SESSION 005 - Kidnap & Ransom
SUNDAY, 02 NEEDFEST (MID WINTER) 579CYDuerin watched with gritted teeth as the assassin Malek fled the room with one of the daggers. Cursing there luck, he looked down at his warhammer. His hands, his knuckles white, taught with anger, conflicted; the dwarf looked inward to his teachings, that of St. Cuthbert. He found some solace in the teachings that Brother John had taught him, as he recited them to himself. He needed to figure a way out of the chamber, that he and his friends found themselves trapped in. Once freed of this place he had a score to settle with Malek, for killing the Cuthbertine priest. He felt his emotions waver as he thought of Brother John.
From the other side of the protective circle Erehwon watched his friend, “Duerin! What be the matter?” asked the half-orc. "Was that …"
“Nothing! I just got some dirt in my eye …” replied the dwarf, fixing the half-orc with a stern look.
“Haven’t you got something better to do, than to fuss with me?” scowled Duerin. The dwarf’s thoughts went back to the problem at hand.
It all boiled down to, if anyone left the protective circle that they found themselves in, then the fire glyph would activate. “Unless he or someone else was willing to take the risk, they would be down here a while,” thought the dwarf.
Looking around the room the Cuthbertine priest could see mildew, moulds and fungi that covered the room’s walls. Spores filled the air in response to the movement within the circle. The jet black stone altar stood ominous, its base covered with bleached skulls, tendrils of fungi flowing from the exposed cavities. Duerin’s gaze fell upon the symbol of the fiery eye chiselled on the back wall above the altar; it still glowed with magical energy from the last blast of the fiery glyph.
Markus had managed to get off an arrow just as the assassin had fled the room. In his haste the arrow had gone wide, clipping Malek’s cape as he made his escape. The young ranger had quickly notched another arrow, and was about to pursuit the assassin, but before he could even take a step; he felt someone pull him back from the edge of the circle. In his eagerness he had forgotten the fire glyph.
The four companions weighed up there options, they would need to act fast for Malek was getting away once again.
Bren tried to get off the ground, his head reeled in pain. He could feel the nausea rising from the pit of his stomach; he let the contents of his stomach spill onto the floor of the cottage. The pain in his head subside a little and his vision began to clear. Slowly he lifted himself into a sitting position, peering around the room. He slowly lifted his hand to touch the back of his head, his hair was caked and matted with dry blood. His blood …
The room was a mess, the table lay on its side, the chair shattered, his sword lay to one side, a piece of embroidered cloth lay in a pool of wine, the empty container shattered nearby. He struggled to recall the earlier events of the evening.
"Lady Madeline!" Pain forgotten, Bren gathered his sword and pulled himself to his feet.
The old ranger used the sword as a crutch to steady himself. “Madeline!” He called out again, he cringed in pain from the wound to his head. Striding across the room, he made his way to the door. It was there that he saw the note that was attached to the door. Tearing the note from the door, he slumped down on the floor.
“Markus du Monte …
Come alone to the Wayward Inn at sunset.
Bring the dagger or the woman will die.”