Air: Cold (two inches)
Conditions: Deep snow
I was hoping for some excitations upon my release from bond; I found them sooner than I had imagined, even ere I had quit the manor. Let me set it down aright:
During my bondstime, my Lord Bendakar often had me cast the stars for him. I learnt to put as little work into it as possible, for it takes no little effort of calculation, and most of the time the act was merely for the amusement of his friends. He did, however, rely on my meteorological forecasts, so I did spend considerable genuine time with my charts and tables and instruments.
About a week before the end of my bondstime, while reading the stars for what I thought would be my final weather report, the numbers coalesced into meaning far beyond simple rain or sunshine: it was clear the stars were telling me that travelers were coming, travelers who would bear some sort of rock or stone or jewel of great power. I had never gotten this sort of message from the stars afore; I don't know if I ever will again. I passed this news along to my master Bendakar, and a feeling of dread overcame me, for when I did he showed that thin smile he gets whenever he begins to scheme and plot for power and self-preservation.
The next days passed and I hardly saw Bendakar; he seemed to have already dismissed me, having prised this gem of information from my scrolls, but he would not let me leave a moment before my due time. Although he had no intercourse with me, he was busier than ever: messengers came and went, and he secreted himself in his study for hours at a time, sometimes alone and sometimes in conference with some emissary whose cloak and hood could not cover the clank of armor. I tired to put it all out of my mind and concentrate on my imminent freedom, but even two years of living with his duplicity and dishonor had not prepared me for the palpable pall of dread that descended over the house.
After breaking fast on my last morning at the manor, I prepared to quit the house as soon as Terce was struck. As I gathered my goods and said goodbye to the few servants with whom I had cordial relations, I saw Bendakar in huddled conversation with some knights of Staywood and another man-at-arms who was a dwarf. I overheard scraps of conversation that led me to believe that he was setting some sort of trap: I discerned that he planned to lure the travelers whom I had foretold into the manor, have them set upon by the duplicitous knights (who seemed to have some bone of their own to pick with these strangers) and their companion, and separate them from their stone of power.
I retired to my room to contemplate. No stars were visible through my window, of course, but a sliver of moon rising gave me focus for my meditation. When I caught myself muttering in an Uncommon Tongue under my breath, I knew I had made a decision.
I grabbed my pack and made my way to the pantry off the visitor room. As I set my burden down and readied myself, the clash of arms rose from the other side of the door, and I realized I was too late to warn the strangers: the battle had already been joined. I threw the door open and leapt into the fray.
Immediately the situation presented itself to me: three Staywood knights were attempting to advance a crowded phalanx into the cluttered room at swordpoint, supported by the dwarf knight armed with the unlikely combination of tower shield and whip. They faced opposition from a determined but disadvantaged crew of four: three were unarmored and all were under-armed, wielding saps, sticks, decorative swords from the statuary, or nothing at all. Just like too many times in the past, I rushed in as reinforcement to the losing side. I doubt that my arrival alone was the cause, but the tide soon began to turn. The battle became a blur of images.
The nimble, loud fellow I came to know was called Puck was jumping like a fox among hounds, lashing out this way and that with a small sap, striking fingers and knuckles and disarming his enemies time and again.
The half-elf called Aldwin fought not with blade or fist, but with some little kind of arcane fire-magick, and the room began to fill with the stench of scorched flesh.
A halfling whose name I did not discern seemed to be dancing through the battle, doing little damage but causing a great distraction.
The large man called Mel strode into the conflict waving a pot-metal scimitar taken from the decoration in the corner like it was a warlord's greatsword: the damage he paid out began to match his courage when the halfling rolled under a table and hoisted to him a stolen Staywood longsword.
I joined in with iron and magick; it was good to feel the starlight coursing through my veins once more. Fighting alongside these four, I knew that even if this were my last fight, my life after the bondstime would have been a worthy one.
Clearly, it was not my last battle. The knights began to fall and the dwarf to lose resolve. A shower of glass from the skylight announced the arrival of a giant eagle into the room; I discerned immediately that he was the dwarf's mount, come to retrieve his rider. The halfling seemed to sense the same circumstance, for he began to fire what I can only assume were poison darts from some sort of small blowgun at the bird; his companion Mel called to him to stop, and I saw in his eyes he thought the bird could belike come as an ally. It was not so; the bird grasped the villain and flew him out, and even my starry burst could not stop him.
All the other knights were dispatched but we had little time beyond that which it took me to heal some of the wounds the party had suffered: it appeared the manor was ablaze. It was not from Aldwin's flame that the inferno came; it had spread too far and too quickly to be from anything other than deliberated arson. I have seen scuttled ships doused in oil and pitch catch more slowly.
We ran from the house, me barely having time to grab my pack, the little halfling picking locks on doors that barred our way -- someone had meant us to burn even if we survived the knights' attack. I immediately thought that Bendakar had outdone himself in perfidy, until we found him outside.
He was dead, a stake driven into his chest, pinning a note to him that read See you in Wayfinder's Keep. Two gems had been shoved deep into his eye sockets.
My companions seemed surprised but not shocked, and immediately sprang into action. Puck and the halfling raced back to Shaegrove, saying something about collecting their goods and weapons. Mel started to don the armor of of one of the fallen nights he had dragged from the house in our flight. Aldwin and I, we watched the house burn. Thoughts of entry passed through our minds, but the flames grew and spread with such speed it was impossible.
Puck and the halfling returned with a cart, some horse, and many goods - clearly this party had been active - and tales that anyone in the village who had dealt with them had been found dead, with gems stuffed in their eyes in a manner similar to Bendakar. We all made haste to put some leagues between us and Shaegrove, for clearly an evil had descended on the village.
Before we could depart, there was a tender and moving scene. From what I could tell, the halfling had chosen this moment to part ways with his comrades, as some sort of duty or destiny was pulling him in another direction. This was clearly a blow to the group - it seemed that he was the very heart and soul of their comradeship and that his absence would be sorely felt; I believe that each and every one of them shed a tear, whether openly or covertly, when their diminutive companion announced his decision. As the halfling left, I determined to make myself a member of this party and feel for myself that camaraderie I had missed these past two years.
The remaining trio seemed glad to have me; I mounted the cart and we passed through the now-deserted commons. A piece down the road, we paused to develop strategy and share information. As we did so, a common stone fell from high in the sky and landed in our midst. Through some spell, it grew a mouth and spake in a braggart's tone: Looking forward to seeing you in Wayfinder's Keep, boys! It's taken you long enough!
Again, my companions seemed to take this unusual occurrence if not in stride then with measured response, and determined to continue on to the Keep. Along the way, they apprised me briefly of their past and their mission: heroes (for their exploits had earned them the name) gathering five sacred stones, of which they already had three (I thought of Bendakar's greed and smiled), in order to fight some villain named Rettoraxil, who was using the power of the god Rahkin to upset the balance of the world and perhaps even bring about its end. They were heading toward Wayfinder's Keep to find another stone, the selfsame one the Lord Kharsis held as symbol of his suzerainty over the Keep. They believed it possible that Devohn, Kharsis's right hand, might actually be one called Bedwyr, and old friend turned foe, one of the legion serving Rettoraxil, and the one who made the stone to speak with his voice.
We passed an uneventful