Rolemaster 

It was good to see Lionar again, and Lysar wondered at the elf’s timing, which could hardly have been better.  Right now Lionar was applying some sort of herb to Sira’s knee.  She watched in amazement as the bone seemed to pull itself back into place and the blackened skin cleared.

The pain had almost become too much to bear.  Too many times he had stressed the bone far beyond it’s limits and he was beginning to wonder if it would ever heal.  Now this tall, friendly fellow gently rubbed a single, brittle leaf over the entire area.  The crumbles that it left behind, seemed to sink into his skin and then the pain was instantly gone!  Now he felt as though he were soaring above the ground, his blood was ringing in his ears and an feelings of calm and euphoria seemed to be the very winds on which he floated.

            All too soon though, it was over and as he opened his eyes, he saw that the black bruising around his knee had gone completely.  Lionar stood, extending his hand down to help him up.  As he rose, he thought he detected a twinge of pain from his knee.  Lionar’s expression changed, a frown appearing. 

“Ah, it is nothing, just a memory of the pain.  Still, could I have a little more of the herb in case the pain comes back?”  Sira turned to Lysar, asking her to translate.  He vividly remembered the feeling of freedom he had felt only moments before.

            Quickly Lysar translated his request and as Lionar reached into his pack, Lysar knelt as if to help him.  “Tell me, Lionar, are there any side-effects to the herb?  Any chance of addiction?  He is human after all, and does not have our increased powers of resistance.”

Lionar shook his head.  “Nay Lionar I have not heard of it being addictive and it is pure Gursamel so there should be no side effects.  Still keep your eye on your young friend and make sure he uses the herb wisely.”

            The players looked a sorry sight in the mid morning sun, standing bedraggled outside the mansion.  So much had happened to them since they met and yet, apart from the pitted armour and torn clothing, they somehow seemed stronger for it.

Lionar had introduced the other elves as Jirah, Thred and Keth Wing; brothers who were apprenticed to Lionar, and now they moved among the soldiers and tied them up.  Biryn walked among them administering some of the healing draught to those who needed it most.  There were some here who would not make it through the night.

Then the players knew it was time to brave the interior of the manor.  Biryn was insisting that they check on Captain James first, although some of the others reminded him that the sorcerer could still be inside.

            Biryn felt sure that they would have heard from him already and strode into the mansion, heading straight for the stairs.  Propped against the inside wall was the body of Olgir and Biryn could not bring himself to pity the giant.  “Some men bring evil upon themselves,” he thought.

As they reached the room where Captain James had been held, the door was still open and Biryn could see that Captain James was still breathing wheezily.  They untied him and began to search the mansion quietly.  Raal moved to the chest in the room where Captain James was held, the thick padlock resisted his picking, but not a sharp blow from the edge of Ulrich’s shield.  Opening the lid carefully, wary of traps all that the chest contained was a burlap sack lying in the bottom.  Raal gave a snort of disgust and pulled the sack away.  The sleeping snake was not happy about this and lunged for Raal’s hand, Raal pulled his hand back and the snake’s fangs snapped at empty air, Raal pummelled it into the side of the chest and let it shut with a bang.

Each of the rooms along the balcony was pretty much the same.  Two bunks rested against the wall, with clothes, leathers, cutlery and goblets lying on the floor.  Nothing of value here, thought Raal.  Where were all the bandits ill-gotten gains?

Biryn led a grateful Captain James outside to Lionar who treated him with a small amount of another herb he pulled from his seemingly inexhaustible supply.  Biryn tucked his cloak under the man’s head as he slept against the side of the house and with a grateful nod to Lionar he re-entered the house. 

His friends were still upstairs, but now they were outside the door at the front of the house.  Huge double doors led out onto the balcony, but as he strode out onto it, Raal made a sharp cutting motion with his hand.  Biryn turned, his expression marvelling.  Singing!  Despite all that had happened around this house today, there was somebody singing – they must be deaf or mad.

As they opened the door to this room, they stepped into one of the few well-kept rooms in the house.  A bed sat against the northern wall, next to another glass door which led out onto the balcony.  The headboard of the bed is intricately carved and depicts a great sea dragon, rising from the waves.  On the opposite wall a fish tank swirled with the movements of the few fish that remained.

A desk on the southern wall was covered with tiny scraps of wood and the smell of glue from the pots was quite clear.  There are shelves against the north wall of the room filled with tiny ships of all varieties.  Huge schooners mixed with warships and many oared galleys sat alongside each other, all painstakingly carved.

As they searched the room, they suddenly realised that the singing was coming from directly below them.  Asheren examined the workbench and there lying amidst the splinters and glue pots was a leather bound book.  A quill pen lay alongside and Asheren noticed that the last entry was yesterday, the 24^th Sicklemon.

 He picked up the book and followed his friends downstairs, flipping through the diary.  Inside the write detailed how he despised having his home invaded by these bandits, but was powerless to stop them.  He gives precise details about which caravans were to be left alone and which were to be raided.  Dates, cargoes, guards, everything was here.  He also details the region of the city in which the Norinth captain was paid off and information about the man who organized the whole scheme.  This Ton Bron figure seemed to feature very heavily, with the names Englick and Benwe cropping up regularly.  While not exactly admissible evidence, it certainly implicated them in the raids of the last year and much of the criminal activity that had been laid at the feet of the Abominators.

Downstairs the other players gathered around the door from whence the singing came.  Silently Raal pushed the door open, inside was a small bedchamber, a feather quilt lay on the neatly made bed and atop this was a neatly folded pair of pants and a shirt.  On the floor below them was a pair of soft leather boots.  The singing was coming from the next room.  Biryn quickly moved outside and peered through the window, not wishing to rush into anything else.  Inside, through steamed windows, he could just see a man sitting in a deep bath, washing himself and singing.

Biryn returned and they opened the door.  The man looked up, with mild surprise, still singing.  Ulrich helped him out of the bath and into a towel.  As he stepped from the bath, the wrinkle on his skin showed that he had clearly been in the bath for very long time.

“Who are you?” asked Ulrich, already suspecting that this was indeed, the owner of Wilfin Manor.  The man simply shrugged at the question, “Could I have some more bathwater?” he pleaded.  “Go on, just a little more, so it’s nice and hot.”

“Who else is left in the house?” asked Sira.  “How many more are waiting for us?”

The man turned at the sound of the voice, his mouth hanging open.

“I think he’s lost it,” says Raal, “let’s see what Lionar can do for him.”

Sira decided the man was faking and drawing one of the daggers he had filched from the fallen soldiers he stepped in and held the cold steel to the man’s neck. 

His eyes bulged, and he shut his mouth and opened it again.  “Nice and hot, a nice, hot bath will do you the power of good.”

Sira shoved the fool from him.  “Alright, so maybe he is mad, but I still think he might be faking.”  Sira slipped the knife away and fingered the Gursamel leaves in his pocket, he had a feeling he was going to need it sooner rather than later, he was already getting a headache.

As Biryn escorted him outside, Raal pushed open another set of doors, these led into what had once been the grand room of the manor.  Shelves cover the walls from ceiling to floor and what is left of the hundreds of books are now stacked in disarray.  A ten foot diameter table sits off centre in the room, surrounded by twelve chairs of modest design.  Lying in the middle of the table is a map of the region between Norek and Cynar, held in place at the four corners by an empty ale flagon, a leather boot, a short dagger and a stack of book.  Around the room are fine goblets filled with spoiled wine.

Raal checks the quality of the goblets, but develops a conscience when he remembers the poor, mad fool that owns the place and decides to leave them alone.  He heads for the door at the far end. 

This leads back into the entry hall, under the balcony.  The chipped tiles from Biryn and Olgir’s fall, crunch under his feet, but Raal heads towards the trophy case at the far end of the room.  It is bare of everything and is coated in a thick layer of dust, but when Raal looks closer, he notices that someone has drawn something into the dust.  He looked closely only to see that it is a picture of a bum.  He smiled, all this and pictures of bums too!  When he looked at it again, tilting his head slightly it now looked like a cock.  Whatever next?  Raal chuckled quietly.  I’d better get Asheren to see this.

Asheren sees the rune and realises that it is a Symbol of Cheer, a small and harmless spell which simply causes light heartedness in the viewer.  He looks at Raal and sees that he is smiling as he wanders around the room drawing pictures of bums and cocks around the room.  “He’ll snap out of it,” thinks Asheren, “I won’t spoil his fun.”

As the characters wander down to the north end of the house, they can see the various packing crates that lie around the place.  Almost all of them carry some sort of logo, and they can pick out Cynar Express, Norek Trail and City to City, all large companies that ply their trade in and out of Norek.

Asheren finds another door, though this one is barred from the outside and someone has daubed, in red paint, “Enter on peril of your liff!” on it.  Asheren motions to Biryn, Ulrich and Sira who come storming across the mosaic and join him in the corridor.  They remove the bar and swing the door open.  Biryn steps inside and wrinkles his nose against the smell.  Inside are three very frightened women. 

Suddenly there is a bellow from the right and an enormous man charges the short distance down the corridor wielding a wicked looking battle-axe.  In the cramped conditions he swings it underarm and catches Asheren full in the chest.  Asheren slams into the wall and slumps to the floor, his chest a mass of blood.  Ulrich draws his sword as the women begin screaming.  The giant swings at him and he catches the blades and carries the blade up and past him.  The blades stick into ceiling but Ulrich’s sword is carried with it.  Sira and Biryn charge at the big man from either side.  Sira’s strike goes wide but still catches the big man in the side of the face, while Biryn’s sword skewers him through the side. 

Within moments it is all over and they carry the recumbent body of Asheren outside.  Lysar binds the wound and Biryn lays his hands over the chest wound, drawing power from Eissa and trying to stop the dreadful bleeding.  Lionar is rummaging through his pack again and finds some Gara, a blood clotting herb, which finally puts a stop to the hideous injury.  Both Biryn and Sira were slick with Asheren’s blood and as the afternoon begins to draw to a close, they all decide to get some rest. 

Captain James has wandered among the captured soldiers and selected some of the men he knows were simply dupes in Benwe’s scheme and asked them to ride back to the city and bring supplies and more soldiers to escort the treacherous ones back for trail.

“If I ever get my hands on that Benwe, I’ll tear his arms off.” 

Sira’s headache had begun to pound again, but he still managed a reply.

“I think you’ll have to wait in line there.”  His friends all nodded grimly, their victory today tainted by the escape of Benwe.

As they made preparations for sleep, Lionar pulled Lysar quietly aside and told her of the recent news.

Lionar simply adds, "Beware, the Lugroki awaken from their slumber and begin to move.  Be on your guard." And saying this he reaches into his pack and hands an ebony quiver carved from the exquisite Miran wood.  Inside were six hand-fletched arrows.  “Take it with my blessing Lysar, stay on the trail of Benwe; I think he may yet cause you more trouble.  And now I must leave you.”  With that he gathered Jirah, Thred and Keth together and they bid the players farewell, melting into the forest.  

After a night’s rest with Raal standing guard on the balcony, they awoke feeling refreshed and ready for another day.  Except for Sira, who awoke and retched bile from the pit of his stomach.  Thinking that he simply hadn’t had enough to eat he grabbed some of the rations from his pack.  After one dry mouthful, he instantly vomited it straight back up again.  His head was pounding and he shivered despite the sunlight which streamed in through the windows of the house.  

He reached into his pocket for the Gursamel only to find it gone!  He searched all his pockets and the pack, finding nothing.  Then he checked his bedroll, shaking it out frantically.  Then he whirled on his friends.

“Alright, who’s taken it?  Come on, give it back.”  They simply looked puzzled, some of them even having the hide to look sorry for him.  “Damn you and your pity, just give me back my herb.”

He whirled on Raal, “You.  Thief.  We all know what you are, come on hand it over.”

Raal turned his hands over showing empty palms, “I don’t have it Sira, just calm down, we’ll find it.  You look terrible friend, have some tea, Biryn’s just made a pot.”

“Fuck tea!  I want my herb.  You shouldn’t have taken it in the first place, I mean if you had asked I could have given you some, I mean I don’t need it.”  As he said this, the colour suddenly drained from his face and he dry-retched again.

Lysar, who with Raal had arranged to steal the herb from Sira for his own good, now felt that it was a good thing she had.  The boy was addicted to the stuff!  Yet Lionar had told her just last night that he had never heard of anyone becoming addicted.  Ah, well there’s always a first and she was seeing it now.

She stooped, as if picking something from the floor.  “Here’s some Sira, it must have fallen from your pocket.”

Sira looked around, his eyes red and his chest heaving.

Lysar helped him apply some to his upper arm and as the herb disappeared into his skin Sira felt almost instantly better.  As the euphoria passed he felt ashamed of the way he had acted but his friends all said they understood as he apologised.

There were a few hours until Captain James’ soldiers would be back from Norek and so they explored the house more thoroughly.  Finding a locked door, Biryn and Ulrich beat the door down with the big man’s axe and on entering found a storeroom filled with laboratory equipment.  Beakers, jars and vials as well as pipes and other supplies filled the room, along with building materials, obviously once destined for repairing the Manor house and it’s buildings.

Biryn felt sure that there was something odd about the room and as he searched the east wall of the room, one of the knots in the wood seemed a little too conveniently placed.  He pushed it and turned and a section of wall slid open revealing a set of stairs leading downwards.

Lighting a torch they descended, below the room they found a dirt floor cellar, but this had been converted into some sort of shrine.  There are four pillars around the room, each with an object atop them.  On the first is a whistle, the second a piece of knotted rope, the third a small rod with a tiny flame burning at one end and finally on the last pillar was a still wet sponge.  In the centre is a cushion and there are clear imprints of someone’s knees there.  Reluctantly they remove the objects, but when lightning failed to strike they relax and pocket the items.

They also discover their weapons and equipment stuffed into one of the crates and they breathe a sigh of relief at being properly armed once again.

Finally one of Captain James’ men arrived back with the guards and they all headed back for Norek.