The Beginning and the End
It was just past sunset when they came to the village of Jouet. Great hulking creatures with pig-like faces -- some man-sized, some shorter, and some nearly twice as large -- swarmed through the darkness like a tidal wave. Screams and fire filled the night as some of the men, practiced with the baron's levee, tried to strike up a defense against the invaders. Paris saw two of those cut down as they swung, even as she and Calais were herded away with some others by Goodman Swordkeeper. Away from the battle and down into the root storage cellar at the east side of the village. There, in sputtering candlelight, people looked at each other in fear. A couple babies whimpered. Children watched in wide-eyed fear. Adults eyed the door, expecting it to be splintered by monstrous blows at any moment. Paris searched the faces carefully, realizing that although Calais was there -- he almost managed to grin at her -- Maman was not. She turned towards the cellar door -- just as someone knocked on it. Hoping to see her mother, Paris swung the door open before older and wiser heads could stop her.
Down tumbled a rag-tag figure. Paris bent down to offer support as others slammed the door shut. "Good auntie..." the girl's voice faded as she realized that this was someone she'd never seen before. "Good aunt, how did you come here? How did you survive ---?" The girl's shrug and gesture towards the door conveyed her intent. "What a strong hand," the oldster murmured as she rose. "You might do, dearie." The crone smiled up into Paris' baffled face.
In the face of other questions, the strange old lady said, "I'm Deirdre. I get around. Chaos is coming. They've taken away the priest's daughter, you know. You might be able to help." She pointed to Claire (15), the midwife's apprentice. "And you." To Red, the village bully. "You two might." To Anton (17), the storyteller and Paris' twin Calais (17). "But not you." Her glance took in Goodman Swordkeeper, standing with his family close behind him. "Or you." The baker. "But you might." This time her finger centered on Widow Mia (20), the herbalist. "And you, too!" as the ox-cart man, Brillig (18) rose from the back of the room. "Yes, indeed, you
"A witch!" shouted Anton. "I knew she was a witch. It's always that way in stories. It's the goodwife who needs rescuing. Not the priest's daughter!"
Paris shrugged and turned back to the door where 13-year old Red, taller and stronger than any of the other teens, was already shouldering the door open. He stopped. The door was blocked by collapsed timber. Smoke hung in the air and the red glow of coals made the outlines of what little was left in the village eerily visible. Paris stepped up next to him and, between the two, a passage was forced open.
Paris rubbed her hands together and started towards the village chapel at the south edge of town. The others spread out to see what had become of the rest of the villagers.
The roof of the chapel had collapsed in fire and, beyond, as Paris stepped in, she caught sight of the priest's face up on the altar. Then his arm over to the side. And his leg. And.... it was clear that the priest had been torn apart on his own altar. Paris staggered outside and lost her dinner to the darkness. Calais found her there. "What happened?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. In a detached monotone, Paris replied, "Those creatures seem to have dismembered our vicar as a sacrifice on the altar." Calais stared at her, then went to look for himself -- and joined her in sickness. Paris rose, steeling herself, and went back inside to look for some way to cover the poor vicar's remains decently. Unfortunately, fire had taken care of whatever clothes or surplices might have been used. Paris' attention was caught by red writing smeared on the back wall of the chapel, but despite her reading skill, she could make neither head nor tail of these scribbles. In resignation, she returned to the front of the building where the villagers were gathering.
No one who had not been in the root cellar had survived the carnage. No one. Paris bit back a sob. Goodman Swordkeeper was promising to take everyone to the baron's come morning. Paris looked over at Claire and Mia. "She said we might have a chance to rescue Genelle...."
Claire looked a bit hysterical. "They've taken the others too. They've got my maman! We must go after them!"
Mia nodded.
Anton exclaimed hotly, "You believe an old witch!? What makes you think you can do anything to rescue anybody?!"
Quietly, throat made hoarse by smoke and bile, Paris replied, "She said we could try. It's worth trying." She couldn't tell if anyone was listening. Claire and Mia had already started down the immensely churned track whereby the destroyers had arrived and retreated as they had come: north. Paris glanced at Calais and then at Red. Then she straightened her shoulders, took up a broken timber to use as a club, and started off after the healers. Calais, Red and Brillig followed. Anton trailed behind, still protesting loudly.
Red caught up to Paris, his slow mind apparently working in the overdrive of fear. "Paris, you are supposed to be a smart one. Is it smart to follow a beast straight into its mouth to be eaten? When you hunt, don't you try to take it by surprise? Don't you come at it from the side?"
Paris stopped, pleased and frustrated by the tall youngster's logic. "I need to know more about my foe. The only way I can find out is to follow it to where it has gone."
Red persisted. "At least you could follow off the trail it left. Follow from the side?"
"Yes," Paris answered. "Yes, I could do that." She moved over to the side of the churned up area and noticed that, rather a distance ahead, Mia and Claire had been stopped by a man.
"Everyone to the side. Off the track," Red shouted.
"Why?" came back Anton's petulant voice. "I don't need to do what you say. I'm going to talk to the messenger." The storyteller proceeded to march up the churned track towards the distant light of the healer's torch.
"Oh," the young giant grunted. "Everyone off." And, in a surprise move, he reached out and lifted the storyteller into the air.
"Put me down," sputtered Anton. "Put me down immediately!" He kicked Red firmly.
"You hurt Red," the other growled. "Hurt!" He shook Anton and squeezed his arms until the other could feel the bruises forming.
Yowling in anger, the storyteller kicked out again. This time, the group could hear the pop as Red dislocated Anton's shoulder. Anton went limp. "Should not kick Red," the big guy complained.
In dismay Paris turned to Calais. "We need Mia. Go get her. Tell her we need healing here." Her twin shrugged and sped off towards the torchlight that marked the healers leaving the trail and continuing at a northward angle. Hiding her chagrin, Paris turned her attention to the boy who could not control his strength. As soothingly as she could she tried to speak. "There's been enough hurting tonight, Red. We should not hurt each other any more. You should put Anton down." Paris moved to take hold of the young giant, knowing that in a test of strength she couldn't do anything but lose -- but committed to trying -- while Brillig moved to take the unconscious storyteller.
"Should not hurt Red," the giant complained again and released his victim into Brillig's arms.
Mia, Claire and Calais returned, accompanied by a stranger. He was dressed in tatters and carried a hobo's staff and bag. The healers set to work to reset Anton's arm (with Paris' assistance) while the stranger repeated what he had told the healers: a small band of the invaders had split off from the main horde, taking a girl with them. He'd seen no other sign of other people amongst the creatures. But then he couldn't even remember his own name. Calais pointed him in the direction of the village and told him that Swordkeeper would see him to safety at the baron's if that was what he wished. Puzzled, the stranger wished the group luck and set off down the churned up track.
Nursing a grudge against Red -- and staying well out of arm-reach, Anton resumed his place in the party. All followed the healers along the new track. Their direction seemed confirmed when they found a bit of torn nightgown on a twig next to the trail. The track itself, after a while, led into an underground passage from which came a rhythmic rattling noise. Paris and Red, leaving their torches behind, snuck inside. Down some way they could see torch light and, eventually, made out two hulking bodies sprawled in drunken stupor. Steeling herself, Paris grabbed one of the creature's swords and used it to slice his throat. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Red. Confused, the simple-minded giant whimpered, "Red not allowed to kill. Must not kill people." Paris nodded, raised the sword and sliced the other creature's throat. Then she was sick -- again.
As Paris was recovering from the dry heaves, Claire's voice could be heard calling, "Paris? Paris!" as the Party, flaming torches in hand, decided to enter the underground passage. Calais tried to hush the larger group the entire way, fearing the noise might imperil his sister.
Once rejoined, they assessed the area. A simple guard post. Two poor quality swords (one now bent by Paris' blow), two short spears, two small shields -- and two ugly and messy armored bodies. Calais chose to rifle the bodies, finding something that might be a copper coin -- and a gnawed-on finger. He grimaced and took one of the spears. Paris shouldered a shield. The group proceeded along, Paris and Red still leading the way.
The next torch-lit room held one of the large creatures in armor, its back to the passage. Red rushed the creature and hit it a terrific blow that cracked his club. The creature fell heavily. Red looked with almost childlike pathos at Paris. "Red did good?" Squirming at the idea of allowing Red to become a killer, Paris calmed her voice and face and affirmed, "Red did good this time. Red did good." Again Calais rifled the body, taking what he thought might be some bits of shiny rock. Paris noted the human leg lying by itself in one corner of the room, and promptly moved on.
The final passage spiraled down and down, ending in a cavern stretching as far as the eye could see. It was dotted with columns rising out of beds of fiery-stuff so far below that only a red glow reached them, lighting all from below. Bridges of rope with wood planks joined the pillars in a haphazard web. A single bridge linked the passageway they were in to the nearest column, where the Party could see one large creature and three small ones propelling a large wooden plank on some sort of rails towards a sparkling whirlwind at the far side of the column. The whirlwind came from the abyss itself, and was composed of countless bits of silver and black swirling about its core. On the plank, Genelle lay strapped. She seemed to have been reduced to whimpering as she was pushed into the winds. One of the silver bits seemed to imbed itself into her body. Then the shimmering turned black. One of the small creatures grabbed wildly for one of the black bits, gibbering joyously as he took hold of it. His joy turned to a squeal as he over-reached and toppled from the edge of the column. His monstrous companions seemed to find this wildly funny, laughing uproariously as they withdrew the plank only to repeat the process.
Red charged across the bridge followed closely by Paris, the others hastening behind. Having glimpsed the Party, Genelle started screaming, providing a distraction which kept two of the remaining three creatures from noticing. Calais leaped forward and clubbed the big creature solidly with the shaft of the spear, but it was not staggered. Paris rushed to her brother's assistance only to be blocked by the big creature. Red took on the smaller creature which had noticed the rush, while the others ganged up on the last one, dangerously close to one edge of the column of stone. The large creature turned, snarling and drawing its ugly black sword from its sheath. Calais went down to a single blow, his stomach sliced open. Paris frantically pressed her attack. The two healers coordinated and managed to slip in to do the finishing strikes on both the smaller opponents. Then Paris' desperate blow finally connected, and the big beast went down under a flurry of blows. "Mia!" Paris cried, cradling her brother's head in her arms. "Do something!" The midwife pulled Paris away, as the two healers worked to stop the bleeding.
By this time, figures on other columns had noticed what was going on and had started heading in the Party's direction. Hastily Red, Brillig and Paris cut the bridges from the other columns to their own, keeping a wary eye out in case the creatures started using bows or other missiles.
The healers unstrapped Genelle who thanked them and explained that they should take advantage of the cards in the whirlwind. The ones that she'd absorbed had granted her abilities and knowledge of many things-- she lifted one of the creature's heads to gaze at it -- "including something called Orcish culture". She proceeded to demonstrate by magically healing Calais and then Anton. The Party regarded the whirlwind in awe.
Up close, they could make out that the whirlwind was composed of thousands of thin cards, much like playing cards. Claire reached out and took one. The back was plain silver, but the front had a design on it, a sword and shield. Genelle looked over her shoulder at the card. "That has...something to do with fighting skills. You use it by taking it in both hands." She looked up at the whirlwind. "The Font of Chaos."
EPs: 50 pts of new character design
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