And here we are-
old thread is http://bbs.stardestroyer.net/viewtopic.php?f=24&t=152694. Let's go.

IC:

Larric... [rolls dice vs hybrid Logic/Creativity construct that he uses for general intelligence]... tentatively identifies the fast and complex caster as Aburon or someone a lot like him. Very curious about the others, nothing that he feels safe guessing about.

Personally I think Larric's enough of a natural scientist and air-sensitive to have a vague sense of the speed of sound beyond "quite fast." He tries to count heartbeats to get a rough idea of how far away this wizards' war over the horizon really is. If he can't hear thunderclaps, he is reassured- and tries to augment his receptiveness with air magic, to funnel sound toward himself like a hearing trumpet if not an actual microphone.

Counting it and rule of thumbing for how fast his heart is beating at any given time, they're not close but they're not far beneath the horizon either; something like ten, possibly twelve, miles away.
Could be closer, figuring out which rumble of thunder- and they're mostly the short, relatively high pitched cracks of magical lightning, not physically on the same scale as nature's work- matches which flash throws him off a little; until the deja- vu ridden flash that is practically bright enough to cast shadows, which is definitely followed by a natural and all too loud rumble, suggesting about ten miles.

That probably wasn't the druid. It's quite hard to believe in it as being one person, actually- he's not that powerful, not yet. There is an overtone of screaming in pain that suggests there was somebody on the recieving end, though.

Larric turns to Dale. "About ten miles off, I'll wager. Didn't someone say that was where the elves were?"

Dale nods.

"Not entirely sure about the distance, but that is the direction I was harried from. I have no fondness for the Elves, but something is seriously amiss. Those flashes are unnatural and the howling... does not bode well. Did you see Rohal take off in that direction or am I mistaken?"

IC:

"Wait, what? Didn't see him- maybe when I was abed... I hope he's all right. I, hm." Larric looks off into the distance.

"I don't think that howling is him. Something bigger and a lot louder, more like. Something that can fight in a three-sided wizards' war, and outlast a dozen thunderbolts, too, and that's no carnival trick. I wish I knew what was going on, but not enough to want to be in the middle of that.

[note: If Dale did not already realize Rohal is a werewolf, Larric's absentmindedness might well cause a 'wait, WHAT' reaction]

"I'm thinking one side is elvish, one side is in a hurry, and one side looks like a- a chorus, almost. Wrapped round itself, a lot of things happening at once in vollies**. If it's one person, one... thing... then they're one amazing juggler."

The alchemist shivers a little, and it's not just the midwinter cold.* "I'm told the sky looked worse the day the Striking Phoenix sacked Auvaine- they saw some of the blasts from ten miles off then too. In broad daylight."

He tries to get a sense for whether the fireworks have woken Lisanna. He's curious to hear what she thinks, and which of those styles look familiar.

OOC:

*(in real terms it's what, January? February? And in... didn't someone once compare Kuquan to Aquitaine or so in terms of climate? I don't remember)

**The easy explanation for Larric, reflecting very finite thaumaturgical knowledge...

Also, thank you everyone, and especially Fiji, I woke up in a terrible state to go to work and this is just what I needed. Well, that and breakfast, at any rate.

Getting on for late february, early march, really, starting to go from being freezing cold to slightly warmer and a lot wetter. With three moons on different periods, the concept of a 'month' is at best intricate and at worst contradictory, it's easier to track the seasons.

Yes, that was me, it's about the right latitude (I think taking changes into account) for it- this world as a whole is likely, I think, given the moons and what they do to water cycle, tidal heating, cloud cover, all that jazz, to be slightly warmer and wetter than earth overall.


Larric's thinking on this one is good thinking, but as for proof and further study?

Lisanna is awake, wearing an underdress and a blanket wrapped round her; looking at the flashes with a distinctly controlled, I'm not going to react to this expression. Some other people are awake and looking to her, she is the court wizard after all, which is why she's being stonefaced about it.

She moves in Larric and Dale's direction; poised, calm, under control, it's only from very close you can tell she's been up most of the night and is very tired.

'Following the sequence of that,' she says to Larric, 'it seems that we have one against many, to begin with, and the one being mainly defensive- not self defence; at a guess that would probably be Aburon and some friends of his, who are making the howling noises, going for the elves- their biting and his screening them from elvish magic, then something else, the bright flash, crashes into the elves.

That looked more like a set- piece ritual than something that could be done in a field, on the move. I think the most sensible thing to do may be a few warriors to stand guard, in case- the rest get as much rest as you can.'

"Huh," grunts Dale, hearing both Larric's and Lisanna's explanations of what he is seeing. "Should this Aburon fellow concern us, or is he generally friendly?"

Dale looks around at the various men-at-arms who seem to be in various stages of worry and concern, none looking particularly organized. By virtue of standing with the court wizard and the three of them looking somewhat collected, Lisanna, Larric and Dale are beginning to draw a collection of uneasy soldiers (OOC: I suppose... it could be a mistaken assumption but it makes sense in my mind).

"Friendly. Strange, but friendly. Just don't go chopping down any trees while he's about."

Larric looks around at the confused soldiers. He speaks a bit more loudly and clearly, he means this to carry. "Whatever happened," he says, "it sounds like it happened to the elf-bandits. Less trouble for us then."

That line goes down well with some- not so well with others. There is some arguing and shouting backwards and forwards, and several arguments start. Mostly, they seem to be listening. Nobody goes haring off into the wilderness. No-one who hasn't already, anyway.

'I wonder...' Lisanna says, but doesn't say precisely what. 'If I'm right, the next thing due to happen ought to be in an hour and a half or so- wake me then.' and heads off back to bed.

Anyone doing anything different?

Dale is going to follow Larric's lead for the time being, although he will open up all of his senses to their full extent as he watches the soldiers and the direction of the incident.

"Perhaps it would be prudent to speak again with your prisoner. If that was a 3-way display, and two sides are known (you think), then perhaps he might shed some light on the third."

Larric wishes he had someone handy who spoke more elvish and didn't get dismissed as a 'slab' by every pointy-ears we meet. He mutters, "wish Verone was here, hope he made it out..."

Then he looks at Dale and nods. "Might be worth a chance; let's go find Sir Alfred. Ah, and Dirt."

[We can figure out who's asking the questions later]

As they're walking, Larric starts thinking out loud. "What do we want to ask- 'do you know anyone who's trying to kill you' isn't going to help, they already think everyone and his cousin Fred is trying to kill them."

"Unless this land is competely mad displays of the sort we just witnessed are rare. And if the court wizard is correct, another will be in the offerring soon. I should think there is a marked difference between 'everyone threatens us' and 'the one(s) who threaten us with complex magics'. That would be a place to start. We can offere as well to share information which we gather about what happened, although keeping in mind how badly the Elf seems to react to most humans, the effort may be useless."

Dale looks around at the nobles and soldiers who are still milling aobut.

"Another issue is these men. Their nerves are stretched to the breaking point. Men who stay in that mood too long tend to begin breaking and acting out foolishly. Seeing your prisoner may be as much about protecting him as finding out any information."

"Sensible, sensible, but... Dale, I saw something that big last night. Great big healing fireball. Two days ago someone tried to turn half the people in Qulan Castle into newts; I was five feet away when it happened." He grins, again a little wild- trying to keep a lot of ACK under control. "So what do you think of us now?"

Larric continues moving toward where Dirt and Alfred are sleeping, to wake them up.

Completely mad? Well, where there are PCs involved...(starts counting on fingers-) there are, oh, no more than one, ah, two...forgot that one, three, then there was the other one, hm. Well, no more than two apocalyptic kabooms a year on average. Except in the bad years.

Which this wasn't, incidentally; definitely a bad year, but this individual incident wasn't all that apocalyptic- beaten zone not even a hundred yards across. Nothing like what is to come, or what was narrowly averted in the caverns.


Anyway, going to see the prisoner, he is being propped up in the corner of one of the rooms of the inn with all his weapons, pouches and trinkets and what can be identified as armour taken away from him- shirt and breeches are all he has, and he is not in a happy frame of mind. (Someone around here has to be; who?) Sunk in contemplation- in actual meditation, you think, he has to be prodded before he starts noticing the world around him again.

'This is another reason we loathe you.' is the first thing he says. Well, he's on form at least. 'You drag us down far below our proper standards.' Men who stay in that mood too long- what about elves? They had been like that for far too long, and arguably have comprehensively lost the plot.

What, specifically, are you putting to him- and in what order? I can think of at least one question that he would respond to by simply curling up and going catatonic.

"Do you know of anyone who might oppose your band with strong magic? Anyone who might try spells that ripple back round on themselves, like..." he fumbles for words "like singing in counterpoint with themselves?"

That was almost one of the things he couldn't take. He looks very blank for some time, before saying 'That would be beyond the subtlety of any human mage- our own people have turned against us.'

Shorn of the usual dose of racial arrogance, he may actually have a point. The magnitude of the thing is less extraordinary than the method- a well prepared and highly talented human mage could do something of that kind of power, given time to prepare a proper, formal ritual. Not on the hoof, not after sneaking into position.

On being further prodded, he breaks into a long, wailing lament in elvish, and is only with difficulty persuaded to admit 'We never recieved the help blood gave us a right to from the elves of the spiral forest, and the other places of strength in Auvaine. Many of us came to hate them for their indifference, for their safety. we were fighting for our people and they were fat, smug- what have you done to them, you've corrupted them-'

Between them, Dirt and Alfred can wrestle the angry elf back to something resembling quiet. 'If they've turned against us, there is no hope.' he says, and looks very miserable.

Outside, something is happening; a small group of elves have turned up, waving a large, glowing white flag on a broken spear. There are four of them, they all look scorched and numbed with horror, one adult and three children with nothing but what they stand up in. Don't look much of a threat; look terrified, really.

Larric scans the glowing flag for magic- presumably glowy-magic, but one never knows. Nothing particularly forceful on it, is there?

His hands are, for the moment, empty, and he raises his right arm solemnly. "Do you speak Kuquanese?"

If all he gets back is a gabble of Elvish, he's going to have to hope Dirt can translate. Which obviously has its drawbacks and limits.

It's light magic, that much is obvious, but as far as Larric can tell it's barely above the cantrip level- bright but at this hour of the morning, it doesn't need to be very bright to stand out.

There are a few words in elvish, then the elf seems to realise it too, says 'Help...' in formal but acceptable Kuquani before keeling over, collapsing to the ground. The three elf- children cluster about her squalling and wailing- the rough equivalents of six, seven and nine, you think, two girls and a boy.

With so many knights, there should be some chivalric impulse about, and most think they're not a threat. There are some expressing caution, we were getting ready to defend ourselves against these people no more than a dozen hours ago; it's always possible this could be a clever bluff- but under the circumstances it's not massively likely.

One of the knights does sum it up- 'Not long ao these people were a threat to us. Now a fragment- the survivors, presumably- come to us in dire distress. On one hand, it's good that they are no longer a threat- but what in the world happened to them?'

If the party don't do anything the four elves, mother and three children, will be picked up and taken in to the inn and more or less looked after, not to mention being watched to see that they don't explode or anything equally sinister.

There is some standing around and speculating. Lisanna's opinion is voiced very quietly, because she reckons she's right. 'Whatever of the Striking Phoenix remained around to act as the Countess' bodyguard, I'd bet. I'd also bet that they remained mostly in the dark, provided the lightning but let the wolfpack do all the hunting and harrying work.'

"The prisoner took Larric's description to indicate that local Elves had turned on his people. I don't know enough of the weaving of such magics to have any opinion myself, but either option will have been traumatic for those children. Is it worth scouting for any other survivors? At the very least we should seek better information about what took place."

Dale is irritated at the moment. Between Larric's description of recent events (magic-added troubles included), the description offered by mourners of the fortress/cavern and events within, and the attack on the Elves he is feeling especially like a man out of his element... yet as though he shouldn't be. Powerful forces are converging in these lands and that seems like it should trigger a distinct purpose or memories... but nothing is materializing for him.

"The Ogre... 'Dirt' yes? He was saying something about minding children earlier. If he is as calm and rational as he appeared earlier this evening, perhaps he can speak with the children and relieve some of their anxiety. On the other hand... Ogre."

"Until the dawn, I would not think it wise to venture out of town. When the sun rises though, I am going to investigate and see what there is to see."

Dale turns toward Larric. "The company of men who are more familiar with these lands would be appreciated."

Alfred finally awakens, but not before nearly punching whoever woke him up. Looking outside and seeing more elves, he goes back to drag Dirt out to translate.

(OOC: I'm alive.)

---

"I'm just reading through your formspring here, and your responses to many questions seem to indicate that you are ready and willing to sacrifice realism/believability for the sake of (sometimes) marginal increases in gameplay quality. Why is this?"
"Because until I see gamers sincerely demanding that if they get winged in the gut with a bullet that they spend the next three hours bleeding out on the ground before permanently dying, they probably are too." - J.E. Sawyer

Not quite right; something definitely does materialise for Dale. Unfortunately, it is defintely not a happy something. A blur of light, impressions moving too fat to catch, the rumble and the scream, but most of all, the sense of touch;

imagine crowd surfing down a forty-five degree slope, jostling and bumping over heads and hands, being clutched at, but not held, reached out to but unable to respond- and the crowd aren't singing; they're screaming, panicking, pushing and falling over each other, trying to wrestle their way past each other- and achieving nothing, nothing good. And you're not moving; they are.

The smell, on the other hand- go to the bottom of a six month old mass burial pit, and take a good, full lungful. The memory of that hitting is when Dale joins the female elf on the floor.

He comes to shortly afterwards, with a terrible sense of something not done, a duty impossible to fulfil; invisible hands reaching to him.


Those of the party not plagued by visions, and Dale a few minutes later, can join in trying to get sense out of the elves.

They were surrounded- to all practical purposes ambushed- by wild and terrible beasts, which ate a couple of sentries, but didn't preserve surprise; made too much noise, the warriors managed to beat them back and started trying to pick them off with magic, but somebody was backing the beasts, protecting them and charming them.

The spellslingers had just grouped together to combine their powers when something else hit them, something preceded by singing- most of it hidden by the growls and snarls of the beast pack. After the flash, the lightning strike, the beasts started hunting them down as they fled. The female elf and her children are, they think, the only survivors.


Anyone doing anything else until- for that matter, who is going out looking in the morning?

Quietly, to Dale and Sir Alfred, and possibly Dirt and even Randolf if he's around. Not Rohal since he's away:

"So if we take what Lisanna said and pile it on what the elves said, hm. What I think... I think Aburon ran off after this morning's rescue, made a pact with the elves of our land to finish off this bunch of elf-bandits from the south. Maybe linked up with a pack of... wolves? I don't know, maybe that one Rohal was talking about, the one smarter than the average wolf? I can see a druid doing that. Busy man, he must be." He frowns.

"If it's all true, it solves our elf problem for now, but I don't like it. And- Dale, you just took a nasty fall there, are you all right?"

Dale is badly shaken by his vision.

"Death... something horrible. I... I need to think on this before I can explain more. I may have failed in something important... but I can't remember exactly what."

Thoughts are twisting in riot within his mind and none of them are good at the moment.

"That attack though. We... I..." he shakes his head almost violently. "There is something more to it than it may seem. Let's speak with the refugees."

OOC – back from being away for work again!

IC – Dirt wakes up to the kick. See’s the big flash and rolls over to go back to sleep again. When kicked for the second time he’ll aid in translation as far as he is able to. As for looking after and calming down the children he’s a bit lost of what to do. Do you want to look and pet my plant friend Fifi would probably cause more harm than good at the moment...

So, to re cap out elf situation:
- we’ve a big bang and lots of dead elves
- We’ve a sealed magical cavern and lots of potential dead elves who aren’t going to be our problem for the foreseeable future.
- We’ve an elf revolt(?) down south and lots of potential dead elves and other creatures.

It looks like it’s shaping up not to be the year of the elf this year. Still, at least we’ve got the elf hill mutating bandits to worry about. To Larric and Alfred “’Said we hunt creature in mountain. Maybe we go hunt now?”