In the Shadow of Justice ~The Reckoning~ Final Act SC3 VoP

Discussion in 'The Salty Dog Tavern' started by The Watch, Jul 21, 2014.

  1. The Watch

    The Watch Well-Known Member
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    Gypsy Camp South of Minoc





    Ascher stood outside the tent with Dorian Andrael. The merchant was dressed in a fine silk shirt with a satin sash. He wore ruby red tooled leather boots that were topped with silver where they ended a few inches above his knees. His pants were ringmail, but they practically glowed with the magic runes carved all along the links and buckles holding them together. The emeralds and rubies he wore set in gold and silver on and about his person would have fit in well at a Royal Feast. A faded black bandana held back his hair, and his long beard was oiled to a point. Even in his finery, Dorian was a gypsy to his core. He eyed the shadows around them cautiously, then motioned for Ascher to step into the tent. Inside, the light of a finely crafted lantern was carefully set just high enough to see without casting harsh shadows through the thick canvas walls around them.

    The Watchman took a moment to let his eyes adjust, and then he saw Luthain of Brae stretched out on a cot. The man was still quite large, but he seemed somehow....thinner.....than he had before. It wasn't that the warrior had lost weight. Rather he simply seemed less there than before.... less solid. His breath came in shallow pants, and thin film of sweat covered him.

    Kneeling on a pallet of carpets, blankets, and cuchions, a small woman held Luthain's arm. She shook her head slightly, without seeming to realize she was doing so, the curled back up on the pallet. She began to snore almost immediately.

    "The Healer," Dorian said with some respect, "Has been tireles. There is some unknown strength in that small woman. Without her, he's have been left for dead in Minoc."

    "How is he?" Asher asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

    "The Healer says his body is well," Dorian replied, running one hand along the length of his beard, "She says something is trying to hold him, trying to bind him. I'm not sure what she means by it, and every time I ask she mumbles something about people forgetting their songs. Honestly, I think she's on the verge of breaking herself somehow. The exhaustion is getting to her."

    Ascher ground his teeth. Luthain had been in Minoc looking for him. When Healer stumbled on his body in the street, Luthain had been carrying a message that the man who had killed his brother, Dorbraine of Yew was in Minoc, and that message had been signed by Ascher's own hand. It was a message he'd never sent, and his hands shook as he thought about it.

    The Watchman took a deep breath through his nose, and steadied himself.

    "Does she think he will wake?" Asher asked, his voice soft and quiet.

    Dorian hesitated for a moment, but finally shook his head, "She can't tell. She said that at this point, it is out of her control. To quote her, 'The fool will live or die as his foll arse wills it."

    Ascher nodded his head, and turned to go.

    "Where are you going?" Dorian demanded, and Ascher froze.

    "If the Healer can't affect a change," Ascher growled, "Then I doubt I will be much use either. I have to do......something.....I don't know..... I can't just--"

    "You didn't write the message," Dorian said softly, "It isn't your fault."

    Ascher snorted hard, "You can't know that, Dorian. Fate! Even I can't know that. I've done things before and not known it..... remember?"

    Dorian's eyes fell, and he nodded slowly, "I remember it. That wasn't you. I've known you a long time, Watchman. And that wasn't you."

    Ascher spun, the message crumpled in his hand, "This wasn't me either. Yet it was. It's my signature. I recognize it, Dorian, and even you said it couldn't be a forgery. If anyone could spot my signature as a fake or authentic, it would be you." Ashcer glanced meaningfully at Dorian's earrings, "Those are nice. Finely cut and the setting is exquisite. Tell me, did you pay for them?"

    Dorian cut his eyes narrowly at Ascher, and his hand strayed to a dagger at his belt, "Why such direct questions?" He asked, suddenly very much the gypsy talking to the Watch.

    Ascher chuckled, "All I meant is that you have certain.....talents......that make me trust your judgement even more than my own at the moment. I have to accept it. I wrote it. That means all those other things.... Half remembered.... half dreamt..... I may have done them too."

    Dorian started to say something, but Ascher held up his hand and shook his head, "I've suspected it for some time now, though until now I didn't know. I've been tainted.... twisted somehow.... The blue elixir worked for a while, but it was a temporary fix at best. I know what I have to do now. It's time to Keep the Watch."



    ************************************************************************

    The Desert Road




    Ascher rode alone, the cold wind whipping at his cloak. Every now and then a band of rain would rip through on the stiff wind. The rains were brief and often mixed with heavy wet snow. In another few leagues, these dense Northern Oak and Minoc Fir would give way to plains. A few leagues past that lay the Blasted Sands with its rolling dunes and endless dry flats.

    There were some who said the Blasted Sands had once been a beautiful lake with crystal waters and many different types of fish. Villages and cities grew up around the lake like reeds along a stream. Then, one day, a wise old Wizard had drained the lake to make flat farm lands for the cities and villages to live off. For a few generations, everything was paradise.

    Then, the rains stopped.

    Slowly, the dry months stretched into a dry season. And then, one season turned into two, and two into four.....and then, after many years of drought, the land forgot the taste of rain. And the Blasted Sands were born. By then, all of the cities and villages had crumbled to dust. Only the gate guard complex of the grandest of the cities remained.

    Ascher shook himself, and force his thoughts back to the present.

    Suddenly, a sound behind him caught his ear. Ascher spun in his saddle, and spotted a small creature with broad, flat shoulders, and long, thick arms. The shuffling gait and snuffling breath of the Headless One had almost been lost in the sound of the storm. Ascher turned and charged the creature. Normally the most confident attacking from behind, the Headless One froze for just an instant. But an instant was all Ascher needed. His Kryss pierced the beast's heart, and it fell. But, just as it did, there was a shriek, and a large Mongbat streaked out of the trees from behind him. Ascher turned, and with a flip of his dagger, caught the creature in its throat, sending it toppling to the ground.

    Ascher's skin began to tingle, and the hair on his arms stood on end. He frowned, and looked up at the clear sky. The light of realization had just begun to dawn on him when the lightning bolt struck him full in the chest. The force of the blast threw him from his saddle, and Ascher landed hard. All of the air rushed out of his lungs in a gasp, and it took a moment to regain his balance.


    When he could stand again, Ascher turned and leapt back onto his horse's back. At that moment, a tall, powerful Gargoyle stepped out of the trees and snarled. It flexed the powerful muscles that rippled just beneath its taught purple hide. Two leathery wings flapped aggressively over its' head. The beast lifted its hands and uttered some gnarled, incomprehensible curse. A ball of fire the size of Ascher's head erupted from its fingertips when it thrust its hands forward.

    Ascher barely dodged to the side, and the fireball struck a tree. The explosion shook the tree from its crown to its roots, and threw painful burning splinters that dug deep into Ascher's back. He gritted his teeth and wrapped a hasty bandage around the wound. He circled the gargoyle, waiting for it to attack and expend more mana. When it was drained, then Ascher would strike. A few well-timed feints, and then a strong thrust under the chin, where the hide was the softest.

    Ascher reached down and turned the flame of his lamp up. The evening shadows were getting longer, and the darkness seeme dto be weighing down on Ascher's shoulders. As the circle of light surrounding him grew a bit, Ascher felt himself straighten in the saddle a bit. He squared his shoulders, and faced the gargoyle head on.

    The beast frowned, confused at first. Then its sharp, angular, face twisted into a snarl. It raised its hands and prepared to cast another spell. Ascher didn't have to wait long. Suddenly, his toes became uncomfortably warm, and for a brief instant, all Ascher could smell was the thick sulfery stench of burning hair.

    Ascher cursed and turned to run, but he was already too late. His world erupted in fire as the flamestrike took hold. With shaking fingers, he unstoppered a bottle of healing potion and gulped it down. The burns faded away instantly, and the Watchman felt a new strength wash over him. But, instead of letting his relief show, Ascher cried out in pain, and purposefully slipped from his saddle to the grass.

    The gargoyle gurgled a guttural laugh and strode forward to claim his prize. The beast bent over Ascher's still smoking body, a grin on its face.

    Suddenly, Ascher spun, his kryss flashing with blinding speed, and stabbing the gargoyle up beneath its chin. The gargoyle spasmed hard enough to jerk Ascher into the air, but his blade came free, and he landed on his feet. The gargoyle twitched again as if it wanted to take a step forward. Instead, it slowly toppled backwards like a falling tree. It landed with a heavy thump. and all the air left it.
    Ascher watched, cautiously, but it didn't move again. The Watchman looked around him, and shook his head. He was barely an hour outside of Minoc and already he'd been attacked three times, and once by a gargoyle.

    Whatever dark forces were moving in the land, they were certainly moving against him. Something did not want him to reach the Shrine.

    Ascher grinned.

    The fact that he was having to fight meant he was headed in the right direction......

    He hoped......



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    Ascher collected what he could from the creatures, bandaged his wounds as best he was able, and turned his horse back to the Desert Road. He had a long way to ride, and the Darkness was coming......


    ********************************
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  2. The Watch

    The Watch Well-Known Member
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    Ascher pulled his horse off the rode. Using his knees, he guided the trained gelding around the ancient stone guard house. As he rounded the weathered stone bulwarks, the sound of the surf came whispering to him on the wind. The waves were gentle here, in the long sunset shadows that stretched from the tips of the distant mountains around the Shrine of Compassion. Ascher rode up to the coast and watched for a long time as the gentle rolling waves came hissing in and out of the sheltered lip of the cove.

    He stopped and looked at a white stone that seemed out of place in the lush green grass that ran down to the sharp, slightly sandy drop-off of the shoreline. The stone was oddly shaped, with too much of a point at the tip for it to be weathered, though pieces of it had definitely flaked off over time. Ascher studied the faded inscription and smiled. It was almost too far gone to see now, but the runic etching matched the crest on the lantern he carried still.......SxC.....


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    This had once been the southern border stone for the Kingdom of Shadowcove.

    Ascher closed his eyes, and for a moment he could see Cage's house sitting snug behind the Guardpost. Id's tower was north, then came Zeddar's Hall of Mystics and Academy of Arcane Arts. By the rode were the Hammer and Anvil, the Needle's Eye, and the Tuned String. The lutemaster at the Tuned String had somehow managed to have honey-bread whenever Ascher happened by.

    Across the street had stood the Watch Tower, where the Keepers of the Watch had gathered and ridden forth to carry justice and honor to the land. As Ascher rode, his mind was lost to the images of his past that welled up within him. He could hear the laughter and music drifting on the night breeze as the crowd at the Call grew rowdy.

    Ascher smiled to himself. This had been a good place. A safe place. As had happened so often to him over the ages, Ascher had wandered into this place completely by Fate, and somehow he had put down roots that held......even now, they held.....

    Ascher opened his eyes a looked around at the strane stone walls that lined the road.

    The Cove was gone.

    Far to the North, past the fortresses and Castles, Ascher found the Northern Border Stone. It stood at the base of Shoreman's Finger, and had served as the northernmost point that the Kingdom had ever reached. Ascher glanced at it, but kept riding.

    Some things were best left in the past.....



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    ************************************

    The Northern Forest






    Ascher drove the point of his Shadowblade between the fangs and deep into the twisted head of the giant spider. The vile creature gave a last gasp and spat poison into Ascher's face as it died. The toxic saliva seeped into his eyes, and Ascher's face began to burn and tingle.

    He curse softly to himself as his eyes momentarily glazed over.

    By feel more than sight, Ascher reached deep into his pouch and retrieved an orange potion he kept in reserve for just such an occassion. The stopper had a raised lip that he knew with his fingers. He popped the top off and poured the thick liquid over his face. With clean bandages, he bound his head tightly. It would take a few moments for the potion to work its magic and draw the venom out.

    For the moment, he was blind.

    Just then, Ascher heard the unmistakable hiss of a Lizardman. He gritted his teeth, and urged his mount forward, ears straining for any noise. He dropped the lizardman with a few timely thrusts, and a small cut high on his left arm. Unfortunately, between the blood loss and the poison, Ascher was beginning to feel dizzy. The Watchman gripped the horn of his saddle hard, trying to steady himself.

    In front of him, there was a shuffling, snuffling noise, and Ascher groaned. Another Headless One. Just then, though, there came a deep gurgling laugh and some harsh sounding words in language Ascher knew but couldn't decipher. The Watchman felt the great, heavy strides of the Ogre as it ambled into the clearing, laughing. The massive creature thumped a heavy club into a meaty hand and growled.

    Ascher turned and dug his heels into his horse. He trusted to his mount to pick a clear path through the trees. He had to put some distance between himself and the Ogre until the cure worked, the poison faded, and he got his site back. Killing an overconfident Lizardman scout was one thing. Taking on a ragin Ogre with a Headless apprentice while blind and weak was more than Ascher could manage.

    His eyes started itching fiercely, and Ascher grinned. The cure was working......





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  3. The Watch

    The Watch Well-Known Member
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    ak final act pic6.jpg Norther Forest East of Yew







    Ascher leaned against the gnarled trunk of an Oak tree. He wass exhausted. The dark lines of the forest seemed to spin about him, twisting on several different axes. Ascher closed his eyes tight, squeezed them shut as hard as he could, and waited for the vertigo to pass. With a slow, deep breath, Ascher stood straight again.

    Ahead of him, Ascher could see the peak of the tent. It stood against the night sky as a small, dim point. A low campfire burned at the mouth of the tent, and three guards circled that dim sphere of light. The lizardmen sentries stared with eyes like cats' as they peered into the night. Ascher waited, motionless, unitll the sentry in front of him turned to continue its circuit around the camp.

    Ascher stepped smoothly up behind the Sentry. Lizardmen had incredible eyesight in light and dark, but their hearing was atrocious. He drove the black blade of his shadow kryss deep into crature's skull. It twitched slightly and fell. Ascher waited, poised on the balls of his feet, but there was no sound from the shadows around him.

    The next sentry fell with a neat whole directly over its heart. The startled lizardman stared as his life's blood ran onto the florest floor before him.

    There was one more in the tent. Ascher could hear it whispering silibant messages to its companions outside. He saw a shadow move along one wall, the shadow of a short spear clear in its hand. Ascher dove through the tent, rolled, and came up to burry his blade in the lizrdman's eye.

    Ascher looked aroudn the dim interior of the tent and allowed his eyes to slowly adjust to the low light. Eventually, Ascher was able to make out the shape of a man chained to a post in one corner of the tent. After a moment of pleading, Ascher agreed to free the man.

    "Alright," Ascher said, "I will free you, and I will take you home. Where do you wish to go?"


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    The man sighed heavily and said, "To Wrong. I was abducted from Wrong, and that is where I wish to return."

    Ascher nodded, and struck the chains from his wrist with one swing of his kryss. A few steps away from the tent, though, Ascher suddenly paused and frowned at the man. What do you mean your home is Wrong? Wrong is a dungeon, cursed in every way. How can your home be Wrong?"

    The man's face tisted suddenly into a snarl, and he lunged at Ascher with his broadsword drawn, spit fleckign the corners of his mouth, and he cried, "I will strike you DOWN Watchman!"

    Ascher turned, and barely managed to parry a thrust from the broadsword. After a flurry of attacks, he finally managed to defeat the twisted, corrupted man.

    Ascher grit his teetn, and turned his horse once more to the north. He had to pay his respects to the Fallen first.....and then, there were other debts to pay.


    ********************************************************


    Northern Cemetery

    Ascher bid greetings to the Keeper of the Dead. He bowed low, granting the respect due to the Keeper's position. He stood here on sacred ground. Ascher knelt at several graves, and spoke to the shades of his past. There were no whispered replies, no ghostly fingers of cold seeping up from beneath the darkness. He simply said what needed to be said, and gave his respect to the honored dead.


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    At last he stood, and turned his horse to the horizon. He had many miles to go yet, and Justice to seek......
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  4. The Watch

    The Watch Well-Known Member
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    Ascher pulled his horse to a stop outside the Shrine. He dismounted and stood for a long moment gazing up at the silent stone figures of the Guardians. Their faces set in solemn vigil against the night, each Guardian held the a long spear in their cold marble hands. Four women, clad in what would have been rippling skirts and leather armor, the Guardians had kept the watch at this Shrine before the memory of Man can tell.

    No doubt they would still be keeping it long after as well.

    The Watchman felt small in their gaze; he always had. He remembered clearly the night so many Ages ago when he'd knelt and pressed the glowing branding iron hard into his right forearm. That was when he'd first taken the Oath as a Keeper of the Watch. The rest of the Keepers bore witness to his pain and to his pledge, but it was Ascher's own hand that did the branding. The pain was overwhelming, but he didn't cry out. Instead, he'd spoken in a clear, steady voice...."I will keep the Watch. I will stand against the night. I will be the candle in the Darkness."

    So many ages ago, but it still brought chills to him to think about that night. So much of his life had been shaped and guided by what had happened here. With a visible shudder, Ascher stepped through the archway and into the ancient stone shrine itself, and comfortably out from under the gaze of the Guardians.

    Ascher knelt just inside the doorway, a sudden wave of dizziness and pain washing over him. For a brief moment, Ascher heard hiddeous, horrible laughter that grated against his very soul and threatend to rip his sanity from him.

    Then, the moment passed, and the tall candelabras flared to life again. Peace and strength seemed to seep into his from the very paving stones beneath his knees. Ascher could still feel it, hovering just beyond the edge of his sight, but he knew it was out of reach for the moment. Whatever the Darkness was that had been gnawing away at him had been temporarily banished by the power of the Shrine.

    The Darkness wasn't gone, though.... it was merely waiting.

    Ascher tried not to think about the awful laughter or the hideously twisted face he'd seen for the briefest moment. Something deep within him said that there was great danger in that face. He could feel that danger threatening Paws, leagues away. For a brief moment, he marveled at the sheer strength of the evil that he could feel it from half a world away.

    The Watchman knew now that his caution had been well-placed. If he had stood with his friends in the assault, then whatever outcome had been won for the Village, he would have been lost. That evil would have reached out and snatched the last of his strength, the last of his will to resist, and he would have welcomed it.

    No, there was nothing more he could do for his friends now save wait.....and pray.

    The Watchman stepped forward and knelt before the Ankh of Justice. He pulled a small knob of a candle from his pouch and set it on the stairs before the Ankh. The candle smelled faintly of Lavender, and it was the last thing of hers that Ascher still had. He very carefully struck a flame to the wick and sat back on his heels. He watched as small shadows danced about the walls of the Shrine and he smiled as memories and the smell of lavender washed over him.



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