSE/3 (Melina and Pascal): This is a site dedicated to Cern. In Lyonesse's past, blood sacrifices would be made here - but the remains of the animals slaughtered would be used, not wasted.
Pascal shivers as he nears the cairn, pulling his cloak more tightly about himself for a moment, before catching himself and releasing it. He stops his horse a short distance away and dismounts, stepping toward the blood-stained stones. "Cern, I hope your celebrants are nowhere near," he murmurs a bit wryly to himself as he approaches. "Though my luck would be nowhere near that good."
The place falls silent. No birds call. No rabbits squaeal and hop. Trees rustle and lean in the wind - it scrapes through the rocks and leaves. The stones are nothing special, save for the structure they make, and the stains of blood. The horns look old, and dry. Age has greyed them.
Pascal steps up next to the altar, reaching down to touch one of the newer blood stains with his fingers beefore stepping back. "Or perhaps...," he murmurs quietly to himself, before saying more clearly, "Priests, followers of Cern, if nearby you be, I come in peace, friend to Lyonesse."
A hawk flies, nearly clipping Pascal's tightly bound hair. Its source is the dark shade of the wood. The sky darkens here. A keen eye can spot something looming beyond the trees.
Melina watches and shivers looking about now 'a holy place"
Pascal starts slightly at the hawk flying by, turning first to where it flies away, and then to whence it came, peering into the dark shadows of the wood. There he stares a long few moments before he takes a step back to his horse, removing a travel lantern from its side. He kneels next to the altar, not in worship, but to provide light. "This place, it is old. Older than I care to think," he says, oddly conversationally. "But then, so are you? Or at least I suspect you may be. The worshippers here, they follow the old ways true. Naught is wasted - commendable."
The hawk disappears into the sky above and over the trees. The shape within the woods looms still, even as Pascal approaches it with his lantern. The sun has begun to drop to the horizon now - the overcast sky feels as though it has stolen the light, and beckoned unto the darkness beyond it.
Pascal swallows once, a sign of some nervousness to any who might be close enough to see. Which, to be fair, isn't horribly many right now. It's the middle of a field. Despite this, however, he steps for the looming figure, lantern held high so he might better see.
Melina follows pascal's lead . He is her elder after all and she grows in patient anyway "a daughter of lyonesse extends her hand to you. have no fear" perhaps it doubly serves as self admonition
The lantern reveals a crude wicker man - constructed by sticks lashed together. A face constructed shows no emotion, but smouldering flint eyes stare upon Pascal with inhuman interest.
RPG: You show a message to SKL-OB (Melina): The wicker man was obviously a common roost for the bird, as scratchmarks upon its head and arms are telling. It has spent much time here.
Pascal inhales sharply as he sees what the figure is, exactly, and steps back, away. "I told you to stay back, Melina," he says quietly. "Oh dear. This... Melina, I don't believe I much like the look of this thing. To the horses."
The sun shines bloody red through the trees. The sky is cloudy and tumultuous. The horses grow nervous.
Melina laughs though her own fear is betrayed by its shakiness "Tis only to frighten the birds away cousin "you have frightened more than birds today old friend" yes now she's talking aloud to a scarecrow
The wicker man creaks in the wind. But no other answer is given.
Pascal lets out a slow breath and lowers his lamp, taking a step closer. What had seemed massive in the long shadows is now a more clearly human-sized, and a bit less threatening. "... True," Pascal says, sounding a little sheepish. "But this is an odd place for a scarecrow. I've never known anyone trying to keep birds out of the wood."
Melina hms 'perhaps, it is not meant simply for the birds but as a sort of sentry to ward people off of hallowed ground-it nearly did that just now after all
The sky is black now, suddenly. Time feels strange here. Stars are scattered across its vast darkness. The need for sleep becomes powerful, like a great thirst. The flint eyes shine in Pascal's lamplight. The hawk cries out from afar.
Pascal yawns, but stops his hand halfway to his mouth, staggering back a step. "No... No, it's time to go anyways," he says. "I don't like this... mm... this..." His words are sluggish as he takes his staff, leaning on it. "I don't think it was meant to scare away."
Melina reaches a hand halfway toward he cousin 'mm. not right" and collapses to the ground
Sleep is a need, just like air, food, water. It overwhelms. A strange dream takes hold: of mist and racing deer through ill-shaped woods. You run with them, naked and free - your companions alongside. The freedom is breathtaking and painfully surreal. There are others here, but you cannot make them out. They are beyond the mist, watching you.
In the real world, Pascal lies on the ground, lantern sputtering out next to him and cloak twisted. In the dream, however, he loses himself. Bare feet find purchase on root and soil, and he laughs. It is half of mirth, half of terror, though he does not know it, for the painful freedom and the watchers in the mist. For the moment, he is lost.
The race is exhilirating, primal. It speaks of fear and excitement and freedom and embracing the unknown - or careening over its edge. There is a kind of belonging here. A connection that throbs like a heartbeat. Its attraction is nearly drug-like. A strand connecting to the core of the land is found, and it shudders with primordial power.
"Whoooo!" Pascal cries out in his dream, mostly a whoop, but somewhere, deep within where he is not aware, a question. This is quickly suppressed, however, in the way dreams have of suppressing such questions. His feet carry him ever forward, and he is sucked further in, unable to register anything other than the excitement and the need to run. No goal, no destination, just the land moving beneath his feet.
An edge is found, and the herd careens over it, into the embrace of darkness. Then, the dream is gone.
The moon is bright and high in the sky. A man is at the edge of the lamp's sputtering light, crouching low and leaning against a long spear. He wears a thick wolfskin cloak to ward off the damp chill of night. An ornate silver torc around his neck reflects lamp and moonlight alike. The left side of his face is a ruinous mass of scar tissue - including the spaces where an eye and ear once were. His hair is long, dark, and greasy. Melina remains asleep.
RPG: You show a message to BLD-LY (Melina): You feel the thrum of life from this man. He is a hunter, and what he wears is what your own forebears wore - in one form or another. He is not a man of the land's present, but of its distant past.
Pascal wakes up with a start, taking in a sharp breath as he gropes the ground around him, to find purchase, and then pats himself down, to find that yes, he has clothes. After a few moments, calming, he turns and finally spots the man in the wolfskin cloak. He searches for the right words a moment before settling on the civil, "Good evening. That was an interesting dream... Cern?"
The man simply stares with a dark eye, betraying no response. He stands. He is not the one Pascal saw before, in Amber. But who is to say Cern has only one face? The hunter turns his back to Pascal, and begins to voyage into the woods. Wolves bay in the direction he heads. A turn of his head, glancing back with an eye that is not there, and listening with an ear that is not there, the hunter seems to expect Pascal to tag along. But he does not wait.
"I am mad," Pascal murmurs to himself, looking down at Melina once, then up to the man leaving. Familial bonds win out, and he kneels to start lifting his cousin, fixing her arm over his shoulder and his arm about her waist. Awkwardly, using the staff for support, he half-drags Melina as he follows the hunter into the woods as quickly as he can.
The hunter does not wait. Before long, he is lost in the trees. It is dark here. Keeping up will be difficult.
RPG: Pascal challenges a difficulty of 8. Pascal chooses Wits. Pascal succeeds.
Pascal grunts, stopping a moment to adjust his hold on Melina, shifting her weight, before setting off again. He's a bit faster now, but still not fast enough - it is the signs of the forest that let him go. Trampled leaves, the sound of branches being brushed past. He cannot see the man, but he can follow, slow and steady - when all else fails, there are the wolves.
There is a cave beyond the trees. Its mouth is broad and dark. There are noises within, scrabblings and scratchings on stone. The disfigured huntsman regards the pair for a long moment before venturing within. The baying of wolves ceases.
Pascal stops just outside the cave, settling Melina down on the ground. "You... try to stay quiet," he tells the sleeping form before taking off his cloak. Carefully, he drapes it over her, covering her as best he can, before picking up dead leaves to further cover his cousin. Once he's satisfied that the makeshift camouflage is complete he stands, walking into the cave.
The lantern Pascal holds sheds light in the dark. The hunter is nowhere to be seen. However, the walls here are inscribed with crude pictographs. And the cave winds on for some time. A chill wind comes up from it.
Pascal's eyes light up as he walks through the caves - perhaps more slowly than he should, with a someone waiting for him further in, apparently. The pictographs grab his attention almost entirely and he stops, several times, to look at one particularly interesting one or another. But into the cave he continues, nonetheless.
Most of the pictographs show animals in herds, being hunted for food. In turn, it shows the families that benefit from the hunt. Somewhere along the way the tale changes tone. A crude man-figure with antlers, larger than the rest, takes up the hunt. He is found chasing a white stag throughout the long walls of pictographs - but never catches it. A pack of hounds or wolves is always with him.
Following deeper into the cave, it is possible to see that a point comes in the tale where the Hunter is struck down. A cloaked figure appears to sing a potent song, and forces the Hunter into a realm of nightmares. The people come to bury the Hunter, and await his return. Their own mortal brethren shun them for caring for Cern after the fall.
His burial site is shown to be deep within a cave, in the heart of the earth. Indistinct noises carry forth from the darkness - somewhere further away, and down.
RPG: You show a message to UP-MYSTICAL/3 (Pascal): This sleeping spell appears to be some use of magic, though the pictographs do not make its nature clear.
Pascal frowns, stopping at the last pictograph, reaching up touch it lightly. "A terrible lullaby," he murmurs. "Did you need someone to sing you awake? I don't know. I can't tell." He steps away then, turning to go further into the cave, keeping his lantern out ahead of him at all times.
Deeper into the cave, further stories are told, of the Hunter. A small and crooked figure comes to the burial ground with a spear. No explanation of its origins exist in the pictographs. The spear is laid with the Hunter, and he awakens. The spear is taken up, and it seems to give him great power. Those who spurned his loyal followers are punished. Those who grew fat and greedy were slain. And still, the cave goes on, deeper into the earth. Something skitters ahead, beyond the lamplight.
RPG: You show a message to GL-LYONESSE/4 (Melina): This representation is surely meant to represent the Spear of Destiny - believed to be in possession of the Order of the Graal.
Pascal furrows his brow as he sees these new pictographs, stopping to look over them. "Or perhaps you don't," he says. "Really, next time, I am making Taran come along." He turns to look into the darkness, where the something skittered. "Who goes there?" he asks. "What?"
Melina wakes up on the cold ground and barely realizes she's not where she fell. She does however know almost instantly she is alone and tries to force herself awake "Cousin where are you" she calls, at least mentally. sleep hangs on her mind. She stumbles upward onward feet carrying her within the cave almost of their own volition her mind naught caught up to them yet
The scrabbling is down below, but a human voice drifts from above. Pascal receives no response from the shadows explaining themselves.
"Melina," Pascal calls out, hoping his voice carries. "I'm further in the cave. Be careful coming down, and see if the pictographs say anything meaningful to you?" He settles in to wait then, watching the darkness.
Things shift and shuffle down below. A rat streaks within Pascal's light, moving upwards.
her cousins voice finishes waking her, but it still takes her a good moment to realize where she is. Her eyes lighting up as she takes in the story, life beginning to pulse once more through her and she runs forward "Call again' she hollers back
Some small thing crawls over Melina's foot in the darkness. It squeaks and moves forward.
"It's a straight path," Pascal replies. "Just come down, and quickly. Something is moving."
Melina follows the path down She moves close to her cousin and whispers to him "It's the spear of Destiny. Perhaps the hunter awakens to seek the spear"
Wind howls from below at the mention of the spear.
"Or he needs it to awake," Pascal says as he starts walking forward. "You wouldn't have happened to bring my cloak, would you? In any case, I wouldn't mention that thing again."
The wind keeps up, and bites to the bone. Clothing is of aid, but not much. In the outskirts of the lamplight, more inscriptions can be seen - but not from this distance.
Melina shakes her head confused 'Your cloak? Why would I have? Her teeth begin to chatter. "we..hav to keep going learn what we can...for Taran's sake because..." she intentionally trails off hoping spirits do not read thoughts but that her cousin might get her meaning
Pascal grimaces as he goes further into the cave, toward the inscriptions. "We can go to learn," he says. "I'll just have to pick up the cloak outside. Stay near."
Deeper within the cave, past many twists and turns there is a very fresh series of painted pictographs. They show great waters and lands bereft of trees and animals - overridden by man and civilization. They show the coming of the Hunter. Trees spring in his wake, and animals flourish. Cities are razed to the ground. Men fall to his great spear, until only a few remain.
Howling rips through the cave and ripples against the walls. The wind continues its feverish assault. Something else can be heard rushing from below - like the beat of a hundred wolves' paws upon stone.
Melina shivers but she is drawn to the sound "Anger was righteous but the death I..." she's obviously remarking at the story she sees
"Go if it is too much," Pascal says simply, going further. "We come to the wolves soon."
Rabid barking is interspersed with the howls, and something wicked is definitely coming this way.
Melina shakes her head "Not going anywhere. We must face it. Stand between it. Appease it. something. Lyonesse must not fall
"Actually, no," Pascal says, reaching to grab Melina's hand before turning to head up, away from the wolves. "I think my curiousity is sated now. Basically, run." And he takes his own advice, trying to tug Melina with him.
Not far off the eyes of the wolves are seen. They fill the cave tunnel on all surfaces, and in-between. An enormous mass of fang, fur and anger is erupting towards them from the bowels of the earth. Spittle flies from their lips, and they tear each other apart in the frenzy to reach fresh meat.
Melina nods and runs, oddly though she also begins to hum
RPG: Melina declares that she has the Music of the Universe (CHA-MU) gift.
"No singing," Pascal grunts as they run. "Maybe scream. Echoes. Good ears. Wolves." Short sentences are the order of the day when running for your life. "But not advised. Need breath."
Melina nods "Need...try something" she says as she continues running
Two humans cannot outrun such a pursuit. Not for long. The wolves overtake the pair, and tear the flesh from their bones. The thrill of fear and pursuit is all-encompassing, until it is replaced by nothingness. A tall figure looms above the pair, antlers affixed to some strange headdress. A wicked spear sits in its hand, and it looks over the them as though they were vermin.
And then, once more, the pair awakens in the clearing. The moon is low. The cairn casts a long shadow by its light. The wolves, and hunter, are nowhere to be seen. But a distant baying is heard, somewhere in the wilds of Lyonesse.
Pascal goes wide-eyed as he looks up at the sky, trying to catch his breath before he sits up, looking around. "We failed, I think," he says after a long moment.
Another moment, and Pascal's eyes narrow. "We... /damn/ you," he snarls, standing up and lifting his staff to shake at the cairn. "Were we supposed to charge them? Run with them? Come back here, wild god!"
The cairn, and the night, offers only silence. Perhaps the experience was not lost. They may yet be a purpose to it. But for now, no answers come.
Melina takes a moment to calm the shaking 'perhaps it was merely a warning, not a test at all but did I not say to stand and face them and did you not tell me to run